The Brat(16)
Author: Lynsay Sands

" ‘Tis bad luck to sneeze to the left ere a journey, my lord. You must always try to sneeze to the right if you are planning a trip."

"I see," he said solemnly, his shoulders relaxing. His tone was rather dry, however, when he asked, "Is there anything else I should know about sneezing?"

"Never sneeze near a grave, and – "

"Here we are!" Emilie cried gaily, and Murie gave up her explanations in order to smile at the woman whose husband led her over. "I hope we did not hold you up too long. Reginald felt he should make his farewells to the king, else we would have been here much sooner. Fortunately, he did not have to wait too long to see him."

"That was fortunate," Murie agreed, and thought that Edward must have realized Lord Reynard was stopping to beg leave and so had seen him quickly to allow them to get on their way.

"Come, wife." Balan took her arm to lead her to her mount.

"Emilie is not riding in the wagon, is she?" Murie asked with surprise. Reginald had lifted his wife up into the back.

"Aye," Balan said as he caught her at the waist to set her on her horse.

"But – " Murie broke off with surprise as he stopped lifting her and kissed her quite thoroughly.

"Wife," he said when he’d finished.

"Aye?" She sighed, her eyes slowly opening.

"I was sneezing to my right. You turned my head to your right, which was my left." He grinned at her blank expression, then set her in the saddle and turned to walk to his own mount.

Murie stared after him with dismay, realizing what he’d said was true. They had been facing each other, and she had turned his face from her left to her right, which meant she’d turned his face from his right to his left. Oh, this didn’t bode well for the journey at all!

They rode through the afternoon and well into evening before Balan and Reginald deemed it time to stop and make camp. Murie knew they had traveled so late to make up for leaving court so late, so she had not complained, but she was grateful to be off her mount.

She was doubly grateful when her husband proved himself very considerate by suggesting he take her down to the riverside to clean up while the rest of the men prepared camp.

Yes, she’d chosen her husband well, Murie decided with a contented smile as he grabbed her hand and led her into the woods around the clearing the men had chosen. So distracted was she with her own satisfaction, they had gone quite a way before she began to pay attention to the trees and vegetation around them.

It was pure chance that she glanced down and spotted the St. John’s wort.

"Oh, nay, my lord! Be careful!" Murie cried, catching at Balan’s arm and trying to bring him to a halt. She sighed with exasperation. "Too late."

"Too late for what?" Balan asked with bewilderment. She bent and urged his foot out of the way, then tried to fluff up the plant he’d crushed with his step.

‘You must never step on St. John’s wort," she lectured. "A fairy horse will rise up under you and carry you away."

Balan watched his wife’s useless efforts to fix the plant, baffled, and then realization struck. This was one of her silly superstitions. Smiling faintly, he caught her upper arm and drew her back to her feet. "I think we can do away with that worry." She peered at him in confusion. "Why?"

"Because I am still here. No fairy horse rose up and took me away," he pointed out.

"Oh." She sighed, leaning into him as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. "Husband?"

"Aye," he murmured, fascinated by the way she was turning in to his touch like a petted cat.

"I like it when you kiss me."

His mouth curved in a smile. "Do you?"

"Mmmhmm." She nodded.

"Would you like me to kiss you now?" he asked, aware of several changes taking place in his body at the prospect. Just the thought had his shaft stirring to lazy life.

"Yes, please," she whispered, tilting her head a little more so that her lips were on offer.

Smiling, Balan shifted his hand, giving up caressing her cheek to catch his fingers in her hair. He held her in place as he lowered his mouth to hers.

Murie let her mouth open on a satisfied sigh. Taking advantage, Balan slid his tongue out, growling deep in his throat when she slid her arms around his neck and tried to move closer against him. She was shorter than he, however; Balan had had to bend to kiss her, and she could not get close. Releasing his hold on her hair, he reached down to catch her by the behind, squeezed her buttocks firmly through her gown and lifted her up to press her firmly against him.

Murie gasped into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders. Immediately an erection sprang to life under his cotehardie. Impatient, Balan let her slide back down to the ground and then set to work at the laces on the back of her gown until the collar slipped away, sliding down her shoulders. Giving up on the laces, he tugged the cloth down her arms until her br**sts popped free, then immediately he caught one in his hand. Murie groaned and arched her back, her hands clutching at his arms and tugging in a silent demand for either one of two things: an end to the torment or a plea for more. Smiling against her mouth, he broke their kiss and immediately ducked his head to close his mouth over the nipple of the breast he was cupping. His wife’s response was most gratifying. Crying out in excitement, she switched her hands to his hair and alternately tugged at the strands and pushed at his head, as if unsure whether she was trying to stop him or urge him on. As she couldn’t make up her mind, Balan ignored her and did as he wished, his attention wholly focused on suckling the sweet nub in his mouth, drawing on it and nibbling lightly by turn as he kneaded with one hand the soft plump flesh. But soon that was not enough, and he straightened, catching her mouth once more with his.

Murie kissed him back desperately, a constant keening coming from her throat as her br**sts rubbed across the rough cloth of his cotehardie. When she slid one tentative hand between them and pressed it against the erection so evident beneath his clothes, Balan growled into her mouth, his h*ps thrusting forward of their own accord.

Opening eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed; Balan spotted a tree a couple of feet behind Murie, and he urged her backward without breaking their kiss. Pressing her against it, he reached for her skirt, rucking it up her leg until he could slip his hand beneath. Murie gasped and sighed and moaned by turn as his fingers ran up her outer thigh and then dipped around and inside. Her legs briefly squeezed his hand as it slid between her thighs, but then eased apart to allow him access. Balan murmured approvingly when he found her warm and wet. The approval wasn’t needed; his wife wasn’t in any state to listen. She was sucking almost violently on his tongue, and her hand squeezed him almost painfully through his clothes.

Apparently unhappy with the interference, she released him, then found her way under the clothes to his erection. Grasping him firmly in hand, she pulled him toward her, making her desire known. She wanted him inside her.

Balan ignored the silent demand. Instead, he slid a finger lightly over her quivering flesh and then drove it into her. Murie broke their kiss and threw her head back with a cry, her body jerking and her hand along with it. He cried out as well.

Giving up tormenting her, Balan removed his hand from between her legs and slid it around to her behind. The moment he lifted her, Murie wrapped her legs around his hips, pulling him tight against her even as she released his erection to hold his cotehardie out of the way.

Balan groaned as he pressed against her slick core. Pinning her against the tree, he shifted slightly and slid into her. A relieved sigh slid from his lips as her body closed around him, welcoming him to her heated depths. He then covered her mouth with his again, withdrew himself and slowly thrust forward.

Murie kissed him back, her tongue dancing with his even as her body arched and shifted and urged him on. Aware that he was close to spilling his seed, but unwilling to do so until she’d found

her release, Balan caught her by the h*ps and swung away from the tree, then carried her quickly to a slanted boulder at the riverside, each step threatening his control.

Pausing at the boulder, he laid her on the higher end so that her body was at a downward angle. Without the need to hold her, he was free to touch, and he took full advantage, cupping her pale br**sts in both hands and kneading briefly before sliding his hands down over her stomach, then across the crumpled material of her gown and further. One hand stopped at the core of her and began to caress, but the other continued on down to one ankle to catch and lift it before him.

Murie’s eyes popped open, and she stared wide-eyed as he leaned it against his chest, then held it to help brace himself as he drove into her with more urgency. But her eyes soon closed and squeezed tight shut, her face tightening until she suddenly twisted her head to the side with a scream of pleasure.

Only then did Balan allow his seed to spill. Giving up his caresses, he clutched her leg with both hands and thrust one final time, his head falling back as he released his own shout of victory.

Chapter Nine

"Is everything all right?" Emilie asked as Murie rejoined her. The men had built a fire, and she was seated by it, enjoying its heat.

A bit chilled from the dip in the river she’d just taken, washing after the episode with her husband, Murie was grateful for the fire. She began to brush her hair, hoping to dry it more quickly.

"Aye, of course I am fine," she said with surprise. "Why would you think otherwise?"

"Oh, no reason," Emilie assured her. Then, eyes twinkling, she added, "The men were a bit concerned by the shouts and screams coming from the woods, but Reginald assured them that all was likely well and kept them from running to your rescue." Murie stared, her face flushing with embarrassment; then she scowled and wrinkled her nose. She said by way of explanation,

"I saw a snake."

"I am sure you did," Emilie said meaningfully, and Murie blushed harder.

"I did not mean – " she began, but when her friend burst into a fit of giggles, she gave up and joined her.

"I am glad that part of your marriage appears to be going well," Emilie said as their giggles died. "I imagine it could be most difficult did you not… er… find some common ground in the marital bed."

"Aye," Murie agreed, her eyes finding her husband and watching him talk to Reginald. The two men were laughing, and she had no doubt Lord Reynard had just told him that the men had thought to rescue them. His gaze found hers, and he smiled. Murie admitted, "He makes my legs weak and my body quiver."

"Aye." Emilie sighed, her eyes seeking out her own husband.

"So did Reginald."

"Did?" Murie asked with alarm.

"He has not touched me since we found I was pregnant," she admitted unhappily.

"Oh." Murie bit her lip, her gaze slipping back to the man in question. "He is most likely afraid of hurting you."

"That, or he finds me hideously unattractive now that I grow heavy with child," Emilie said with forced cheer.

"Oh, Emilie, I am sure that is not it," Murie assured her.

"Anyone can see that Reginald adores you."

"Then why does he no longer touch me?"

"He is always hugging and kissing you," Murie pointed out.

"That is not the same thing, Murie, and you know it. That is affection. I want. .." Her eyes returned to her husband, a battle of wants and needs warring there.

‘You want to feel desired, not just cared for," Murie remarked with quiet understanding. She’d only been married two days and a night, but even so, she did not think she’d be very happy were Balan suddenly to stop wanting to make love to her.

Emilie heaved a sigh and waved her hand vaguely. "It will be all right. I am just huge and miserable right now. Everything will be fine once the bairn is born … which I hope will be soon."

"Not too soon," Murie said with a half laugh. "Pray, let us get to Reynard Castle before it arrives. I should not like to help you deliver the babe out here in a rough camp without aid or herbs or medicinals to help."

"Well, not that soon," Emilie agreed. "I still have a couple months to go."

Murie nodded.

"Ladies." Reginald smiled as he led Balan over. "As Balan and Osgoode did not bother bringing a tent for the journey, and we did, I have offered my place in the tent to you, Murie. I shall join the rest of the men by the fire while you and Emilie rest inside this night."

"Oh." Murie’s eyes slid to her husband. She’d rather hoped to sleep curled in his arms by the fire. It had been nice waking in his arms last night. She’d felt cared for each time she’d awakened. Her husband didn’t appear to feel the same, however.

"That is a good idea," Emilie murmured.

Forcing a smile, Murie nodded. "That is very kind of you, Reginald. Thank you."

Despite her up-front agreement, as the men walked away Emilie said unhappily, "Now he does not even care to sleep with me."

"Aye, and apparently Balan does not wish to sleep with me, either," Murie muttered.

Both women sighed as they watched their husbands cross the clearing.

****

Despite the absence of her husband, or perhaps because of it, Murie slept late the next morning. When she woke, the tent was empty, Emilie having risen and left. Cecily had, apparently, already been; there was fresh clothing lying on the furs at the foot of the pallet she’d slept on. Reaching for the undertunic, Murie donned it, then stood to don the gown as well, then ran her fingers through her hair before making her way out of the tent. She stepped out into the clearing to find it a hive of activity. She was the last to rise, and men were rushing this way and that, packing things and preparing to break camp.

"Wife."

Murie turned and offered a shy smile at her husband.

"You slept well?" he asked.

She nodded, eyebrows rising. He looked a bit pale and haggard. It seemed obvious from that, and from the scowl gracing his face that he had not. Still, she asked politely: "And you?"