The Brat(19)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Good morning, husband. I got up on my own. I had to go to the privy. Fortunately, I happened upon Emilie in the hall, and she showed me where it was, but when she tried to get me to go back to bed, I explained that I am very hungry, so she asked Reginald to carry me down here, and now I am going to sit at table and eat because really I have been very ill, and I do need to build my strength back up, and I did not wish to disturb you while you were sleeping." She paused in her almost panicked explanation to take a breath, then asked, "Did you sleep well?" A sudden burble of laughter from Emilie made them all glance her way. She held an open hand before her face and shook her head. "I am sorry. Ignore me. It is probably being with child making me hysterical."

"That, or the fact that my husband is standing up there in no leggings, flashing himself to all and sundry in the hall," Murie said. She glanced at Balan, trying not to stare up his cotehardie.

"Really, husband .. . perhaps you should finish dressing." Balan did not cover himself or look embarrassed. He merely scowled harder, then turned to stalk back to their room. Reginald continued on to the table, carrying Murie, a giggling Emilie following. Murie said wryly, "Well.. . now everyone knows how well endowed my husband truly is. Is that not nice?"

"Already?" Murie stared at her husband in dismay. He’d been glowering and glaring since returning to the great hall fully clothed, but she’d not thought that he was annoyed enough to cut short their visit to Reynard and make her leave the day after they got there.

"We have to get to Gaynor and prepare for winter," he said.

"Aye, but you said we might stay a week – or a few days at least. I heard you tell Reginald that," she accused.

"Aye, and we have been here a week."

"What?" She gaped at him in disbelief, but recalled from what he’d said to Osgoode back at court that he wouldn’t lie to her. Still… Her gaze shot to Emilie for confirmation.

The woman nodded solemnly. ‘You have been very ill, Murie. It hit you much harder than it did Balan. You were delirious for this whole week."

Murie slumped in her seat with dismay, not having realized how long she’d been under the weather. She did not even recall waking since arriving at Reynard, yet they said she’d awakened several times this last week. Incredible.

"I am sorry that you will not get to spend more time with Emilie while you are conscious," Balan added, "But we cannot spare the time. We will give you this day to recover and visit, but we will have to continue on in the morning. Reginald has offered us the wagon for the remainder of the journey so that you may rest."

"Rest? In that hellish contraption?" she asked. She shook her head. "Oh, nay. I shall ride a horse. I am not riding in the wagon."

"We are almost there."

Murie glowered at her husband from where she was bouncing about in the back of the wagon. He looked so bloody cheerful, while she was horribly miserable. She wanted to snatch his smile right off his face. It had been a long and horrible journey. The only good thing about it was that it had been just one horribly long day in length. They had set out at sunrise – just Osgoode and Balan; and Murie and Cecily in the wagon; and of course the wagon driver, who would be making the return journey with an escort of two soldiers on the morrow after resting at Gaynor for the night.

Balan and Osgoode had not bothered with men-at-arms for their journey to court. Her husband had explained that all the men he’d brought back from battle had been needed to help keep Gaynor running now that so many servants had fled or died; he hadn’t wished to take them away when they were so badly needed at home. Besides, while he’d gone to court hoping to gain a bride, he’d not expected success to be so quick.

Without men to help guard their party, Balan had insisted on a grueling pace, not stopping to eat but eating in the saddle – or in the back of the wagon as was the case for Murie. However, food was not the only reason to stop. Murie had been suffering with a full bladder for much of the last two hours – not an easy thing when one was being jostled. Now she feared she might not make it to the castle without embarrassing herself.

As she was annoyed with her husband, Murie was reluctant to ask for anything, but she had no choice. Heaving a put-upon sigh, she called out and gestured him over to the side of the wagon. Peeling his mount away from Osgoode’s, Balan immediately moved to her side, keeping pace with the wagon as he raised an eyebrow in question.

"I need to visit the woods," she announced.

"What?" he asked with disbelief.

"I need to visit the woods," Murie repeated through slightly gritted teeth.

"Why?" He frowned.

"To … I… To visit the woods," she said lamely, blushing bright red. She could not believe he could not grasp the concept. For heaven’s sake, surely he must need to relieve himself by now, too!

"I believe she needs to tend to privy business," Osgoode said helpfully, having moved to ride beside Balan.

"Oh!" Balan’s eyes widened with understanding, he asked in mild irritation, "Well, why did you not just say so?"

"I did," she muttered.

Her husband urged his horse up beside the driver to tell him to stop, and Murie was out of the wagon almost before it did. She immediately forced her stiff legs to carry her into the woods along side the path, not bothering to wait for accompaniment. She did not care if it annoyed her husband that she was traipsing off by herself; she had to go and had to do so now, and she was annoyed with him anyway for making her ride in the cart. He could be annoyed back if he liked.

She carried out her business quickly and with much relief, then returned to the horses and wagon much more slowly than she’d left, uneager to climb into the uncomfortable contraption again. Oddly enough, it seemed a much longer walk back than it had been out.

"Murie!" Balan yelled.

Frowning, she paused and glanced back the way she’d come, wondering how her husband had got behind her.

"Murie!" Osgoode’s voice called from the same direction, and she turned and started that way, frowning with concern at the anxiety in their voices.

"Aye!" she shouted, moving a little more quickly. She hadn’t retraced far when Balan and Osgoode stepped out of the woods, relief on their faces.

"Were you lost?" Balan asked, looking her over as he approached.

"Nay, of course not. I was just coming back."

"You walked out a terribly long way and took so long we were worried," Osgoode explained. Balan was urging her back the way they’d come.

Murie bit her lip and realized she’d been heading away from the lane where the wagon waited. How had she got herself turned around like that? she wondered. The question flew from her mind, however, when the call of a cuckoo sang out nearby. Murie immediately threw herself to the ground and began to roll.

"Wife!" Balan was at once kneeling at her side, forcing her roll to an end. "Are you all right?"

"Of course," she said, sitting up. "But you really should not have stopped me."

"What were you doing?" he asked with bewilderment. Murie frowned. "Did you not hear the cuckoo? Nay, of course not, else you would have rolled on the ground, too." There was a moment of silence, and then Osgoode cleared his throat and asked, "Why would Balan have rolled on the ground, too?"

"Because ’tis good luck to do so at the first sound of the cuckoo’s call," she explained. "I would not normally do so, for fear I might ruin my gown, but with someone trying to kill my husband, it seems a good idea not to take any chances or miss any good luck we may gain. After all, I may be annoyed with him right now, but I am sure ’tis a temporary situation. I shall forgive him eventually. I would not wish him dead ere that happened."

"Ah," Osgoode murmured. His worried gaze found Balan, who stayed silent.

Murie frowned at her husband’s unreadable expression, then shrugged, stood and continued the way they had been heading. Behind her she heard Balan mutter, "I have married a mad woman."

"Aye, but at least you know she is not trying to kill you," Osgoode replied with amusement.

Murie whirled on them. "You may laugh if you wish, but did you not sneeze to your left ere we began this journey, husband?

And have we not had bad luck? And then, did you not step on St. John’s wort and get carried away by a horse? And did we not hear a curlew before you were poisoned? Aye." She nodded grimly.

"Laugh if you wish, but each event has been foretold by unlucky omens. You mark my words, you shall be grateful for my silly superstitions someday."

Turning on her heel, Murie flounced back to the wagon and crawled miserably into the back. The men remounted. She’d barely settled herself when her husband rode up and leaned over the side, hooked an arm around her waist and lifted her out onto his lap and the saddle.

"Thank you for troubling yourself to roll on the ground – even though it might ruin your gown – to gain some good luck for me," he whispered in her ear as she remained stiff in his arms. Murie released a little sigh at his words and sank into the comfort of his arms. This really was much better than the wagon.

"You are welcome, husband," she murmured. "And thank you for removing me from that horrible wagon."

"I could hardly have you riding up to the castle scowling like thunder. You would scare off the few servants we have left," he said, then smiled at her as her glower returned. "Aye, just like that."

Murie went stiff in his arms and tried to turn to ignore him, but Balan leaned down and began to nuzzle her ear. He whispered,

"Besides, it allows me to do this."

Murie gasped as his tongue slid out and whorled around her ear, the action having a surprising and immediate effect on other points of her body. Her stiffness was suddenly gone, and she pressed into him, her head turning to make his suckling easier. Chuckling at her response, Balan caught her by the chin and turned her face until he could kiss her,his tongue thrusting into her mouth and claiming ownership.

A shout drew them apart, and Murie turned to look forward as they broke from the trees through which they’d been passing for the past hour. She got her first view of her new home. The fields still had much of their produce on the vine, rotting. The village ahead and some distance to the right looked oddly still. The castle on the hill was large – and surprisingly lovely.

"We lost many people to the plague," Balan explained quietly, his eyes sliding over the fields. "My warriors have been reduced to trying to reap the harvest, but of course there are not enough of them, and they are not as skilled or quick as the peasants would have been. Much of the crop has been left where it grew."

"The land will be very fertile next year then," Murie noted.

"The soil will benefit from our loss."

She sensed the way his eyes shot to her, but she herself was busy looking at the man hurrying toward them up the lane. He was not a warrior, his body thin and undernourished. His hair was of a salt-and-pepper shade that suggested he was older than his spry behavior suggested, and his face was weathered with both age and exposure to the elements. He was one of the survivors of the village, she supposed.

He paused before them, and Balan reined in. It must have been he who had shouted a moment ago; there was no one else to be seen on this lonely lane.

"My lord, you are returned," the man said, smiling widely. "We heard news you were on the way and that you had yourself a beautiful bride." He turned an unabashed grin to Murie. "We are so very happy to have you at Gaynor, my lady."

"Thank you," she said, smiling in return.

"Murie," her husband said. "This is our stable master, Habbie." Once she’d murmured a greeting, Balan asked the man, "What are you doing out here?"

"Oh, I was thinking to find a little something for the horses," Habbie said with a shrug. "But ’tis all pretty much beyond being useful."

Murie followed the old man’s sad gaze over the fields, concern drawing her eyebrows together. "Is the situation so desperate, husband?" she asked.

"Aye," he replied with a sigh. "Hop on the wagon, Habbie. You may ride with us back to the keep."

Nodding, the man moved to the wagon. He spoke a greeting to Cecily in the back, then mounted the bench to sit beside the driver, and they were off again.

Murie examined everything much more closely now. The crop had obviously grown well; the only problem had been bringing it in, as her husband had said. That was important. This was healthy land, then, and likely to grow just as lush and strong a crop next year. Gaynor would recover.

The village was distressing to see. Even from the lane, Murie saw that it was inhabited by only ghosts. Neither person nor animal stirred as they rode past. Doors and window shutters on the small, thatched cottages stood free, slamming open and closed in the breeze. The small gardens around the buildings that had once boasted herbs and spices were now growing wild and filled with weeds.

Murie was relieved when they had passed by. Then she noted the huge mounds that lined the path on each side of them, and she didn’t need Balan to tell her that this was where they had buried their dead. So many dying so quickly had forced them to dig mass graves. Fear had been a part of that as well. The plague had made its way through all of England, including Berkshire, where Windsor Castle stood. Fear of the plague had been horrifying and had induced people to do the most appalling things.

Balan’s arms closed more securely around her waist, drawing her from her thoughts. She forced a smile for his benefit. Then they were passing over the drawbridge and riding into the castle’s outer bailey.

Here there were obvious signs of the plague’s effects as well, but they were only due to neglect and lack of manpower. The bailey at least had people in it, mostly men. Obviously they were warriors: most wore tabards and armor as they walked the walls or manned their posts. Others as big and brawny as those in uniform were wearing more serviceable clothes for labor, rough tunics and faded leggings.