The Brat(29)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"Well, it occurred to me you might be able to learn something that would give us a better idea if Malculinus is behind these attacks on his lordship," Anselm said slowly. "He may let something slip, or at the very least his behavior toward you may tell us whether he has hopes of marrying you should his lordship die."

Murie hesitated. She really had no desire to even look at the man, let alone speak to him, and she had so much work to do. But if Malculinus were behind the attacks on her husband . . .

"Aye," she agreed, getting stiffly to her feet. "I shall see what I can find out."

Anselm nodded encouragingly. "I shall stay close by, in case there is trouble."

"Thank you," she said, though she doubted Lord Aldous would openly cause trouble at Gaynor. He seemed to prefer sneaky, behind-the-back methods of getting what he wanted.

"Lady Murie!" Malculinus stood and greeted her with a smile when she entered the great hall. "You have done wonders with the castle. It almost appears livable again. It had really gone to ruin since the plague."

"Thank you, my lord," Murie said stiffly as she approached the table, for truly, that was about the most backhanded compliment she’d ever received. It "almost appeared livable"? It looked bloody lovely to her eyes. Irritated, she turned her gaze to the man with Malculinus and felt her eyes narrow. Anselm had said Malculinus took Baxley with him everywhere, but she hadn’t recalled him hanging about Malculinus at court. She had assumed he hadn’t needed his services there. Still, the man did look familiar. He was tall and more slender than she would have expected in a bodyguard, and his hair was a strawberry blond. She was trying to sort out where she’d seen him when Malculinus took her hand and pressed a kiss to it.

"You are more than welcome," Malculinus assured her, peering up from where he bent over her hand, his lips still touching it and moving against her skin. "And more than welcome at Castle Aldous anytime. In fact, I was just telling Baxley that I should be so lucky as to have a wife as industrious as yourself to grace my castle. Although, of course, you yourself would be preferred." Murie blinked and snatched her hand away, trying to sort out whether he’d just said something terribly bold, or if she’d misunderstood completely. A glance in Anselm’s direction suggested she’d not misunderstood. Malculinus had just openly claimed he would gladly take her to wife. The only problem was, she was already married.

As if reading her mind, Malculinus said, "Where is your husband? Not still sick in bed after his head wound, I hope? We did hear at Aldous of his misadventure, and I wished to come by and extend my condolences."

"Condolences are unnecessary. Balan is fine," she assured him grimly. "Is he here then?"

Murie hesitated, unsure if telling the man where her husband was would be smart. If Malculinus were behind these attacks, he might arrange an ambush upon her husband’s return. Although, she supposed that would be difficult on such short notice, and she need not say when he was returning.

"My husband is out at the moment," she answered, deciding upon caution.

Malculinus made a moue of disappointment. "I suppose we shall just have to enjoy your company alone then." Murie very much suspected he would be the only one to enjoy the time. Still, she had to try to find out what she could and supposed she would have to be nice to do so.

"Would you care for a drink, my lord?" she asked.

"Or something to eat?"

While the offer sounded polite and even friendly, Murie was aware of its punitive nature even as she spoke. Fish cakes and the rather vile ale they had at Gaynor would hardly be a treat for this man, who probably had a proper alewife with the proper ingredients to make the drink, as well as plenty of foodstuffs to make delectable treats.

"Fishcakes and bad ale?" Malculinus asked with a laugh.

"Thank you, no."

Murie’s eyes narrowed, but she simply said, "You seem to know quite a bit of what goes on at Gaynor, my lord."

"Aye." He smiled beatifically. "Your cook’s sister is still at Aldous. Did you know?"

"Clement?" Murie asked with surprise. She hadn’t realized he had family, but then, the cook wasn’t the most talkative of men.

"Aye. His sister visits him quite frequently here at Gaynor, and I like to check with her and see how things are going from time to time. She was most relieved that Balan was going to find more help and livestock for his people. She was quite worried about her brother for a while."

Murie glanced quickly to the side, noting movement out of the corner of her eye. Anselm was heading for the kitchen, an expression like thunder on his face.

"Anselm," she called sharply, drawing him to a halt. He glanced back, and she shook her head. His mouth worked briefly, but then he returned to where he’d been, obviously not pleased that he could not go give Clement a telling off for speaking to his sister. But Murie would not allow it. She would speak to the cook later and tell him that Malculinus was pumping his sister for information, and then she would suggest that Balan offer the woman a job at Gaynor. She was not going to restrict the man from talking to his sibling, however.

To be honest, she very much doubted Clement had told his sister anything. The man was as grouchy as a scalded cat and silent as a stone at the best of times; she couldn’t imagine that changing even with his sister. Murie suspected most of the information the woman had gained was simply by walking through the bailey on her way around to the kitchens and seeing the state of things. Or perhaps from Gatty’s daughters. Estrelda and Livith were proving quite chatty.

As if her thinking of them brought them forward, the keep doors suddenly opened and Gatty’s daughters and Cecily hurried in, their arms full of rushes. All three glanced curiously toward the table, and the guests and all three women did a double-take at Baxley. It made Murie glance toward the man again, and she realized what she’d completely missed the first time she’d looked. The man was extraordinarily handsome. The girls obviously thought so, too. They were craning their necks and likely to break them in a tumble down the stairs in their effort not to look away. One of Gatty’s daughters – the younger one, Estrelda –  stumbled on a step. Dropping her burden, she grabbed for the rail in an effort to save herself. Cecily, following the girl up, immediately dropped her own pile of rushes to save Estrelda from tumbling back down the stairs. Fortunately, she managed. Releasing a little sigh of relief as the women bent to begin picking up the rushes, Murie started to shake her head and then turned sharply back to Malculinus. He’d grasped her hand.

"I hate to see you in such dire straits," he said, rubbing his thumb lightly over her fingers. "If there is anything I can do to help …"

Murie stiffened as his other hand suddenly ran lightly up her inner arm, brushing against her breast.

"Like you helped Lady Jane?" she asked coldly. There was just so much she would take in an effort to learn if Malculinus was behind these attacks. Besides, he wasn’t likely to blurt a confession, and she already knew that he knew everything that went on here. She’d had quite enough of the man and had better things to do than waste time having him grope her.

"What do you know about Lady Jane?" he asked sharply. Murie smiled. While they were playing chess the night before he left, Balan had told her what he and Osgoode had seen on St. Agnes Eve. She knew all about Malculinus’s liaison with Lady Jane, and she thought the man was despicable. She had no doubt he’d convinced Lady Jane that he would marry her in order to get her into bed. Now the woman was caught in a terrible situation that would become a horrible scandal when everything came out, which it surely-must do if she was pregnant.

A titter of sound drew her gaze back to the women on the stairs, and Murie frowned as she saw that Baxley was now there. The man was smiling and flirting and using every opportunity he could to touch both Estrelda and Cecily as he piled rushes back into their arms.

Like lord, like servant, she thought derisively, and watched in tense silence until the women continued on their way above stairs. Only then did she turn back to Malculinus. He’d been talking throughout her inattention, apparently oblivious of her disinterest. The moment he fell silent, she said, "I would appreciate it if you and your man would leave now, my lord. I have much to get done ere my husband returns and little enough time in which to do it. I cannot spend hours on company at the moment."

She saw fury in Lord Aldous’s eyes, but then it was gone, hidden behind a wide, fake smile.

"Of course. How thoughtless of me. No doubt you shall work yourself to the bone trying to keep this place running," he said sweetly. Then he added archly, "We must hope you do not end up working yourself to the grave as well."

When Murie’s only response was for her mouth to tighten and she resisted the urge to insult him back, Malculinus decided to get in a couple more blows. "I think the king made a mistake in allowing you to choose your own husband. You really have chosen poorly, Murie. While the plague greatly reduced the number of single lords out there, surely you could have found someone a little better set than this? Look at you. You were among the most beautiful at court, yet here you look no better than a filthy, common peasant. Oh, how the mighty do fall." Murie clenched her fists, but she raised a hand to stop Anselm when she sensed him closing the distance between them. She could feel the anger vibrating off him at Malculinus’s insult. Once he stopped, she merely asked Malculinus politely, "Are you quite finished?"

"Why? Are you going to cry for me, my little royal brat?" Murie stiffened – more at the excited look in his eyes than the use of the old nickname. The man wanted her to cry. He would enjoy it if she did, and she suspected –  unless she did something

– Malculinus would probably stand there all day hurling insults at her to make it happen. Murie simply did not have time for that. Without planning it out or even realizing she intended to do so, her right fist suddenly shot out, slamming into the man’s nose. It hurt like the devil and her knuckles vibrated with pain, but the satisfaction of Malculinus holding a suddenly gushing nose and squealing like a little girl more than made up for it, Murie watched with a small smile as Baxley hurried the rest of the way to the trestle table and his lord’s side. The man examined Lord Aldous’s nose, pronounced it broken and then ripped a strip off his doublet to stop the blood. He then cast an uncertain frown Murie’s way and shook his head, leading Malculinus to the keep doors. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to attempt retribution. Murie followed in their wake, aware that Anselm had moved to her side. She had no desire to have to speak to Malculinus again, but she did wish to be sure he left. She followed them outside and stood at the top of the stairs, watched as Baxley helped Malculinus onto his mount. He then took the reins and mounted his own horse, leading his master home like a child rather than a grown man suffering a bloodied nose.

"Well," Anselm murmured as they watched the pair ride out.

"If Lord Aldous was the one behind the attacks because he hoped to marry you, I suspect they will end quite suddenly." Murie turned to peer at him, and he explained, "No man wants to marry a woman who can best him in a fight."

She smiled faintly, then shook her head and turned away. "I shall be in the garden should you need me."

"Aye, my lady," Anselm said. He added with a laugh, "And I shall be running around the castle checking on everyone’s progress – and telling every last man what you just did. They will find it quite entertaining, I am sure. As will his lordship when he returns."

Murie did not bother to comment. She headed up the stairs to pass through the keep and back to the garden. This time she got to work for quite a period before anyone interrupted. The sun was high in the sky, suggesting it was time to break for the nooning meal when she heard shouting.

"My lady!"

Murie straightened and peered up the path to see Godart rushing toward her, excitement on his face.

"His lordship has been sighted," he gasped as he paused beside her. "They are riding up to the drawbridge now, and the men on the wall say there are six cows, as many pigs and three wagons –  one holding what looks to be half a dozen servants, and the others holding rolls of cloth and they think caged birds." Smiling, Murie scrambled to her feet. Balan was home.

Yes, the servants and livestock were grand news, but more important to her was the fact that Balan was home. The man had said he loved her before leaving and had left her gaping after him like a fish out of water. Now it would be her turn. She would run out to greet him by throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him soundly and telling him that she loved him, too.

Laughing with joy, she hurried up the path with Go-dart on her heels and rushed through the kitchen, the great hall and finally out onto the keep steps. In her excitement, Murie didn’t notice that the kitchen and great hall were empty, but they must have been, for every single inhabitant of Gaynor was already at the bottom of the steps waiting when she stepped outside.

Smiling at their excitement, she tripped lightly down the stairs to wait with them just as the traveling party rolled through the gate. They all watched impatiently as the small convoy made its way across the bailey before finally coming to a halt. Everyone began to converge on the wagons at once.

Thibault rushed to greet the new servants and welcome them to Gaynor almost as effusively as he’d greeted Murie.

Clement and Habbie went straight to the animals, examining the cows and exclaiming over two of them being milking cows, then moving to peer at the chickens, licking their lips the whole while.

Gatty rushed to the wagon with the rolls of cloth, Juliana and Frederick trailing her. She cried out with excitement that they could make new clothes. Her daughters would be ecstatic when they returned with Cecily from collecting rushes, she said, teary-eyed as she examined the cloth and noted aloud that there wasn’t one roll even close to the color brown.

The soldiers and other men were also gathered around the wagon with the cloth, but their interest was caught by the barrels of ale and mead on board. Truly, every last one looked as if he might cry for joy.