The Brat(34)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Murie began to move along the edge of the clearing, crouching here and crawling there as he’d done. This seemed to annoy her husband, however, and she noticed his hand gesturing impatiently for her to get a move on. He was doing his best to distract the men, and so it was probably safe to run straight over, nak*d as she was – but what if one of the men glanced over his shoulder?

"Is there something wrong with your hand, my lord?" Godart asked. "You keep flicking it about."

"Nay," Balan growled, and flicked it impatiently again. Sighing, Murie gave up her crawling and made a straight run for the clothes. She’d nearly reached them when the sound of more hoofbeats sounded. Biting back a squeal of alarm, she dove for the clothes and rolled behind a tree just as Anselm rode into the clearing.

Murie listened absently to the men talk as she dressed, but she wasn’t really paying attention. The moment she had her gown and surcoat on, she paused to run her fingers quickly through her hair. Then she tried for a serene expression and walked out of the woods just as Osgoode rode into the clearing with Balan’s horse behind him.

"Thank you, cousin," Balan said, moving to take the reins and tie the animal to the exact same tree he’d tied him to earlier. He turned back and spotted Murie standing uncertainly on the edge of the clearing and immediately walked to her side. Osgoode dismounted.

"Oh, my lady!" Anselm smiled at her. "We were just telling his lordship that we became quite worried when the two of you did not return before the storm and set out to find you once it ended. He explained that you took cover under a tree and waited it out."

"Aye." Murie managed a smile, leaning weakly against her husband’s side.

A distant shout made them all glance toward the woods, and Anselm frowned. "I should go round up the others and tell them you are both found and well."

"Aye," Balan said agreeably.

The man-at-arms glanced to Erol and Godart, and gave them meaningful looks. "You can ride back with Lord Balan and his wife." The two men nodded, and Anselm turned his horse and rode to find the others.

"Well," Osgoode said, laughter dancing in his eyes. "We should head back to the keep, should we not?"

"Aye. Come." Balan started to lead Murie toward his horse, but she dug in her heels, forcing him to stop and turn to face her.

"I still wish to gather some clover and elder, and perhaps-some birch branches," she told him.

"Nay. You are going back to the castle to rest. You have sustained a terrible injury and are too weak to be doing anything strenuous yet."

Murie’s mouth tightened. "Surely it is no less strenuous than what we were doing a moment ago," she said archly. "I should think it would be less so."

The laughter that had been dancing in Osgoode’s eyes suddenly burst from his lips. "Whatever could that be, I wonder."

"You may wonder silently," Murie told him tartly. Osgoode nodded. "Aye. By the way, cousin, your doublet is caught in your leggings. And Murie, your lacings are all tangled." Murie flushed bright pink as she saw that was true. It seemed that none of them had been left wondering. Grimacing, she and Balan straightened their clothes. He turned and said firmly, "I do not want you out here alone, wife."

She scowled. It seemed that loving each other did not automatically resolve all conflicts and ensure everything ran smoothly. Some compromise was needed.

"If you would just send Cecily back with a basket, then 1 shall not be alone and need not leave," she suggested reasonably. Balan did not look pleased. Still, he seemed to realize that he could not prove her too weak to pick up branches after the rather energetic activity they’d just enjoyed. And, as having Cecily with her would mean she wasn’t alone, he gave in.

"Very well. I shall ride back and fetch her to you," he promised. Turning to the two soldiers who were still mounted, he said, "Erol. Godart. You are to stay here with my wife until her maid returns."

"Aye, my lord," they said, but neither man looked pleased by the order.

Murie understood why, and she wasn’t all that pleased either. These were the two men who were supposed to be keeping an eye on her husband. "Surely you need leave only one man with me, husband. Why not take Erol with you? Or leave Erol and take Godart. Two are not needed."

"Nay," Balan said firmly. "They shall both stay."

"But – "

Her husband silenced her with a quick hard kiss, then turned and strode to his horse. Murie released a little sigh, her gaze dropping over his back as she watched him walk away, then blinking off the contentment he’d induced and scowling after him. The stubborn man was going to get himself killed.

Which reminded her of the question she’d wanted to ask Osgoode. Murie glanced to him just as he settled back in the saddle. He picked up his reins, preparing to ride over to where Balan was untying lightning, but she stepped to his side and raised a hand, placing it on his boot to stop him.

"A moment, my lord?" she murmured.

Balan’s cousin paused at once and glanced down at her in question. "Aye?"

"One of the guards with the wagons said that you were the one to see me in the village as you came over the rise. Is that true?" she asked.

Osgoode blew out an exasperated breath. "Oh, pray, Murie please do not say you still think I am trying to kill your husband. That I lied to lure him to the burning cottage and – "

"Nay, of course not, my lord!" she interrupted.

"Oh." He smiled faintly. "Good."

"I was just wondering if you would tell me exactly what you saw?"

"What I saw?" he repeated with confusion.

"Aye. What made you think it was me? Malculinus and his man Baxley had just left ere your return. Could it have been a man dressed up as a woman?"

"A man dressed as a woman?" Osgoode considered the question with interest, but then shook his head. "Nay. She had a woman’s figure, full and – " He started to hold his hands up to indicate large br**sts, and then caught himself and offered an apologetic grimace. "Nay, it was a woman."

"Could it have been Lauda, do you think?"

He thought even less time about that before shaking his head.

"Nay. Not Lauda. She is too tall and … flat.

"So the woman was shorter?"

"Aye, and rounded like you," he said, glancing toward Balan who mounted Lightning. He turned back, suspicion glinting behind his eyes. "In fact, I was sure it was you."

"Why?" Murie’s eyebrows drew together. "Why were you so sure it was me? There must have been a reason. You were very far away, my lord."

"Aye, but I have good eyesight," he said stiffly. And she could tell by his expression that, while she no longer thought him the attempted killer, he once again thought she was.

Exasperated, she said, "You could only have seen the shape and perhaps hair color. Was she blond like me?"

"Aye." He nodded with a sudden realization. "But that is not why I was so sure."

"Are you coming, cousin?" Balan called out. Mounted and apparently impatient to be away, he scowled at the pair of them.

"Aye," Osgoode said, and shifted in his saddle. As he urged his mount into a walk, Balan turned and rode out of the clearing. Osgoode would have put spurs to his mount, too, Murie was sure, but she still had her hand on his boot and was walking beside him.

" Why were you so sure?" she repeated as he glanced down at her.

"It was the color of the dress she wore that made me think it was you," he answered. "Now let me go. I wish to stay close to Balan until this is all cleared up."

"The color of her dress?" Murie asked sharply. "What color was it?"

"It was that burgundy and black surcoat you favor. I recognized it at once." He frowned. "But you were not wearing it when we charged out of the cottage and ran you over… and could not have possibly changed so quickly." He shook his head with a sigh, deciding, "It was not you."

"Nay," she whispered.

"Well, I am glad to hear it," Osgoode assured her. "Balan loves you, and I would not have him hurt knowing you were trying to kill him. Now, if you will excuse me, I truly do not want him without someone to watch his back."

Murie released the man’s leg and stepped back from his horse. Osgoode was away at once, hurrying into the woods after Balan, but she hardly noticed. Her mind was taken up with wondering why Cecily was trying to kill her husband.

Chapter Eighteen

"Are you going to tell me what I have done?"

Balan slowed his mount and glanced at his cousin with narrowed eyes. After taking Cecily to his wife, he’d forsaken turning his attention to any of the many chores awaiting him at the castle and instead suggested another hunt. He’d bought six cows in Carlisle, but the beasts had cost him twice what they would have before the plague, and he was loath to sacrifice any. They must breed to give him more cows.

"Well?" Osgoode prompted.

"I do not know what you are talking about," he said finally.

"I am talking about the silence you are treating me to and the glares you keep throwing my way. Would you care to share with me what I have done?"

Balan glowered and suggested, "Why do you not, instead, share with me what my wife said?"

Osgoode’s eyebrows flew up on his forehead. "You are jealous!"

"Nay," Balan argued. "I am curious." Chuckling with open disbelief, Osgoode shook his head. "She was only asking me why I thought she was the woman in the village."

Balan’s expression eased, but he tilted his head curiously.

"Why did you think it was Murie? I never thought to ask you myself."

"It was the color of her dress," Osgoode explained. "I was sure it was that burgundy gown and black surcoat that Murie favors."

"The burgundy gown and black surcoat?" Balan repeated.

"Aye. In fact, I know it was, but Murie was not wearing it when we ran her over, and I really doubt she could have changed that quickly. Someone else must have been wearing it or a gown very similar."

"Someone else," Balan echoed.

"Did I tell you?" Osgoode said with a smile. "Anselm has apparently decided – from the fact that I too was nearly killed in the fire – that I am not the killer. He was telling me the theories he and the other men have been tossing around. They have decided the would-be killer is someone who must have been in our traveling party from court, else he would have been noticed while skulking around the horses and poisoning that meat."

"A woman in our traveling party who would have access to Murie’s gown," Balan muttered.

"Aye, that seems to be – Where are you going?" Osgoode cut himself off to ask. Balan had suddenly turned his mount and headed back the way they’d come.

"The only person who fills that criteria is Cecily!" he pointed out harshly.

"Cecily?" Osgoode repeated with amazement. "Why would Cecily wish to kill you?"

****

"Why are you trying to kill my husband?" Murie blurted. She’d spent every moment since Osgoode rode off pondering the matter, then trying to sort out how to question Cecily, and this was the best she could do. She blamed it on her husband. He’d been short-tempered upon returning with Cecily, and had barely paused long enough to set the maid on the ground before announcing he and Osgoode were going hunting and riding off. Murie had watched him go with a frown, then had peered meaningfully at Erol and Godart, encouraging them to follow. If she were right about Cecily, her husband would be perfectly safe while the maid was with her, but Murie wanted to confront the woman alone. She’d been with her for ten years, and Murie felt this was the least that was owed her. She was hoping by approaching the matter on her own, she might get some honest answers. Cecily, however, wasn’t rushing to confess.

The silence that descended in the clearing was almost preternatural. Even the birds in the trees and the insects that moments ago had been buzzing around them were suddenly silent. The two women faced each other for so long that one could be forgiven for thinking time had stopped.. . and then the song of a cuckoo pierced the air.

As if on cue, Cecily swallowed and said, "I do not understand, my lady."

"Aye, you do," Murie said. "I saw you take my gown."

"Your gown?" the maid asked, suddenly wary.

Murie nodded. "I was half asleep and paid little attention, thinking you were merely taking it out for me to wear that day, and then I dozed off again. When you woke me later by removing the furs from the windows to let the light in, however, it was a different dress you had set out for me."

"I"I thought little of it at the time," Murie went on, not giving her maid the chance to lie. "In fact, I did not even really recall it… until Osgoode described to me the gown the woman he saw in the village was wearing. It was mine. The one I had seen you taking out of my chest."

"Osgoode lied. He must have. He is the one trying to kill your husband."

Cecily sounded desperate, Murie noted sadly. She’d really hoped she was wrong and the maid would somehow prove herself innocent. Instead, Murie’s certainty of her guilt grew with every word.

"What would I gain from killing your husband? Osgoode is the one who will inherit should he die," Cecily added when Murie remained silent.

Murie’s gaze sharpened. "How do you know that Osgoode will inherit? I did not know it until Anselm told me, when we all met on the wall. Were you there? You must have been."

"Nay. I was with your husband," Cecily said quickly. "You insisted Osgoode and I sit with him, remember?"

"Aye, I did," Murie murmured, pondering the matter. Raising her head she repeated, "How did you know that Osgoode would inherit?"

Cecily shrugged helplessly. "Someone must have told me."

"Nay." Murie shook her head firmly. "You were there. What happened? Did my husband send you to look for me? He was awake when I returned to the room, and asking you something, but stopped when I walked in." She tilted her head. "Was he asking where I was because he had sent you to find me?" Cecily shook her head silently, but Murie did not believe her.