The Brat(30)
Author: Lynsay Sands

While the others gathered around, chattering excitedly, Murie and Anselm remained where they were, both frowning. They looked over the party. There were two mounted men with the wagons, but they were not her husband and Osgoode.

"Where is my husband?" Murie asked with confusion, uncaring about the servants and livestock her husband had managed to find. Her gaze slid back to the armed soldiers and she frowned.

"And who are these men?"

"Did you say your husband?" one of the men asked with surprise. "Did you mean Osgoode?"

"Nay. Balan," Murie said. "I am Lady Gaynor. Who are you?"

"We were hired by your husband to help guard the wagons on the way back from Carlisle," the soldier answered slowly. Then he said, "How did you get back to the keep so quickly?" Murie peered at him with confusion. "What are you talking about? I have been here at the keep all day… working in the gardens."

When the two soldiers exchanged a glance, Murie felt alarm clutch at her. Something was wrong.

"Where is my husband?" she asked again, demanding this time.

"He is in the village below, outside the gates. Osgoode said he saw Lord Balan’s wife in one of the cottages. There was smoke coming from the chimney. Lord Gaynor ordered us to continue on to the castle with the wagons, and the two rode for the village to find you."

Murie’s gaze shot to Anselm’s in alarm, which she saw mirrored on his weathered face. "I shall fetch some men and look into it," he assured her, and he rushed off toward the stables.

Murie watched the man-at-arms go, her mind in an uproar. She was positive this was somehow another attempt on her husband’s life and had no time to wait for horses or Anselm to round up men to check. Her gaze swung back to the armed guards who were now dismounting. Moving quickly forward, Murie snatched the reins from the nearest man’s unsuspecting hands and clambered atop his mount’s back.

"Hey! That’s my horse!" the man cried, moving to stop her, but Murie was not willing to be stopped. Pulling hard on the reins, she turned the animal toward the gates and dug in her heels. The horse was very responsive and charged forward at once.

Murie heard the shouts and commotion behind her but did not slow. Her husband needed her.

Chapter Sixteen

"Are you sure it was Murie?" Balan asked as they rode toward the row of empty buildings that made up the village. They’d waited at the bend where the road to the castle split off toward the village to be sure the wagon train made it to the drawbridge unmolested before continuing on to meet his wife. It had been a relatively short but hard journey, and he’d spent too much money for very little return to risk bandits, or even the armed guards he’d paid to accompany them, running off with either the servants he’d managed to hire or the items he’d purchased – even for the sake of meeting his wife.

"Aye. She had on that black and burgundy gown she favors," Osgoode answered, but he was frowning as he added, "I wonder why she is in the village? You do not think she believed we would be putting the servants up there, do you?"

Balan frowned at the suggestion. It had never occurred to him that she might make such an assumption. In fact, it had never occurred to him to put up the new servants in the village, but that was a perfectly fine idea. It was close enough that they could walk up in the mornings to attend their duties, as well as walk home at night when they were finished. But at the same time, they’d have their own homes, with their own bit of gardens to work come spring. That might prevent their being lured away by another lord.

It also would have the added benefit of preventing the village from falling into complete ruin.

Balan smiled to himself and shook his head. Wasn’t his wife a clever puss to think of such a thing?

"Or mayhap she arranged a special welcome home for you after your journey," Osgoode suggested with a grin. "Mayhap she has a picnic set out by a cozy little fire for the two of you."

"Oh, aye." Balan chuckled. "Fish cakes and rotten ale, in a cottage filthy with neglect and us sweltering from a fire that is not needed on such a fine day."

"You are right, cousin," Osgoode agreed with a frown. "It is far too warm today to be bothered with a fire. Whatever can she be doing in there?"

Balan shook his head, beginning to frown as he pondered. Why would she have a fire going in the cottage?

"Perhaps she is burning something sweet smelling to remove a bad stench," Osgoode suggested. He was silent for a moment before offering with amusement, "Or perhaps it is another one of her superstitions."

Balan grimaced. His wife did seem to have far too many superstitions: It was something he would have to work on. He would not have Murie going around throwing herself to the ground every time a cuckoo called or worrying that something ill was going to happen every time a curlew sang.

"I hope she has got past the ridiculous idea that I am trying to kill you," Osgoode said suddenly, drawing Balan’s attention. He peered at his cousin curiously. "Have you ever considered it?"

"What? Killing you?" Osgoode asked, looking shocked. Balan shrugged. "You would inherit everything." Osgoode burst out laughing. "Oh, aye. I would inherit a castle with fields full of rotting vegetation, no coins to repair it and too few servants to work it – and all the headaches involved in returning it to some semblance of its former glory. Delightful! Let me just find my dagger, Balan, and I shall gut you where you sit." Balan smiled faintly. " ‘Tis not so bad. ‘Twill be a year or two of hard work and expense, but then we should be fine."

"Aye, but you have Murie and her dower to help. Both equally valuable I think."

"Nay," Balan assured him. "The dower is useful and will help Gaynor recover more quickly, but Murie is definitely more valuable."

He was aware of the way Osgoode stared at him, but was still unprepared when the man said, "You love her!" Balan nodded solemnly, not willing to deny it.

Osgoode smiled and then began to laugh.

"What is so funny?" Balan asked.

"I was just recalling how you squawked at the very idea of marrying her when I first suggested it. What was it you said… ?" He tipped his head back and peered at the sky thoughtfully. "Oh, yes, I believe your response was, You are quite mad if you think I would even momentarily consider marrying the king’s spoiled goddaughter.’" He grinned at Balan and taunted, "I must be quite mad indeed."

"Oh, all right, have your fun," Balan muttered. Then he grinned and added, "But I have Murie."

"Aye, you do," Osgoode said, sobering. "And you are most fortunate to have her. I hope I am so fortunate one day." Now it was Balan’s turn to grin. Eyes sparking with deviltry he said, "Mayhap I can help you with that. Murie may know one or two ladies at court with a home and demesne of their own for you to rule."

Osgoode gave a quick laugh. "Oh, dear Lord, do not even say it!"

"Why not?" Balan asked with amusement. "Hmph. I would not marry one of those highbrow witches. Murie is the absolute only female at court who did not sneer at our garb. Well, aside from Lady Emilie, but she is already married to Reynard." Osgoode shook his head. "Nay, I am too young to settle down. Besides, you would miss me here."

"Aye, I would," Balan acknowledged. He and his cousin had been knocking about together since they were very young children. In truth, he could not recall a time when Osgoode hadn’t been there, watching his back or getting him into trouble. He would miss him, but he knew the day was coming when his cousin would wish for a wife and home of his own. Balan would be sad to see him go, but happy for him as well when that day came. A smile on his lips, he said, "You could always marry Lauda. That way, you would have a wife and home of your own and still remain close by. We would be neighbors."

"And have Malculinus for a brother-in-law?" he asked with horror.

"If that is your only protest, we could always find an excuse to challenge the man and kill him," Balan said with a laugh. Osgoode started to shake his head and then paused, his gaze dead ahead. "That does not look like a hearth fire to me, Balan." Balan glanced at the buildings ahead, eyes widening with alarm when he saw smoke coming through the door of the largest cottage. It had been the blacksmith’s home before the plague hit, but that man and his family were among the first claimed by the plague, and it had been empty ever since.

"That is not where you saw Murie?" he asked with dread.

"Aye," Osgoode muttered, concern marring his own brow. Balan cursed and put his spurs to his mount, crossing the remaining distance at full speed. "Murie!" he shouted as he drew the animal to a halt a safe distance from the cottage. "Murie?" As Osgoode drew up, Balan dismounted and headed for the door. Smoke was billowing out in a constant, dark, noxious stream, and he could not imagine what was burning.

"It smells like she is burning some of those twigs and herbs she likes to collect," Osgoode gasped, running to catch up.

"Aye. Cover your nose and mouth with your doublet," Balan suggested, and did so himself as he hurried inside.

The smoke billowing out the door was nothing compared to that caught inside the cottage: a dark, heavy cloud obscured his ability to see.

"Murie!" he shouted, stumbling into furniture.

"Murie!" Osgoode shouted right behind him, then cursed. "I cannot see a damned thing."

"Neither can I," Balan admitted. He bent at the waist, wracked by a violent cough. Despite the cloth over his face, smoke was getting through and choking him.

"She could not possibly be conscious in all this smoke, Balan," Osgoode said anxiously. He was coughing violently himself.

"I shall look for her; you go back outside," Balan ordered, dropping to his knees to feel around the floor. If she were not conscious, she would be on the ground.

"Where have you gone?" Osgoode’s voice sounded alarmed, directly above him. The man was nearly standing on him. "I cannot even see you anymore."

"I am down here. ‘Tis less smoky by the ground." Balan began to crawl toward the back of the cottage in an awkward three-limbed maneuver, trying to hold the cloth of his shirt to his face while moving.

The building was smaller when it was first built, but the blacksmith had grown prosperous from his work for Balan’s father and added on, making the cottage two rooms. The second was where the smoke seemed to be originating. It was darkest in that area, and Balan feared where he found the fire would be where he found his wife.

Hearing Osgoode coughing violently again, Balan snapped,

"Get outside!"

"Nay!" his cousin snapped right back. "I am helping you."

"Then get on the floor at least," he said shortly. "You will be little help if I have to carry you out as well as my wife. Murie!" He paused to cough up some of the choking fumes he’d inhaled as he spoke, then felt something bump against his hip. His cousin had listened and joined him on the floor he realized with a grunt of satisfaction.

"I think she must be in the back room," Osgoode gasped, crawling up beside him.

"Aye," Balan agreed, not bothering to mention that he’d already thought of that, which was why he was headed that way. They worked their way the last couple of feet in silence, moving as quickly as they could until they reached the wall. It had been years since Balan was in the cottage, and the smoke made it difficult to judge the arrangement of everything, but he thought the door was to their left. He began to move that way on his knees, one hand holding the cloth over his face, the other feeling along the wall in hopes of finding the door. Balan knew he’d found it when he felt the heat under his hand. It was almost as hot as a poker.

Cursing deep in his throat, he moved around to the side and grabbed Osgoode’s arm to drag him that way as well; then he reached up and pulled open the door.

Fire roared out like an animal, lashing above their heads in a stream of hot fury. Had they been in front of the door when it opened, it surely would have roasted them alive. As it was, Balan found himself gasping for breath and falling back, dragging Osgoode with him.

"She cannot be alive if she is in there," Osgoode said grimly as the flames died back. They could now see that the room beyond was fully aflame. It had been burning slowly before they opened the door, but the influx of oxygen had set it to a roar. Balan was silent, his body completely still for several heartbeats. His wife was certainly dead if she had been in there, but he was suddenly quite sure she was not. None of this made sense. There was no reason for her to be at the village when there was so much to be done at the castle. And why would she have waved from the door and then come inside a burning cottage. Nay, his wife was not here, and he was a fool.

"Get out!" he shouted, turning and pushing Osgoode before him. " ‘Tis a trap! Get out!"

Even as he began to herd Osgoode back across the floor, he saw the white square of smoke that was the front door begin to narrow.

Roaring in fury, Balan lunged to his feet to make a run for the opening, but it slammed shut seconds before he crashed against it. Cursing and choking, he shoved at the door, threw his weight forward, but sagged weakly against it as his lungs seized up and he began another coughing fit. He felt Osgoode tugging at his arm and allowed his cousin to pull him back to the floor, where the air was a little less polluted.

"There was no smoke coming out of the windows," Osgoode gasped, realizing what they should have noted on their approach.

"They were boarded up," Balan said once he had breath back. He’d noted that on the periphery of his consciousness as they rode up, but had paid it little attention, his concern with his wife and why she was in the cottage.

"’Twas a trap," Osgoode repeated on the heels of another coughing fit. "And we walked right into it."

Ran, Balan corrected. They’d run right into it like fools. But he did not say so aloud; the more they talked, the more smoke they inhaled.