The Brat(5)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she did dream of and marry a wonderful man? Murie really did wish to marry, for various reasons: Marriage would get her away to her own home where she need not deal with the cruelty and avarice of the courtiers. It would also give her children, and Murie had lately found herself yearning to have a child of her own. She would love it as she’d been loved before her parents’ deaths.

Unfortunately, with her eye on the end result of getting the king and queen to agree to her marriage,she’d really not considered whom it would be to. She’d assumed that the king would choose her mate and now found herself quite lost on the matter. Not to mention she was terrified of making a mistake in her choice and landing with an abusive or cruel husband. Sighing, she turned onto her back again, thinking it would definitely be helpful should St. Agnes decide to give her a dream of whom she should marry. However, she very much feared she wasn’t even going to be able to sleep with her stomach as upset as it was. And she could not dream did she not sleep.

Murie had barely finished having that thought when her eyes began to droop and she drifted into slumber.

"Where is the man?" Osgoode muttered impatiently. Balan shrugged in answer. They had managed to situate themselves near enough to the quartet at dinner to hear Lauda convince Murie to try the St. Agnes Eve ritual, and had decided to intervene. They’d kept Murie in their sights all evening, then followed her and Emilie back to their rooms. Now they waited behind the cloth draping one of the hall windows outside her chamber, watching for Malculinus to make his appearance.

"Dear God, will he wait until just before dawn?" Osgoode asked in vexation.

"That is doubtful," Balan assured him. "Surely he risks the herbs Lauda put on the meat wearing off if he waits too long."

"Aye." Osgoode nodded, then suggested, "Speaking of those herbs, after we stop Malculinus, mayhap you should just slip into Murie’s room to see that whatever it is she was given has caused her no harm."

"No," Balan growled. "I am not going to go in and let her see me."

"But it would assure she marries you, and marrying her would save our people, Balan. Many will starve to death over the winter do we not soon have an influx of coins. And surely she would choose you to husband anyway if she knew you. In fact, if you were not so shy – "

"Shy?" Balan interrupted, glancing at his cousin in disbelief. "I am not shy."

Osgoode snorted. "Balan, I have known you my whole life. You are so shy you do not even speak to women. And do not claim you speak to camp followers; they need little enough said to them. Besides, it is ladies I am speaking of."

Balan shrugged. "I do not speak to women because I have nothing to say to them."

"Bollocks," Osgoode said. "You are shy. But I could help you with that. I am quite successful with the ladies. I could teach you how to romance them and impress them and – "

"Osgoode," Balan interrupted. "Somehow I do not think that the skills you use to woo tavern wenches would stand me in good stead with Lady Murie."

"Women are women, cousin," the other man responded.

"Whether lady or tavern wench, they all like to be complimented and feted and told they are special. If you were to just go in there and – "

"Nay."

"Balan, please. If you would just – "

"Nay," he grouled. "You will not convince me to take advantage of Malculinus’s trickery and show myself to her, Osgoode, no matter what approach you use. Now let it go."

"Oh, very well," his cousin muttered. "I just think –  Is that not him?" Osgoode interrupted himself to ask.

Balan glanced up the hall in the direction from which he’d expected Malculinus to come, but saw nothing. Frowning, he glanced the other way, toward Murie’s door, and stilled when he saw Malculinus standing two doorways beyond. The man’s clothes were rumpled, his hair was a mess, and he was busily kissing a woman in the door, quite thoroughly.

"Is that not Lady Jane?" Osgoode asked, but then, before Balan could answer that, yes it was, he added, "I guess the rumors are true, and she really does have a secret lover. I wonder if she is really with child, too."

Balan grunted.

"Mayhap he does not intend to go through with the plan," Osgoode suggested. "Lady Jane is nearly as wealthy as Lady Murie."

"Wealth is not a concern for Malculinus," Balan reminded him.

"Aye, but she is a lady in good standing… well, other than the fact that she has taken him on as a lover," he muttered. "Besides, surely even he is not despicable enough to go straight to Murie’s room from the arms of his lover?"

Balan didn’t respond. Malculinus was turning Lady Jane and pushing her back into her chamber. After giving her a playful swat on the behind, he pulled the door closed. The man then paused for a moment, as if waiting to be sure she didn’t open the door again. Finally he started up the hall, straightening his clothes and running a hand through his hair.

For one moment, Balan thought Osgoode might be right and Malculinus would bypass Murie’s room, but Malculinus stopped. He cast a quick glance about to be sure no one was around to see, then eased open Murie’s door and slid inside.

"Do something," Osgoode hissed.

Balan was already slipping out from behind the curtain.

Chapter Three

Balan managed to open the door just enough to slip into the room without drawing Malculinus’s attention. Easing it silently closed, he paused to allow his eyes time to adjust to the darkness. A dying fire in the grate cast some weak light, but not much. It was enough for him to see that Malculinus was already at the bed, gently shaking Murie’s shoulder in an effort to wake her.

"Murie? Wake up," the man whispered, scowling when she showed no sign of stirring. "Lauda must have been too generous with her herbs. Ah, well –  perhaps a kiss will wake you." Grimacing at the very idea of the despicable cur pressing his lips to Murie’s, Balan snatched a statuette off the table by the door and crept swiftly behind him. As silently as he moved, he must have somehow given himself away, for Malculinus started to glance over his shoulder just as Balan reached him. Balan brought the statue sharply down on his head.

The thud was loud in the silent room, and Malculinus moaned as his feet went out from beneath him, but a quick look showed Balan that neither sound had woken Murie.

The hearth was on the other side of the bed, leaving this side in shadow. Balan stared down at the dark heap that was Malculinus, started to bend over to grab the unconscious man to drag him out of the room, but paused as his eyes slid back to the sleeping woman in the bed. He’d thought her beautiful when he’d seen her in the hall at midday, but she was even more stunning by firelight. Her features looked serene and mysterious in the shadowed room, and the weak light from the flames painted her hair with both light and dark brush strokes.

She must have been suffering a restless sleep; she’d kicked off her linens and furs and lay with her tunic tangled around her thighs, leaving her alabaster legs to glow softly in the dim light. Balan’s eyes traveled over rounded h*ps to the soft swell of her belly, and finally to the neckline of her tunic. The cloth there had been disrupted by her tossing and turning as well. The tie at the neck had pulled loose and lay wide open, leaving her upper chest and part of one breast exposed.

Balan found himself staring at the curve of that breast. Were he to lean down and shift the cloth the tiniest bit, her nipple would be in full view. The thought made him lick his lips as he tried to commit this image to memory so that he could pull it out and enjoy it again later. He had no idea how long he stood there, but knew it was too long when a moan sounded from the heap on the floor.

Glancing down, he scowled at Malculinus for interrupting his pleasure. He then dropped to his knees to find the man’s head, and to plow a fist into the side of to ensure he didn’t make any more noise. At least, that was the plan. Unfortunately, the moment he caught him by the head to lift it, Malculinus squealed like a pig at the slaughter.

Cursing under his breath, Balan gave him a knockout blow, then glanced worriedly toward the bed, freezing when he saw that the man’s scream must have woken Murie. She was leaning over the side, blinking sleepily as she peered at him where he knelt in the darkness.

"Who are you?" she asked with confusion, and it was obvious by the way she could barely keep her eyes open that she wasn’t fully awake. "Are you my husband?"

Balan hesitated, surprisingly tempted to take advantage of the situation and say yes. Should he do so, however, he’d be no better than the man lying in the shadows at his knees. Cursing his conscience, he reluctantly growled, "Nay."

"Who are you then?" Murie asked with bewilderment.

"No one," he assured her. "I am not here."

"Are you not?" Murie asked.

"Nay. You are asleep. Lie down," Balan ordered. She pondered that briefly, and a thought seemed to occur to her. "Oh, aye, of course. You are not my husband yet. You are the man I am fated to marry."

Balan’s eyes widened with alarm as she lay back down. Oh, this was so wrong. She now thought he … She… Hell!

He bit his lip, uncertain how to rectify matters but knowing he had to. After a hesitation, he shifted closer to the bed on his knees and then half stood to peer down at her. Murie had followed his instructions, lying back and apparently promptly going to sleep. His gaze slid to her gown to see that her brief spate of activity had disrupted the cloth further, and her nipple was now in plain view. Balan sucked in a breath and squeezed his fists tight to keep from reaching out to touch her.

God, he wondered; what had he ever done to deserve this kind of torture? First, the plague had decimated his people – though that had wiped out half of England, so Balan supposed he shouldn’t count that as a personal assault by the Fates. But, thanks to circumstances he could blame on the Fates, Gaynor had not rebounded as well as some others estates. Then his father had died, leaving the burden of Gaynor and its people in his hands. And now this temptation.

A small sigh slid from Murie’s lips and she shifted, disrupting her gown further until a whole breast popped out, round and firm and very inviting.

"Damn," Balan breathed. It was impossible to think of how to rectify the situation with that staring him in the eye. After another moment wasted debating the wisdom of the action, Balan reached out to try to slip the breast back into her gown. It was a two-handed job, one hand needed to shift her breast and the other to tug at the cloth, but both hands froze as Murie moaned and arched into his touch.

His gaze shot to her face, and Balan saw that her eyes were starting to blink open. He did the only thing he could think to do he kissed her. His reasoning was, it would both keep her from screaming at the realization that someone was pawing her, as well as give him time to think of some way to fix the mess.

It was flawed reasoning, he now realized. If just having her nak*d breast inches away had been distracting to his thinking processes, actually kissing her completely stole his ability to think. The woman was a warm and sleepy bundle, her mouth soft and accepting, and she tasted of honeyed mead. He was lost. Balan had started out with a rather chaste kiss, just covering her mouth with his own, but when she sighed against his lips and stretched before him, he was helpless to stop from deepening the kiss, slipping his tongue out to urge her lips apart and then thrusting it forward to claim her.

This had a most gratifying effect. Murie groaned deep in her throat, and he felt her small hands clutch weakly at his arms as she rose up in bed, pressing her br**sts against him. His hands immediately accepted the invitation, quickly returning to her chest, though this time he was trying to get her breast back out of her gown rather than put it away.

Finally freeing the coveted orb, Balan squeezed it gently in his hand. He swallowed her next groan with glee, suddenly finding himself eager to draw more happy noises from her. He was just shifting to lay himself on the bed when a deeper sound reached his ears.

Balan had so forgotten where he was and how he’d come to be there, that for a moment he was flummoxed as to where the noise had come from. But when something brushed weakly against his ankle, he was recalled to his circumstances. Without lifting his mouth from Murie’s, he swung out with his fist, making a satisfying connection with what felt to be Malculinus’s forehead. The soft thud as the man fell back to the floor made him sigh into Murie’s mouth.

What he was doing was terribly wrong. He was taking advantage of Malculinus’s scurrilous plot. He was mauling a drugged girl in her bed.

The last thought was like a bucket of icy water to the raging desire this slip of a girl had so innocently reared in him. Easing from the kiss, he slowly withdrew. Brushing her hair back as their lips parted, he whispered, "Sleep."

Murie sighed a sound of sleepy disappointment, but appeared to have fallen back asleep before the sound died on her lips. It made Balan realize how effective the herbs Lauda had given Murie were. He doubted if the girl had really been awake at all to begin with.

Sighing in disappointment, he turned to survey the heap that was Malculinus, then stooped to lift and swing him over his shoulder. Straightening, he turned for one last glance at Murie’s sleep-rumpled state. Her hair was splayed across the pillows, her arms up by her head, her knees half bent to the side and her body more revealed than hidden by the gown now tangled around her h*ps and hanging off her shoulder.

It was a vision he’d give almost anything to wake to in the morning.

Turning resolutely, Balan carried Malculinus out of the room and pulled the door gently closed behind him.

"What happened?" Osgoode hissed, hurrying to his side. "Did she see him? Did she see you? Did – "

"Shut up, cousin," Balan ordered wearily. "Let us get this …" He scowled at the unconscious man over his shoulder. "Let us just get him to his room and find our own beds."

For once in his life Osgoode did not push his luck, but fell silent in accompanying him to Malculinus’s room. Fortunately, the man must have dismissed his servant before slipping away, for they found the room empty and the bed turned down. Balan and Osgoode undressed the lord and put him into bed in the hopes that he wouldn’t remember anything in the morning, and would think that he’d stumbled back to his own room and gone to sleep. Of course, Balan realized, the man would have a splitting headache in the morning, which might work against them. But he little cared. It was nothing less than Malculinus deserved.