The Brat(6)
Author: Lynsay Sands

Murie woke with a smile on her face and stretched sleepily in bed. She felt marvelous, and she’d had the most wonderful dream. She’d dreamt a man had come to her in the night and –  Her eyes blinked open.

She’d dreamt of a man!

Sitting abruptly up, Murie stared around her room. He wasn’t here of course; she’d dreamt him. But he’d seemed so real. She could still taste him on her lips and smell him on her linens. . . .

"Oh my," Murie breathed. She’d eaten rotten meat on St. Agnes Eve and dreamt of a man with long dark hair, dark eyes and the body of a warrior.

"Oh …" Her eyes widened as she recalled his lips and hands on her. If the man was half as good in reality as he was in her dreams, she could hardly wait to meet and marry him. There would be nothing to fear in the marital bed.

Laughing, she tossed her linens and furs aside and leapt from bed, eager to go below and break her fast. She was famished this morning … and her husband-to-be might be in attendance at court. She hoped so. She couldn’t wait to meet him and find out his name and have him kiss her again. Her toes tingled at the very idea. That kiss had been –

"Ouch," Murie muttered, raising her foot to look at it. She’d stepped on something hard-edged on the floor, but while sore, her foot was unmarked. Rubbing the spot, she peered across the rushes, eyebrows rising as she spotted a bit of shiny gold. Murie released her foot and bent to pick up the object, eyes widening at the cross on a gold chain upon which she’d stepped. She examined the item curiously. It wasn’t hers, and she’d never seen Cecily wear it. She turned it over in her hand and began to bite her lip, worrying at its origin.

The click of the door opening distracted her, and Murie glanced over to see Cecily stick her head into the room. Spotting her mistress up and about, the servant smiled and entered bearing a basin of fresh water.

"Did you sleep well, my lady?"

"Aye." Murie set the cross on the table by her bed and followed the maid to where she set the water by the window.

"Did you dream of anyone?"

Murie glanced at her with surprise. She recalled talking about the St. Agnes Eve superstition with the maid the night before, but didn’t remember mentioning that she’d eaten rotten meat.

"Well?" Cecily asked curiously. The maid then tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "You did, did you not?"

"Aye," Murie admitted. By now, she realized, news of what she and Lauda had done was probably all over court. After all, the woman had gotten the rotten meat from the cook, and anyone sitting near them last night had been able to hear their discussion.

"You did!" the maid squealed excitedly. "Tell me all. What does he look like? Is he handsome? Do you know him?"

"He was very handsome," Murie acknowledged, an image of the stranger’s face rising up in her mind. It was a strong, handsome face, with deep brown eyes, a straight nose and the sweetest lips – Murie unconsciously raised her hand to her own mouth at the memory. Their kiss was a little fuzzy in her mind, not as clear as reality would have been, but still, she could recall the feelings that kiss had stirred and could even still taste him on her tongue. She could not smell him anymore, though, not now that she was up and about, and she suddenly wondered if the rest of it would fade as quickly. Murie hoped not; she’d never been kissed before, and it had been quite the most exciting thing she’d ever experienced. She really didn’t want to forget.

Realizing that she was rubbing her upper lip with her fingers, Murie forced her hand away and began to wash, saying, "I put a cross on the table by the bed. Go look and make sure it is not yours."

The maid moved dutifully across the room and picked up the cross. "Nay, my lady. ‘Tis not mine."

"I did not think so," Murie said, troubled. She briefly considered that it might belong to her dream man and that he wasn’t a dream at all, but she didn’t recall him wearing anything of the sort.

"Most likely one of the servants dropped it while replacing the rushes yesterday," Cecily suggested. "Or it may have been caught up in the rushes themselves."

"Oh." Murie released a breath of relief. "Aye. That must be it. Set it back on the table, and I shall ask Becker to check with the staff and find out if someone has lost it."

Cecily set the cross on the table as instructed, then walked back to her side, asking, "Did your dream man say or do anything?"

Murie’s hand slowed, the damp linen washcloth pausing over her left breast. She was reluctant to answer, really wishing now that she hadn’t admitted to the dream. She suddenly didn’t wish to share her dream man with anyone. She wanted to remember and savor what she’d experienced, and telling others seemed to lessen the experience somehow.

Raising her head, she forced a smile and lied: "Nay. And that is all I am telling you for now. Come; help me dress. I am famished this morn and would go down to break my fast."

Cecily looked disappointed but refrained from questioning her further. After helping her mistress get ready to face the day, she followed Murie out of the room and accompanied her below. Emilie and her husband, Lord Reginald Reynard, were just leaving their room as they approached, and both smiled upon spotting Murie and her maid.

"Good morn, Murie! Are you feeling better?" Emilie asked, waiting so that they could all walk together.

"Aye, thank you for asking," Murie answered. She smiled in greeting to Lord Reynard. Handsome and strong, the man adored his wife and treated her as such. Murie couldn’t have chosen a better husband and was happy for her friend’s happiness. They all made their way below, chatting about this and that and sundry, and once they reached the hall where the tables were set up and food was being circulated, Lord Reynard ushered them to an open spot above the salt. He then kissed his wife’s cheek and excused himself to have a word with one of the other knights, promising to return quickly.

Emilie watched her husband go with a fond smile. "He will get caught up in a political discussion, and it will be the end of the meal before he thinks to come back and eat."

"Don’t you mind?" Murie asked.

"Not at all," Emilie said with a laugh. "It is rare we come to court, and I like to see him enjoy himself. He has been working so hard since the plague rolled through." Her brows drew together with concern as she watched her husband disappear into the crowd.

Murie nodded solemnly. Castle Reynard had been more fortunate than most, losing few of their people,but the plague was terrifying all the same. Murie had been worried sick about her friend all through that horrible time, and knew Reginald had been as well –  especially after he’d learned his wife was with child. If he’d lost her and the babe, Murie suspected it would have been a blow from which he might not have recovered.

"Besides" – Emilie turned back to Murie with a laugh – "I think he just rushes off to allow me time alone visiting with you. He knows how close we are and how I look forward to seeing you." Murie smiled widely at this claim and gave her pregnant friend a hug. "And I always look forward to seeing you as well. You are the closest thing I have to family, Emilie."

"Oh, hush. Do not speak so loud. You shall hurt the king’s feelings should it get back to him," Emilie cautioned.

"Aye," Murie agreed, glancing around to see if anyone was close enough to have heard. She really didn’t wish to hurt the king’s feelings. He’d been kind in his way, and she was grateful for it, but the man was rarely here. He was more like an uncle to her, while Emilie was like a sister.

"So, how did you sleep? Did you dream of your future husband?" Emilie teased, clearly to lighten the subject. When Murie hesitated, Cecily burst out with the news, saying,

"Aye, she did – and he was very handsome!"

Emilie’s eyes widened incredulously at the maid, then she shifted to a blushing Murie. "What?"

"I… well… I am sure it was just a dream," Murie said finally. Trying to drop the subject, she added, "You do not think that Reginald minds that we are so close, do you? He – "

"Oh, no, no, no," Emilie said firmly. ‘You are not changing the subject. Tell me all. Did you really dream about someone?" When Murie nodded and shifted uncomfortably, Emilie asked, "Was it someone you know?

Murie let out her breath in defeat. "Nay, I do not know him."

"You do not?" both Emilie and Cecily exclaimed at once.

"Is he handsome?" Emilie asked after taking some time to get over her apparent surprise.

"Aye, he is very handsome," Murie murmured.

"What does he look like?" Cecily asked.

"Yes," Emilie echoed eagerly. "What does he look like?"

"Well, his hair was very dark – black, I think – and he looked ..

. like him!" she finished with amazement as her glance landed on a man seated across the hall. Murie stared at the man in the faded blue doublet with wide, fascinated eyes. Her chamber had been dark in her dream, and she hadn’t seen him as clearly as she was seeing him now, but she was sure it was the same man. He had the same long black hair that had felt so soft as it brushed against her cheek, the same proud face, the same wide shoulders she recalled clutching in her dream. The man was gorgeous.

"Who?" Emilie glanced around, trying to follow Murie’s suddenly stunned gaze. "Which one is he?"

"The man in the blue doublet and green cotehardie. Just across the room. With the dark hair and strong wide shoulders and soft lips."

"Soft lips?" Emilie’s head shot back around.

"Well, he had soft lips when he kissed me in the dream," she said. Then she frowned. "But firm. Soft but firm." Emilie stared at her, wide-eyed for a moment, then allowed curiosity to draw her gaze to the man in question.

"Lord Gaynor," she murmured.

"Gaynor," Murie echoed, testing the name on her lips. It was a fine-sounding name. Strong and solid.The man looked strong and solid as well. "You must tell me everything," her friend demanded. From the beginning of the dream to the very end. I want to hear it all."

"She saw you."

"What are you talking about?" Balan asked, trying not to look guilty as his cousin claimed the seat beside him.

"Lady Murie. On my way around the hall, I passed by where she and Lady Reynard are seated, and I overheard her telling Lady Emilie that you were the man she dreamed of last night." Pausing, he arched one eyebrow and said, "Why did you not tell me she saw you?"

Balan shifted uncomfortably. "Because I was hoping she would not remember it when she woke."

That wasn’t really a bold-faced lie. Part of him, the more honorable part, truly wished she’d forgotten. That part would rather win her hand more honorably. The other part, however, couldn’t care less how he won her and really hadn’t wanted her to forget him at all. It wanted her to remember, demand a fast marriage and have her greet him stripped nak*d in every private corner of this castle. Not that there were many private corners at court.

"Only you," Osgoode said with a shake of the head.

"I – ," Balan began irritably, but Osgoode interrupted.

"There is more. I was not the only one to hear. Lauda was loitering nearby. She appeared about to hail them, but paused when she heard what Lady Murie was saying. She got most agitated as she listened and then rushed around the room. I followed, of course."

"Of course," Balan said. His cousin loved this sort of thing.

"Aye, and she went straight to her brother."

"And?" Balan asked, knowing there would be more.

"And she is still there. See?" Osgoode gestured along the tables, and Balan followed his pointing finger to where Malculinus Aldous sat listening as his sister spoke most animatedly. She was obviously not at all happy, and when she gestured in his direction and both Aldouses glanced his way, Balan found his mouth splitting into a wide, sharklike smile, teeth bared.It wasn’t that he was happy about all of this, but he thought it could only be a good thing if they realized he knew what they had been up to. Perhaps it would prevent their trying any further nonsense.

"I wonder if they will be able to sort out what happened," Osgoode said, watching the pair.

"Probably, or very close to," Balan murmured. The Aldouses turned away from him and huddled together, whispering furiously.

"They are plotting again."

"Aye," he agreed with irritation. So much for his having any sort of influence on them. "I wish I knew what they were saying."

"You will," Osgoode assured him. When Balan glanced over sharply, he shrugged and explained, "I sent my page to spy on them."

Turning back to the pair across the room, this time Balan noted the lad loitering nearby. He was sitting cross-legged in the rushes, playing with a dog. No one was paying any notice at all. Balan smiled slowly. "William is a good lad."

"Aye, he is. And he is excellent at such tasks. The boy will recall and recite every word to me when he gives his accounting." Balan nodded and turned his attention back to the bread and cheese before him.

"So …" Osgoode prompted.

Balan glanced at him warily. "What?"

"After all those protestations of not stooping to his level, you not only let her see you, you kissed the girl."

Balan shifted uncomfortably. "I did not intend either outcome."

"But once she’d seen you, you thought you may as well go the whole journey and kiss her," Osgoode said, nodding with condescension.

"I kissed her because she woke up while I was trying to right her nightgown!"

"Ah." The word sounded understanding, but Osgoode’s expression was less so. Biting his lip, the man asked, "And how did her gown come to need righting?"

"She is apparently a restless sleeper," Balan muttered, then glanced to the side to see his cousin making a face. "What the hell are you grinning about?"

"Well, it is not often I get to see you so uncomfortable," Osgoode pointed out with amusement. "And besides, we are saved. You have won the fair maid’s hand. She sounded quite taken with you as she described her ‘dream’ to Lady Emilie."