the wagon, as well as Emilie's. They had been arranged to leave a small pocket of room where several furs lay. She glanced at those curiously, then peered around the gathering. "We have beat Emilie and Reginald here."
"Aye. They shall be along soon, though I am - " Balan paused abruptly and turned his head, a hand rising to his nose as he began the repeated gasping inhalations of an oncoming sneeze. Eyes widening in alarm, Murie reached out quickly and slapped his left cheek, forcing his face to the right just as he sneezed. Balan turned to her with confusion the moment he'd recovered himself. "What - ?"
" 'Tis bad luck to sneeze to the left ere a journey, my lord. You must always try to sneeze to the right if you are planning a trip."
"I see," he said solemnly, his shoulders relaxing. His tone was rather dry, however, when he asked, "Is there anything else I should know about sneezing?"
"Never sneeze near a grave, and - "
"Here we are!" Emilie cried gaily, and Murie gave up her explanations in order to smile at the woman whose husband led her over. "I hope we did not hold you up too long. Reginald felt he should make his farewells to the king, else we would have been here much sooner. Fortunately, he did not have to wait too long to see him."
"That was fortunate," Murie agreed, and thought that Edward must have realized Lord Reynard was stopping to beg leave and so had seen him quickly to allow them to get on their way.
"Come, wife." Balan took her arm to lead her to her mount.
"Emilie is not riding in the wagon, is she?" Murie asked with surprise. Reginald had lifted his wife up into the back.
"Aye," Balan said as he caught her at the waist to set her on her horse.
"But - " Murie broke off with surprise as he stopped lifting her and kissed her quite thoroughly.
"Wife," he said when he'd finished.
"Aye?" She sighed, her eyes slowly opening.
"I was sneezing to my right. You turned my head to your right, which was my left." He grinned at her blank expression, then set her in the saddle and turned to walk to his own mount.
Murie stared after him with dismay, realizing what he'd said was true. They had been facing each other, and she had turned his face from her left to her right, which meant she'd turned his face from his right to his left. Oh, this didn't bode well for the journey at all!
They rode through the afternoon and well into evening before Balan and Reginald deemed it time to stop and make camp. Murie knew they had traveled so late to make up for leaving court so late, so she had not complained, but she was grateful to be off her mount.
She was doubly grateful when her husband proved himself very considerate by suggesting he take her down to the riverside to clean up while the rest of the men prepared camp.
Yes, she'd chosen her husband well, Murie decided with a contented smile as he grabbed her hand and led her into the woods around the clearing the men had chosen. So distracted was she with her own satisfaction, they had gone quite a way before she began to pay attention to the trees and vegetation around them.
It was pure chance that she glanced down and spotted the St. John's wort.
"Oh, nay, my lord! Be careful!" Murie cried, catching at Balan's arm and trying to bring him to a halt. She sighed with exasperation. "Too late."
"Too late for what?" Balan asked with bewilderment. She bent and urged his foot out of the way, then tried to fluff up the plant he'd crushed with his step.
'You must never step on St. John's wort," she lectured. "A fairy horse will rise up under you and carry you away."
Balan watched his wife's useless efforts to fix the plant, baffled, and then realization struck. This was one of her silly superstitions. Smiling faintly, he caught her upper arm and drew her back to her feet. "I think we can do away with that worry." She peered at him in confusion. "Why?"
"Because I am still here. No fairy horse rose up and took me away," he pointed out.
"Oh." She sighed, leaning into him as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. "Husband?"
"Aye," he murmured, fascinated by the way she was turning in to his touch like a petted cat.
"I like it when you kiss