arguing the trek was needed, his concern seemed to be with Balan going alone with Osgoode. It would appear the soldier, like his wife, had suspicions where his cousin was concerned.
"Here she comes," Osgoode said, drawing Balan's gaze toward the gates. His wife hurried across the bailey toward him. Balan frowned. "Where the devil is she coming from?" Not expecting an answer, he turned his horse and quickly rode to his wife's side, scooping her up off the ground and settling her before him on his mount with one smooth action. She was apologizing before he could demand to know where she'd been.
"I am ever so sorry, husband," she said, digging around in the small bag she carried. "I did not intend to be so long, but I could not find a clover leaf. I mean, I could find a clover, but I wanted a four-leafed one. They are really the best, but ever so hard to find. And then, I had difficulty finding an even ash leaf, and once I did, I could not recall what you were to say as you picked it. I think it is, 'Even ash I do thee pluck, hoping thus to meet good luck. If no good luck I get from thee, I shall wish thee on the tree.' But I was not certain."
"Wife," Balan said the moment she paused to draw breath.
"Aye?" She stopped what she was doing to peer at him.
"Why are you sticking leaves and bits of twig in my clothing?" he asked with what he thought was a display of utmost patience.
"There is no need to yell, husband," Murie said, looking hurt.
"These are all charms to bring you luck. This twig is from a birch tree. It is supposed to avert the evil eye and has protective powers. And this is elder to - "
Balan silenced her explanations with a kiss. She was blessedly silent when it was over, except for a little sigh that slipped from her lips. It was enough to make him consider delaying the trip long enough to carry her up to their room and give her something to remember him by, but he resisted the temptation. Did he do that, he would never leave, and this trip was necessary. In fact, it was more than necessary. The things he intended to get were needed desperately. But should he not get her out of his lap soon, Balan knew he was in danger of forsaking this trip. While her superstitions and insistence on sticking twigs and leaves and other charms in every hole and spot she could find was annoying, it warmed his heart that she cared so much about him and was doing the only thing she could think of to keep him safe while he was away.
Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he bent to the side and set her on the ground at the foot of the stairs beside Anselm. Turning solemn eyes to the man, he ordered, "Look after her." His soldier nodded solemnly in return, and Balan started to turn his horse away.
"Oh! Wait, husband!" Murie cried, making him draw his horse to a halt and turn back. She rushed to his side.
"I forgot," she explained, grabbing his foot in the stirrup. She paused and began to work her mouth as if she had a bad taste in it. Balan was about to ask what she'd forgotten, when she nodded with apparent satisfaction and ... spat on him.
Balan simply stared with disbelief. It was Osgoode who asked what he could not.
"Er.. . Murie? Did you just spit on Balan?" his cousin asked. Anselm rushed forward, eyes wide with horror.
"Aye." Murie beamed at them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. " 'Tis good luck to spit on someone before they take a journey. 'Twill protect them and bring them good fortune," she explained. She asked Osgoode, "Would you like me to spit on you, too?"
"Nay!" the man said quickly through laughter. Then he asked,
"Did you ever spit on the king before a journey?"
"Nay," she confessed. "But I am sure the queen did. I did once tell her about the custom, and she seemed most interested."
"Murie," Balan said as Osgoode burst into more laughter.
"Aye, husband?"
"Come here."
Her eyes suddenly wary, she hesitated, but then moved closer. Bending to the side, Balan lifted her up again, pressed a quick hard kiss to her lips and whispered, "I love you." He then quickly set her back down,