The Brat(28)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Finished dressing, Balan began to look around for his boots. He noticed his wife hurrying for the door and frowned. "Where are you going?"

"If you insist on making this journey, there are a few things I need to gather together for you," she announced as she reached the door. Pausing, she turned to peer at. him worriedly. "You will not leave before I come back, will you? I will be as quick as I can."

"Come back from where?" Balan asked sharply, but she was already slipping through the door and pulling it closed.

Chapter Fifteen

"Where is my wife?" Balan shifted impatiently on his mount, his gaze moving around the bailey. When he did not spot her anywhere, he cursed under his breath and turned back to the keep as the doors opened. Rather than his wife, Anselm hurried out. Balan shouted, "Anselm! Have Godart and Erol not found my wife yet?"

"Nay, my lord. But I’m sure they will find her soon." The soldier came to stand by Balan’s mount. The man’s gaze shifted from Balan to Osgoode and back, and he said slowly, "Are you sure you will not take another man or two?"

"We have not another man to spare," he replied impatiently. Anselm had asked the question at least six times since learning of this trip, and Balan could not help noticing that while the man was not arguing the trek was needed, his concern seemed to be with Balan going alone with Osgoode. It would appear the soldier, like his wife, had suspicions where his cousin was concerned.

"Here she comes," Osgoode said, drawing Balan’s gaze toward the gates. His wife hurried across the bailey toward him. Balan frowned. "Where the devil is she coming from?" Not expecting an answer, he turned his horse and quickly rode to his wife’s side, scooping her up off the ground and settling her before him on his mount with one smooth action. She was apologizing before he could demand to know where she’d been.

"I am ever so sorry, husband," she said, digging around in the small bag she carried. "I did not intend to be so long, but I could not find a clover leaf. I mean, I could find a clover, but I wanted a four-leafed one. They are really the best, but ever so hard to find. And then, I had difficulty finding an even ash leaf, and once I did, I could not recall what you were to say as you picked it. I think it is, ‘Even ash I do thee pluck, hoping thus to meet good luck. If no good luck I get from thee, I shall wish thee on the tree.’ But I was not certain."

"Wife," Balan said the moment she paused to draw breath.

"Aye?" She stopped what she was doing to peer at him.

"Why are you sticking leaves and bits of twig in my clothing?" he asked with what he thought was a display of utmost patience.

"There is no need to yell, husband," Murie said, looking hurt.

"These are all charms to bring you luck. This twig is from a birch tree. It is supposed to avert the evil eye and has protective powers. And this is elder to – "

Balan silenced her explanations with a kiss. She was blessedly silent when it was over, except for a little sigh that slipped from her lips. It was enough to make him consider delaying the trip long enough to carry her up to their room and give her something to remember him by, but he resisted the temptation. Did he do that, he would never leave, and this trip was necessary. In fact, it was more than necessary. The things he intended to get were needed desperately. But should he not get her out of his lap soon, Balan knew he was in danger of forsaking this trip. While her superstitions and insistence on sticking twigs and leaves and other charms in every hole and spot she could find was annoying, it warmed his heart that she cared so much about him and was doing the only thing she could think of to keep him safe while he was away.

Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he bent to the side and set her on the ground at the foot of the stairs beside Anselm. Turning solemn eyes to the man, he ordered, "Look after her." His soldier nodded solemnly in return, and Balan started to turn his horse away.

"Oh! Wait, husband!" Murie cried, making him draw his horse to a halt and turn back. She rushed to his side.

"I forgot," she explained, grabbing his foot in the stirrup. She paused and began to work her mouth as if she had a bad taste in it. Balan was about to ask what she’d forgotten, when she nodded with apparent satisfaction and … spat on him.

Balan simply stared with disbelief. It was Osgoode who asked what he could not.

"Er.. . Murie? Did you just spit on Balan?" his cousin asked. Anselm rushed forward, eyes wide with horror.

"Aye." Murie beamed at them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. " ‘Tis good luck to spit on someone before they take a journey. ‘Twill protect them and bring them good fortune," she explained. She asked Osgoode, "Would you like me to spit on you, too?"

"Nay!" the man said quickly through laughter. Then he asked,

"Did you ever spit on the king before a journey?"

"Nay," she confessed. "But I am sure the queen did. I did once tell her about the custom, and she seemed most interested."

"Murie," Balan said as Osgoode burst into more laughter.

"Aye, husband?"

"Come here."

Her eyes suddenly wary, she hesitated, but then moved closer. Bending to the side, Balan lifted her up again, pressed a quick hard kiss to her lips and whispered, "I love you." He then quickly set her back down, turned his mount toward the gates and set out. He cast one quick glance back before riding out of the bailey, saw that his wife still stood where he’d set her, a stunned look on her face.

"I got the feeling that Anselm was none too pleased that I would be going with you on this trip," Osgoode commented as they crossed the drawbridge. When Balan did not comment, his cousin added, "You do not think he suspects me of knocking you into the river?"

"I do not know. He has not said anything," Balan answered with a shrug. But he added, "Murie does."

"What?" Osgoode glanced over with a start. "Never say she does. How could she suspect me?"

Balan shrugged again and pointed out, "You suspected her."

"Aye, but that was different."

"Of course it was," Balan said with amusement. Then he spurred his horse into a run. He did not wish to speak; he wanted to think on his wife and all the things he would do to her in their bed when he got home.

It was Cecily entering the room that woke Murie. Blinking open sleepy eyes, she saw the maid move quietly to her chest and sort through her clothes until she settled on Murie’s favorite, a burgundy gown and black surcoat. Murie’s eyes drifted shut as the maid closed the chest again. She’d been working terribly hard these last two days and had exhausted herself. She wished for just a couple more minutes sleep.

The moment her husband left the bailey, Murie had rounded up every available person at Gaynor and set to work. That first day they’d taken down all the tapestries and other decorations in the great hall and beaten or soaked them clean; then they’d whitewashed the walls, removed all the nasty old rushes and replaced them with fresh new rushes before hanging the tapestries and decorations back in their places. Everyone had been exhausted when they’d finally sought their beds for the night. But they’d also been back at it bright and early the next morning. Murie wasn’t sure if it was pride fueling their efforts to make the castle look at least almost as impressive as it used to for the arrival of the new servants her husband was bringing back, or the prospect of the more varied diet that was ensured by the livestock he was also fetching.

That second morning, Murie had set them to work on several different projects. Some she’d sent to the kitchens to help prepare for Balan’s return, but Clement had kept the kitchens in such good repair that few were needed there. The rest she set to work on the upper floor. She’d asked Anselm who among the men knew something about carpentry, then had sent the four he named to cut down trees and build a new bed frame. She’d set several others to making a new straw mattress for both their bed and Juliana’s, and the remainder of people to work in the hall and the guest rooms, cleaning and scrubbing and righting what they could.

Despite working well into the night, the men had not yet finished making the bed when she’d retired, though they’d promised to have it done today. The mattresses were done, however, as well as most of the cleaning. Today Murie planned to have new shutters made for the windows and to have Cecily go with Gatty’s daughters to collect more fresh rushes for the upper rooms. She would also set several men to repairing or rebuilding pens for the animals her husband was bringing back, while she herself worked on the gardens. Clement had done his best to keep up with that as well as the kitchens, but he was only one man. Sudden sunlight pouring over her face brought Murie’s eyes open with a start. Cecily had removed the fur from the window directly across from the bed, making it clear that her few more minutes of sleep were now done. It was time to rise and start the day. Her husband returned today.

The thought brought a grin to her face, and Murie scrambled up off the straw mattress, full of pep and vigor.

"Good morning, Cecily. Today is a fine day, is it not?" she said happily, her gaze sliding to the bright sunny sky outside the window.

"Aye, my lady. A fine day," Cecily agreed with a smile, handing her a small bit of linen to wash herself.

Accepting it, Murie moved to the basin of water, stripped off her undertunic and began.

"So, what tasks have you decided to set us to today?" Cecily asked, moving to collect the gown and surcoat laid out on the chest. "Scrubbing the outside of the castle walls, mayhap?" Murie wrinkled her nose and assured her, "You shall have a much easier task today. We need new rushes for the other rooms above stairs. I thought you and Gatty’s daughters could go collect them. ‘Twill give you a chance to lounge about and giggle without my snapping at you all to get back to work." She finished with the linen and rose water, and turned to accept the green gown Cecily held out.

"And what shall you be doing?" Cecily asked as Murie donned the gown.

"Working in the garden, I think," Murie answered. She tugged the gown into place and reached for the surcoat. "It has grown over quite badly with no one to tend it. I thought to weed and see what is usable and what is not. Some of the herbs will still be usable and can be dried for use in winter, but not for much longer. The sooner I start that the better; else we will be either eating tasteless, unseasoned dishes or purchasing herbs at an exorbitant price."

"Aye." Cecily nodded, moving behind her and setting to work on her hair. "But even unseasoned beef and chicken would be welcome rather than fish three times a day."

Murie wrinkled her nose in agreement. The boar had gone quickly, and they’d returned to their diet of fish. After just two days, Murie felt sure she could happily skip ever eating fish again.

"There you are," Cecily said as she got the last of the tangles out of Murie’s hair. "Do you wish me to collect Gatty’s daughters and head out straight away to search for more rushes, or is there something else you want done first?"

"Nay, go on. You shall most like have to make several trips with just the three of you working, and I would have it done ere Balan returns. Best to start right away."

"He should not be back ere sup, should he?" Cecily asked. She collected the scented water and damp linen.

"He thought closer to noon – or even earlier," Murie replied, looking for her leather pattens. She’d kicked the shoes off before crawling into bed last night, she thought, but they were not by the bedside. "He hoped to finish his business in Carlisle by early yesterday afternoon and travel halfway back, then camp and finish the journey home this morning."

"We had best get moving then," Cecily said, heading for the door.

"Aye," Murie agreed, relieved to spot her pattens. She pulled them on, hurried out of the room and rushed below stairs. It was the same pattern for much of the day: Murie and everyone else rushed around trying to get everything done. She herself spent most of the time in the garden, but was constantly interrupted by questions. The men Anselm had set to the task of building pens came to ask how big they should make them and where exactly she wished them to go. Murie had to look at where the old pens sat rotting and to make suggestions that they pretty much ignored: They decided for themselves what to do in an open debate.

Rolling her eyes at the men, she’d returned to the garden, only to be interrupted when the men working on the bed came to tell her it was done and in the bedchamber. Of course, she’d had to stop what she was doing to rush up and inspect and praise their efforts. Then Cecily and the girls came to inform her that Juliana’s room now had a new carpet of rushes. Murie had praised them for working so quickly and sent them off to find more for the other rooms above stairs. And then one of the men working on the new shutters had approached to show her what they had come up with and to ask if it would do, so that they could make the rest of them. Murie had praised the design and sent him on his way with a little sigh, hoping that she could at least get a quarter of the garden done before her husband returned.

By the time Anselm approached, Murie was growing quite short-tempered, and her voice was a tad sharp as she glanced up from where she knelt. "Aye? What now?"

The man-at-arms raised his eyebrows, but he merely said,

"Company has arrived. ‘Tis Lord Aldous."

Murie sat back on her heels. "Alone?"

"Nay. He has Baxley with him."

"Baxley?" Murie echoed.

"He is supposed to be Lord Aldous’s servant, but is really kept around to protect him in case there is trouble. Malculinus takes him everywhere. Although, perhaps it was not necessary the man stick close at court."

Murie shrugged with disinterest. "Tell him I am too busy to see him."

"Do you think that is wise, my lady?"

She’d started to bend back to her weeds, but paused at the question. Eyebrows rising, she asked, "What do you mean?"