The Brat(18)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Sighing, she rubbed her stomach absently and turned back to stare blindly at the dancing flames, then recalled that Emilie had asked her a question. "Nay, not really. He is annoyed with me because I was sure it was a fairy horse carrying him away this morning."

"What?" Emilie asked, startled.

Murie quickly explained about her husband stepping on St. John’s wort and her fear that he would be carried away by a fairy horse – or a horse possessed by a fairy horse, she added meaningfully.

Emilie burst out laughing. "Oh, Lord, Murie. Your belief in these silly superstitions is the only thing that keeps you from being a perfect woman."

Murie frowned. "I am sorry, I – "

"Nay, do not apologize," Emilie said quickly. "If you were perfect, I would have to hate you on principal alone."

"Oh," Murie said, unsure how to reply. When they fell silent again, she found her eyes drifting back to her husband. She’d hoped he would take her to clean up after their journey again tonight and perhaps kiss her again, and . .. Well, but he hadn’t. Reginald had seen both women down to the river and turned his back while they tended to matters. Balan, it seemed, was too busy to be bothered.

Realizing she was scowling at him again,Murie started to turn away, then froze as she noted his coloring. It might have been just the effect of the firelight but he looked slightly gray.

"Murie, are you feeling all right?" Emilie asked. "You keep rubbing your stomach and your color seems off, though ’tis hard to tell in this light."

"Nay," she admitted unhappily. "My stomach is bothering me. I think it did not like the journey in the wagon. I do not know how you stand it."

"I did not have a choice. The only way Reginald would allow me to travel to court was if I rode in the wagon," she said. "And I

did so want to see you."

"Oh," Murie breathed, tears coming to her eyes. "You must truly love me. Thank you, Emilie."

"Murie?" There was sudden real alarm in her friend’s voice.

"Are you all right? You look – ‘

"Are you supposed to have two faces?" Murie interrupted with a frown. Then she felt herself slumping forward.

Chapter Ten

"How are you feeling?"

Osgoode’s voice drew Balan’s eyes open where he lay prostrate on the ground in a small copse. His answer was to groan and roll to his side and begin to retch yet again. It seemed all he’d done through most of the night: tossing up everything he’d eaten until now it was just dry heaves.

"Well, the good news is that it probably is not Murie trying to kill you," Osgoode announced cheerfully. "She is sick as well."

"What?" Balan asked in alarm, then broke off in another fit of dry heaves.

"Aye. It seems that while she personally cooked your meal, it smelled so good, she ate half of it herself before bringing it to you. She would not have done so had she deliberately poisoned it. So, either this poisoning was an accident, or someone else poisoned the meat she left roasting over the fire while she went to the river with Emilie and Reginald."

Balan flopped onto his back with a groan. "That bit of meat she brought me was small."

"Aye," Osgoode said solemnly. "Had you eaten the whole piece yourself, and had Murie not eaten half, Emilie is sure you would now be dead."

"How is my wife?"

"A little worse than you," Osgoode answered. When Balan’s eyes popped open, he pointed out, "She ate half the meat, therefore half the poison, and she is not as big as you. It has hit her a little harder. She is hallucinating as well as vomiting." Balan forced himself to sit up and tried to crawl to his feet.

"Emilie is watching her," Osgoode said. "There is no need for you to – " He gave up and started to help his cousin, knowing how stubborn Balan could be.

The few feet back to camp made for a very long trip. The world seemed to have taken on an appalling tendency to wobble under Balan’s legs, and his vision seemed slightly impaired so that the world seemed to move in and out of focus. He was grateful when they reached the tent and Reginald rushed from the fireside to hold the flap open. Osgoode helped him stumble inside. His cousin then helped him to the pallet where Murie lay and released him to step aside. Balan immediately collapsed beside his wife.

"Oh, Balan – you look better," Emilie said from the other side of the pallet, where she knelt pressing a damp cloth to Murie’s face. But even in the state he was in, Balan could hear the lie in her voice and see her concern.

"I am better," he assured her, and then added in dry tones, "I made it all the way from the tent flap to here without having to vomit."

"Oooh," she murmured, then scowled at both him and his cousin. "Reginald told me what you and Osgoode thought. Murie is not trying to kill you."

Balan would have scowled at his big-mouthed cousin and friend if he could have, but it seemed too much effort.

"She intended to confront you about being in her room that night, and about it not being a dream, but then she came upon you talking to my husband and Osgoode about it in the hall. She heard the explanation you gave Reginald. She also heard his concern for me and that you intended to ask early leave from the king. Murie was afraid Edward would not permit it should you ask, so she went to him herself." Emilie paused to glare at Balan.

"She would not put a thistle under your saddle, and she certainly would not poison your meat and then eat half of it herself." Balan heard Osgoode say something, but forced himself to concentrate on Emilie’s face. He could hear the indignation and anger in her voice, so wasn’t surprised to see it reflected in her expression as she glared at him.

"Aye," was all he managed to say. Then he passed out beside his wife.

Murie opened her eyes and started to stretch, then paused as she realized there was an arm thrown over her waist. Moving carefully, she turned her head to glance past her shoulder and saw her husband. She peered at him with surprise. The question as to what he was doing in the tent with her had barely risen to mind when she realized they weren’t in the tent at all. Her gaze slid around the room in confusion; then she eased out from beneath her husband’s arm and got shakily to her feet. Her legs were not happy with her weight and seemed to be threatening to give out beneath her, but Murie needed a privy and could not wait for them to make up their mind as to whether they would hold her up or not. One of her gowns lay crumpled in the rushes by the bed, obviously left there after being removed from her. She picked it up, gently shook it out and donned it, then made her way carefully to the door, holding on to the wall to keep her balance as she went.

"Murie! What are you doing up?"

Emilie’s alarmed voice drew her head around as she slipped into the hall. She smiled at her friend, relieved to see her. She had no idea where they were.

"Where are we?" she asked as her friend reached her side.

"Reynard Castle," Emilie answered, taking her arm to steady her. ‘You should be back in bed. You have been very ill."

"I need the privy," Murie replied, resisting all efforts to turn her back to the room.

"Oh." Emilie hesitated and then sighed, slipping an arm around her waist. "Come, then. I will help you."

"Thank you," Murie said.

Her gaze slipped around what she could see of the castle. She’d never been allowed to visit Emilie away from Windsor Castle; Emilie had always had to come to see her. ‘Your home looks nice, Emilie," she said as they moved up the hall.

Her friend chuckled. "It is. But you have only seen your chamber and the hall. You shall see more before you leave," she promised.

"I do not remember arriving here," Murie admitted. "The last thing I recall is stopping for the night after riding in the wagon all day."

"Do you remember feeling sick?"

"Aye." Murie wrinkled her nose. "My stomach did not like riding in that wagon."

"It was not the wagon ride," Emilie said quietly. ‘You were poisoned."

"What?" Murie paused to glance at her with horror.

"It was not meant for you," Emilie explained quickly. "We think Balan was the target, but you ate half the meat you cooked for him."

"The meat was poisoned?" Murie asked with confusion. "But I spiced and cooked it myself."

"Aye, but you left it roasting and came down to the river to bathe, remember?"

"Oh, aye," Murie recalled, and remembered something else: "I told Balan that hearing the call of the curlew foretold death. If I had not eaten half that meat, it would have been so."

"Er. . ." Emilie bit her lip to hide a tolerant grin. "Well, anyway, they think it was poisoned while we were at the river. And they do think that your eating half probably saved Balan’s life."

"I ate more than half," Murie admitted with a grimace. "I did not mean to, but it was so good, and I just kept picking at it."

"Aye, well, you saved his life by that action, but nearly lost your own. You were terribly sick."

"Oh," Murie sighed. "Well, I do not mind so much. ‘Tis better to be ill than lose my husband."

Emilie smiled faintly. "Balan was most concerned. Sick as he was that night, he dragged himself to your side. Mind you, he fell unconscious directly afterward, but not until he had reached you."

"Oh!" Murie breathed.

"And then, the next morn, he took you up on his horse before him for the last part of the ride. Reginald and I said that we could wait until you had recovered to continue home, but he wanted to get you indoors and to Reynard where my maid, Marian, could tend you."

"Marian." Murie smiled at the name. The woman had cared for Emilie since she was a child and was very knowledgeable about medicinals and such, but she’d also been terribly kind to Murie whenever the two had met at court. Murie had been sorry when the woman announced that she was far too old to be making the journey anymore, and had ceased accompanying her mistress. That had been the year before Emilie married Reginald. The maid had eventually moved to Reynard, but that was the last move she’d made. She now stayed at Reynard all the time. "How is she?"

"Getting old," Emilie said on a sigh. "It scares me to see how paper thin her skin is getting and how fragile she grows. I fear I shall lose her soon."

"Nay," Murie said with certainty. "She is a strong woman. She will live to see all your children born –  and perhaps even their children as well."

"I hope you are right," Emilie replied.

They reached the privy and fell silent, Emilie waiting outside while Murie attended her needs. She then helped Murie back up the hall, but as they neared the stairs, Murie said, "I am hungry."

"That is a good sign. After I help you back to bed, I shall find you something to eat."

"I do not want to go back to bed," Murie announced stubbornly. "I want to be up and visiting with you."

"Perhaps later," Emilie suggested.

"But I want to visit with you now."

"Then I shall sit with you," Emilie said patiently.

"Balan is sleeping in our room. We cannot visit there. Can we not go below? I could see more of your castle that way." Emilie’s lips began to twitch, making Murie narrow her eyes.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I had forgotten that when you were sick was the only time you truly lived up to your reputation," Emilie said with amusement.

‘You were always a poor patient."

Murie made a face but didn’t deny it. She’d always found herself impatient with illness, not wanting to be held back by it. Perhaps because she knew others would see it as yet another weakness and a good opportunity to launch further verbal assaults.

"Very well." Emilie led her to the top of the stairs and paused there to call out, "Reginald! Pray, come help me bring Murie below."

Lord Reynard had been seated at the trestle table in the hall, but he was on his feet and up the stairs in a trice. "Should she be up?" he asked his wife with concern as he paused before them.

"Aye, she should," Murie snapped. He was ignoring her as if she were too ill to make up her mind for herself!

One eyebrow arching, amusement tugging at his lips, Reginald shrugged and scooped her into his arms to carry her downstairs.

"Very well, but you shall be the one to explain to Balan when he gets up. He will not be pleased, I am sure. I know I would not be, were Emilie up and about so soon after being so ill." Murie scoffed. "Then I suspect you will find yourself annoyed with her every time she is ailing, because Emilie is no better a patient than I, if I recall correctly."

Reginald chuckled, his chest vibrating against her side, and Murie smiled. She added, "Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you love my friend and are a good husband to her?"

"Have I ever told you how grateful I am that you did not ask the king to have me drawn and quartered for marrying her and stealing her away?" he returned.

Murie scowled over his shoulder at his wife. ‘You told him about that?" she asked with embarrassment. She’d been most distressed to learn her friend was to be married to some lord from the north. Emilie’s parents’ castle had been close to Windsor, and her visits prior to that had been most frequent. Neither of them had been pleased that she would be married and moved so far away. Murie had toyed with the idea of asking the king to prevent it, but then Reginald had arrived at court, and the couple had fallen so obviously in love that Murie had not.

Shaking her head at Emilie’s unrepentant grin, Murie turned to Reginald and said, "I would have, had you not been so perfect for each other."

"Then I should tell you that I am grateful you have always been a good friend to my wife, Murie Somerdale," he replied solemnly.

"That would be Lady Gaynor, Reynard! And just where the hell is it you are taking my wife?"

The three paused at the foot of the stairs, and Reginald turned back with Murie still in his arms to stare up at Balan. Murie bit her lip. Her husband was wearing only a cotehardie and no leggings, and his hair was standing up every which way, and he really looked angry. It was enough to make her burst into speech.