The Brat(9)
Author: Lynsay Sands

"I did not misunderstand," she assured her friend. Emilie shook her head. "Then he must have been teasing you." When Murie did not allow that to be possible, in fact, insisted it wasn’t, Emilie went on, "I think you need to ignore all this superstition business, Murie. You have to ignore what Lauda said regarding dreaming about a man after eating rotten meat meaning you should not marry him. ‘Tis all nonsense."

"If you thought it was nonsense, why did you introduce me to him after you learned I dreamt of him?" Murie asked.

"Because I know him, and the moment you mentioned him I realized that he would be a good husband to you. He is honorable and kind, and he too needs to marry. Gaynor needs a bride with enough wealth to help set it back to rights. The superstition had nothing to do with it." Emilie sighed. "Murie, you cannot base such an important decision on anything as whimsical as a superstition. You mentioned that you know none of the court’s available men, but I do, and truly, Balan is one of the best. Perhaps the best. I think the two of you would suit each other beautifully, and you know I love you like a sister and would not lie about such a thing."

Murie let her breath out slowly and bit her lip, then confessed,

"I have challenged him to a duel."

"What?" Emilie turned on her in horror.

"Not with swords or anything," she explained quickly. "A duel of intelligence."

"Oh." Emilie relaxed and continued to walk, then asked uncertainly, "And what exactly does that consist of?"

"I am not sure," Murie admitted. "I have to come up with something."

"Hmmm ,. . Well, I suppose a duel of intelligence is all right. It gives you an excuse to meet again, and will give you both a chance to get to know each other better," Emilie said, nodding.

"Aye. It may even be a good thing. I shall help you come up with something, but please believe me, Murie, when I say I really think he was teasing you. He has always treated me with the utmost respect. I have never got the smallest inkling that he thinks little of women."

"I shall keep that in mind," Murie promised – and she would. But she was distressed by the possibility that they’d got the St. Agnes belief wrong, and that dreaming about Balan might mean she shouldn’t marry him. In fact, she was so distressed that she thought it would be a good idea to check with the wisest person she knew.

Unfortunately, that would be Becker. But she could not go ask Becker, because that might make the king think she believed his aide was smarter than he, and would be insulted. No, she’d have to go to the king while Becker was there and see what they both had to say.

"Are you coming?" Emilie asked when she realized Murie had paused.

Her thoughts scattered, and Murie glanced up and managed a smile. She would have to see the king and Becker later. She didn’t want Emilie knowing she wished to inquire. Superstitions were the one place the two women did not agree. Emilie was always lecturing her on the subject, but Murie could not help herself. The world was a big, scary place. She’d learned while very young that Fate could be a cruel master, any little bit of wisdom helped, and anything that gave optimism was a good thing. There were some days that only the sight of two blackbirds together or spotting a white butterfly in the summer were the only things that gave her hope for the future.

"Aye, I am coming." Murie picked up her skirts and hurried along.

"What did you say?" Osgoode asked harshly as soon as the others were out of hearing.

"I do not know what you mean," Balan replied, wishing he knew himself what he’d said to muck things up so badly. He knew what he’d meant to say – that he found he didn’t understand females, that they seemed more emotional than the men he was used to and seemed more complicated than the plain-spoken and sensible men he knew – but apparently he hadn’t expressed himself well. Murie seemed to think he was suggesting women were simple and stupid rather than complicated and emotional. He wasn’t admitting that to Osgoode, however.

"Oh, bollocks!" his cousin cursed. "You must have said something to upset her. She could not wait to get away from us."

"Perhaps she just found it inclement, as she claimed," Balan suggested, wondering if – once she calmed down a little – he might be able to get her to stand still long enough for him to explain. He’d meant no insult or slur on women. He loved women.

"I knew you would be hopeless when it came to talking," Osgoode said. "I can only hope the fact that she thinks she dreamed of you will get her past this upset."

Balan didn’t respond. He was rather hoping the same thing himself.

"There will be dancing after the feast tonight," Osgoode said. Balan nodded absently. He had quite forgotten that this eve would be the feast and celebration for St. Agnes. He shouldn’t have forgotten, not after all that nonsense last night, but those shenanigans were exactly what had driven the feast from his mind.

"Mayhap we should practice dancing this afternoon," Osgoode said thoughtfully.

"Dancing?" Balan said with alarm.

"Aye. Despite Lady Strathcliffe’s best efforts to teach you, you were never more than adequate while we were squiring – and I do not think I have seen you dance since."

That was because Balan hadn’t danced since. Never more than adequate was a kind description of his abilities. He hadn’t cared for the pastime, and it had shown in his lack of skill.

"Aye, come, we will practice the steps."

"Nay. I have things to do," Balan said with irritation.

"Important things."

"There is nothing more important than winning Lady Murie for your bride," Osgoode said firmly. "Unless you wish to marry Lady Brigida instead? Perhaps you’ve found yourself forming a tendre for her?" Balan let his breath out on a sigh. "Oh, all right."

Chapter Five

"Balan, pray stop stepping on my toes," Osgoode said through gritted teeth.

"You are the one who insisted on this ridiculous venture," Balan ground out, releasing his cousin’s hand with disgust. He’d always found dancing a useless waste of time. Why women insisted on the foolish exercise was beyond him. He was sure men would never bother if women did not insist. His opinion being so, he found it difficult to concentrate on the complicated steps. His mind tended to wander to more interesting matters, and he soon lost track of what he was supposed to be doing, which led to losing his place in the dance, or worse, trampling on Osgoode’s toes.

"You need to at least be able to dance with the woman tonight after the feast without crushing her feet if you wish to impress her at all," Osgoode insisted. "It would not be so important had you not managed to insult her on the walk." Balan scowled. He still was not sure how he’d managed to mess things up so badly. But it had led to this last hour of misery, going through the steps of the dance with Osgoode. He felt ridiculous dancing with his cousin and would have called a halt to the practice if not for the news Osgoode’s page had gained while listening in on the conversation between Malculinus and Lauda Aldous.

Of course the pair had been quite distressed by the news that, rather than Malculinus, Murie claimed to have dreamt of Balan. The two had spent several moments trying to sort out how that had happened, until Lauda had forced Malculinus to confess that, while he did recall going to Murie’s room, he had no recollection of actually either waking or kissing the girl. He’d also admitted that he was not sure how he made it back to his room. The last thing he remembered was approaching her bed and then waking up in his own. He’d woken with a splitting headache and three bumps on his head.

Lauda had pretty much put together what had happened. Her opinion was that Balan had taken advantage of their plot, knocked Malculinus out and woken the girl himself on purpose. The Aldouses had no idea that Murie’s seeing him had not been part of Balan’s plan. As he’d suspected out in the garden, the pair had come up with a way to try to expose his presence in her boudoir: to claim that Lauda had seen him enter Murie’s chamber, but hadn’t realized it was Murie’s until she’d seen her coming out of it this morning –  else she would have surely called the guard. Of course, that plot had been ruined when Murie denied dreaming of anyone.

Positive that the pair would not now let the matter lie but would come up with another plan – either to expose Balan’s presence in Murie’s room last night or to find another way to trick the girl into marrying Malculinus – Osgoode and Balan had sent their spy to trail the brother and sister and see if he could learn what they might come up with.

"Come." Osgoode moved back across the room and turned to face Balan. "We shall start again. This time, try to recall you approach me on my right."

Heaving a heartfelt sigh, Balan took up his position, then nodded to his squire. The fifteen-year-old promptly began to play a tune on his lute, and Balan and Osgoode began again to dance.

"Perhaps a test of knowledge?" Emilie said.

Murie stopped pacing to contemplate the suggestion, then asked, "What kind of knowledge?"

"History?" Emilie suggested after a moment to consider. Murie wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I have never fared well at history. I always get dates and names mixed up."

"Ah." Emilie’s eyebrows drew together in concentration. The two women were briefly silent. "What are you good at?" Murie stopped pacing and pursed her lips in thought. "I am quite good at chess."

"Chess!" Emilie stood. "That is perfect! I know Balan plays chess. He has done so with Reginald at Reynard."

"Good," Murie said, relieved to have the matter settled. After the last hour of pondering the possibilities, and not coming up with anything suitable, she’d begun to think it was an incredibly stupid idea to challenge him to a duel of intellect. But Murie was very good at chess. She often played the king – or at least had in the past. Much to his chagrin, she’d begun to win quite frequently, and he’d stopped playing with her.

"Let us go find Lord Balan and tell him what we have come up with," Emilie said. "Mayhap you can even play now." Nodding, Murie led the way to the door. The moment they were in the hall, however, she began to grow nervous.

"I have not played the game in a while," she confessed with worry. "King Edward has refused to play with me because I keep beating him. I hope I have not lost the skill."

"Nay, I am sure you will be fine." Emilie patted her shoulder reassuringly.

The two women looked for their quarry first in the hall. They did not see either Osgoode or Balan, but Emilie did spot and recognize Osgoode’s page loitering near the fire. The boy was not far from Malculinus and Lauda, who were seated in chairs by the fire, their heads close together in conversation.

Not wishing to draw the attention of the pair, Emilie caught the boy’s eye and waved him over. The lad hesitated, then ran to them and eventually related that Balan and Osgoode had retired to their chambers to prepare for that evening.

Thanking the page, the women made their way through the castle halls to find the rooms Balan and Osgoode shared, wondering as they went what exactly the two were preparing. They still hadn’t come up with an answer by the time they reached their destination.

"Here we are," Emilie said as they paused outside the door. They glanced at each other with raised eyebrows as they heard the sound of a lute from inside, and then she knocked. When a moment passed and there was no response, she knocked again.

"They are not answering," Murie pointed out. The door remained firmly closed.

"I do not think they can hear us knocking over their music," Emilie said with a frown.

"Mayhap we should come back later." Murie shrugged, not at all distressed by the delay. She was suddenly feeling a need to practice chess. It had been a while since she’d played, and she didn’t wish to make a fool of herself after insisting she was as intelligent as any man.

Unfortunately, Emilie shook her head. "Nay. ‘Tis better to get this over with."

"Well, I do not see how we are going to do that if they do not answer the – " The words died on her lips as Emilie opened the door. Both women stared wide-eyed at the occupants of the room. A young lad with a lute was the source of the music, but it was Balan and Osgoode who had the women gaping. The two were dancing – or trying. While Osgoode seemed to manage the steps just fine, Balan appeared to be having difficulty.

"Watch the toes!"

Osgoode squawked as Balan –

concentrating on the hand he was taking – took one step too close and stomped on his cousin’s foot.

Emilie pulled the door quietly closed again and turned to grab Murie’s arm. She hurried her away from the door as they both burst into giggles.

"Oh my," Murie breathed once they had turned the corner and her laughter had eased. "Whatever were they doing?"

"I think Osgoode was giving Balan lessons in dancing," Emilie said. "Most likely to impress you tonight after the feast."

"Oh, I had forgotten about tonight," Murie admitted. She generally tried to avoid court feasts and balls when Emilie was not in attendance, and generally she got away with it. However, Emilie was here, and Murie would no doubt be expected to attend this event, especially now that she’d been ordered to marry.

"I suppose you have not decided on what to wear," Emilie commented.

Murie shook her head.

"Well, as the men are busy, mayhap we should delay the game of chess and go look into that. I am sure you have something suitable."

"I do not understand it," Emilie said, frowning around the ballroom. "The entire court knows you must marry. Where are all the men?"

Murie shrugged unhappily. "Probably hiding, for fear I shall look in their direction and they shall be stuck with a brat for a wife."

"Oh, nay," Emilie said, but she looked worried. And well she should, too, Murie thought. She’d caught more than one whisper suggesting that this was exactly the reason for the sudden shortage of men at court. Some of the women found it amusing and were tittering over the fact, while others were annoyed with Murie for scaring off the men when they too needed to find husbands. Lord Malculinus Aldous was one of the few men who had not fled, but that had left him to plague Murie all evening, and she’d found she could not turn around without tripping over the man.