The Brat(26)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Aye," Cecily agreed solemnly. "And then I ran into the castle and grabbed a fur from the bed and rushed out to cover her with it as the men hurried to take the litter."

Osgoode nodded and added enviously, "She must love you very much to go to such ends to see you safe."

Balan paused and stared at his cousin. Love? Had it been love that made her drag him nak*d from the river to the castle? Could she really love him? The idea almost made him smile, but then he recalled that, had she loved him, surely she would be here when he woke. Which she wasn’t.

"Where is my wife?" he asked with a growl.

"She went below to see if she could come up with something to help with your pain when you woke. She said your head would be splitting when you finally did." Seeing Balan’s irritation, Osgoode added, "But she was most worried for your well-being and would not leave until both Cecily and I agreed to stay with you."

"Hmmmph." Balan shifted in the collapsed bed. He supposed her leaving to see to his comfort was acceptable. And insisting upon two people to watch him was good. It showed more care and concern than asking only one to stay. Still, he wished she’d been here when he’d first opened his eyes. Actually, he wished she’d been there with something for his pain. The dratted woman was right – his head was splitting.

"Do you remember what happened?" Osgoode asked suddenly.

"How did you end up falling in the river and hitting your head?"

"I did not fall in the river and hit my head," he announced grimly. "Someone crept up behind me and hit me over the head. I fell in the river … or perhaps they pushed me in after. Whichever the case, this was no accident."

Osgoode sat back on the mattress, eyes narrowed thoughtfully. They were all three on the straw-stuffed mattress on the floor. Balan lay on his back in the middle, and the maid and Osgoode were seated on either side. There were no chairs in the room.

"You do not think Murie – ," Osgoode began.

"Osgoode!" Balan snapped and regretted it at once. Clutching his head, he said through gritted teeth, "You have just finished telling me that my wife stripped nak*d and dragged me back up the path to the castle to save my life. Do not dare suggest the woman tried to kill me first and then tried to save me. Should you be foolish enough to do so – aching head or no aching head –  I shall rise up out of this bed and strike you down."

"Nay, of course not," Osgoode said quickly. "It was just a thought."

Balan started to shake his head with disgust, but paused with a grimace at the pain that engendered. Shifting impatiently in bed, he muttered, "Where is my wife?"

"Very well, I have arranged it so that Cecily and Osgoode stay by my husband’s side. Now, what is it that was so important you had to drag me away when he most needs me?" Murie asked, her gaze sliding over the group gathered at the castle wall. Everyone was there: Gatty, her son and two daughters, Juliana, Clement, Thibault and every last one of the soldiers as far as she could tell. Murie supposed they’d chosen the wall to avoid leaving it unmanned, while also avoiding leaving anyone out. That fact made her curious, but – much to her exasperation – no one was answering her question; instead they were all avoiding looking at her and shifting uncomfortably.

Murie knew what the problem was, of course. They had seen her nak*d as the day she was born and were now embarrassed in her presence. She understood, though she did wonder that they should be reacting thus when she was the one who should be squirming. However, odd as it might seem, their very discomfort eased her own, and she was the only one not blushing.

"Anselm?" she asked finally. As the man Balan left in charge of Gaynor when he was away, the soldier seemed the most likely leader of this procession.

The man hesitated, his eyes skating to her and then away as if she were still nak*d rather than in a clean new gown of pale cream. She was about to prompt him again when he spoke.

"We have been thinking, my lady," he started. "And it occurred to us that the only people on the journey between court and Reynard were Lord and Lady Reynard, their men-at-arms, the Reynards’ servants, your maid, Cecily, and Osgoode."

"Aye," Murie murmured, knowing where this was going. The fact had occurred to her as well.

"So … it has to be one of them," Godart announced, as if it were obvious. Which, she supposed, it was. But Murie frowned. Cecily had been a good and loyal servant, following her to court and mopping up her tears when the other girls had been at their worst. As for Osgoode: she wasn’t as sure about him, but she liked her husband’s cousin and did not wish to think he was involved. She had another culprit she would prefer it to be.

"We must consider motive here," she said at last. "Who would have a motive to kill Balan? Surely, neither Osgoode nor Cecily would have reason?"

"I do not know about your maid, but Osgoode would," Anselm said slowly.

Murie blinked in surprise. "What motive would he have?" The soldier shrugged. "He inherits if Balan dies." Murie scowled. "I would think Juliana would inherit should Balan die. She is his sister."

"Gaynor has always passed down through the men. A son or nephew always inherits. Juliana would inherit her mother’s demesne, but Osgoode would get Gaynor."

Murie’s gaze slid to Juliana, but the child seemed neither surprised nor hurt by this announcement.

"There are other possibilities," she said at last.

"Such as?" Anselm asked.

Murie hesitated. "If there were a party traveling nearby that we had not realized was there, for instance," she suggested.

"Someone from that party may have put the thistle under Balan’s saddle and poisoned that meat."

"Like Lord Malculinus and his sister, Lauda?" Habbie asked.

"You did mention that their party must have left court on your heels to arrive at Gaynor when they did. Are you thinking they could be behind these attacks?"

"Well, there were no more attacks once we reached Reynard," Murie pointed out. "And they have only now started up again. Gatty told me they are neighbors to us."

"Aye," Erol said, but sounded doubtful. Murie understood why when he added, "While no one might have necessarily noticed anyone specifically near the horses or by the cooking meat, a stranger would definitely have been noticed lurking about." He shook his head. "It really is more likely someone in the party." Murie frowned with displeasure. She preferred the Aldouses as suspects, and so suggested, "Mayhap they bribed one of Lord Reynard’s men to perform the deeds and traveled close by to hear the results."

"That is possible," Godart murmured. Then he pointed out,

"This latest attack did take place outside the gates and could be from an outsider."

Anselm nodded slowly. "Aye, and Aldous could have bribed one of Reynard’s men."

They were all silent for a moment. Murie at last said, "Well, we still do not know who it is. It could be Osgoode or Cecily," she agreed reluctantly. "But it could also be Lord Aldous behind it all. So, I suggest – "

"But what would his motive be?" Gatty interrupted. "He and Balan have been at odds for years, but Malculinus has never resorted to trying to kill him before this. Why now?" Murie wrinkled her nose. "Malculinus and Lauda apparently intended to try to trick me into marriage,but Balan stopped them, and I ended up marrying him instead. Malculinus may want revenge."

"Or to make you a widow so you will marry him after all," Anselm suggested.

Murie snorted. "I would not marry him if he were the last man in England."

"You were going to suggest something, my lady," Thibault reminded her. "Before Gatty interrupted. You said, ‘So I suggest…’ What were you going to say?"

"Oh, aye." Murie dragged her mind back on track and said, "As we are not sure who the culprit is and are short the manpower to watch all three suspects, mayhap the best bet is to set two men on Balan to watch him."

"Two?" Anselm asked with a grimace. "My lady, we are short-staffed. Can we not make it one?"

Murie bit her lip. She would feel better if it were two, but they were at a terrible disadvantage when it came to number. Sighing, she nodded. "Very well, make it one. One man should be with Balan at all times to watch for any future attempts until this is resolved."

"Lord Balan is not going to like having a minder," Erol grumbled. "He’ll order against it, and we will have to listen." Murie’s mouth set with displeasure. It was true: Balan probably wouldn’t like it and would find a way to be rid of anyone guarding him … if he knew they were. "Very well, one man must watch him from a distance, doing his best to avoid being noticed by Balan in the process."

"That may work," Anselm admitted.

The men all mumbled their agreement, and Anselm turned to Erol and Godart. "You two can watch him in shifts, one during the day and one at night. You can decide which shift you want between the two of you.

But," he added, his gaze moving over everyone present, "I want everyone to try to keep an eye out for him. If you see Lord Balan about, take note that all is well and that no one is watching or following him or acting strangely." When everyone murmured or nodded, Anselm clapped his hands. "That is it then. We can all go back to our duties."

Feeling a little better now that she knew Balan would have someone watching over him at all times, Murie joined the others in leaving the castle wall. She was back in the keep and halfway across the great hall before she became aware that she was being followed. Glancing back, she raised an eyebrow at the sight of Juliana trailing after her. The girl was biting her lip and looking anxious.

With all the excitement and worry since coming upon her husband in the river, Murie hadn’t given a thought to how this must have upset the child. Pausing, she held her hand out, smiling when the girl slipped fingers into hers.

"You saved him," Juliana whispered in a trembling voice, and before Murie could speak, added, "but what if he is killed the next time? He is all I have."

Murie’s smile faltered at the child’s words, knowing the incident had raised fears of what would happen if her brother died. It was a worry Murie had never had as a child… until she’d found herself orphaned. Kneeling, she took the girl by the shoulders and stared her straight in the face. "Nay. You have me now, too … and I promise you, should anything happen to your brother, I shall take care of you."

Juliana bit her lip and managed a trembling smile. "And I would look after you, too."

Murie smiled at the child and gave her a quick hug. "That is what sisters are for," she whispered by her ear,and thought to herself that she was beginning to love the sister as much as the brother. The thought so startled her that Murie simply knelt there when Juliana stepped back. She barely heard the girl say she was going to go find Frederick and run down to the stables to see if Habbie’s dog had had her litter yet; she was simply too stunned by her own thoughts.

Standing slowly, she continued on toward the stairs, but her mind was racing. Did she love her husband? Certainly she liked him, respected him, and she definitely enjoyed their marital bed … but love? How could she love him already?

Murie’s parents had had a wonderful marriage. They had been a loving and affectionate couple. But they had seemed to her to be the exception rather than the rule. The behavior she’d seen at court had been somewhat less than stellar: married noblemen dallying with maids in whatever dark corner they could find, while their wives took lovers of their own in more discreet but no less adulterous affairs. She’d seen men beat their wives in public after too much drink, insult them publicly after nothing to drink and just generally treat them poorly. But Balan had never treated her so, and she was quite positive he never would, though she could not have said why. There was just something too honorable about the man for her to believe he would ever sink to such behavior.

But love … ?

"Aye," she admitted on a sigh. She loved him. And, if for no other reason than that, she could not lose him. She would do all in her power to ensure whoever was trying to kill him did not succeed.

Balan woke slowly and opened his eyes, relieved to note that this time his head was not aching. He supposed he could thank Murie’s medicinals for that. They had worked wonders when she’d finally returned. The noxious brew had tasted bitter and nasty, but his headache had soon eased. The only problem was that the brew had made him sleepy as well, and he’d soon found himself falling off to sleep again.

Wondering what time it was, he peered around the room. The chamber was dark, lit only by the fire, which cast dancing shadows across the wall. At first he thought his wife had left him alone, but then he saw her kneeling on a fur before the fire, mending something by the light cast by the flames. He watched her for a moment as she concentrated on her stitches and had just realized that the pale yellow cloth she held must be Juliana’s new dress when he became aware of the pungent smell in the air.

"What is that smell?" he asked after a moment. It smelled like onions to him, but there was no good reason that he could think for the room to reek of the scent.

Murie glanced up from sewing, wide eyes swiveling his way.

"You are awake." Setting Juliana’s dress aside, she climbed to her feet and crossed to the bed.

"Aye," Balan acknowledged, as she settled on the straw mattress next to him and placed a hand at his cheek. Her gaze slid over his face and eyes.

"Your coloring is much better, and your eyes are clear," she noted. "The rest has done you good. How is your head?"

"Fine," he muttered, then repeated, "What is that smell?"

"What smell?" she asked with confusion.

"It smells like onions," he said, glancing around again.

"Oh. Well that would be onions," Murie answered,bending to pick up a tankard of some liquid left beside the mattress. Straightening, she held it out. "Here. Drink this."