The Brat Page 0,12

made you feel sick, has it?"

"A bit," Murie admitted with a grimace. Emilie shook her head, clearly exasperated. "I do not know why you allowed her to cow you into eating it. You do know this is all nonsense, do you not?"

"Of course," Murie muttered.

"Oh, aye," Emilie continued dryly. "I know you too well, Murie. You are the most superstitious person I know and probably believe you will now dream of the man meant to be your husband. The only reason you hesitated was the unpleasant task of eating the rotten meat."

Murie neither admitted nor denied this claim. She really wasn't feeling at all well. Her stomach was roiling, and she was actually feeling a bit woozy.

"The meat is not resting happily, is it?" Emilie asked with concern as Murie rubbed her stomach again. "Is it revolting?"

"Aye," Murie admitted, then gave a short laugh as she added,

"in more ways than one. That meat tasted absolutely vile."

"Hmm. I am not at all surprised to hear it." Emilie's gaze was concerned.

"Here we are," Murie said, gesturing to the door they'd reached.

Emilie glanced at it - the door to her chamber - frowned and said, "Mayhap I should sit with you for a bit. Just to be sure you are all right."

"Do not be silly," Murie said, touched by her concern. Emilie had always been a good friend. "Nay. Reginald would worry if he returned to your chamber to find you missing. Besides, I shall be fine. I am going to go right to bed . . . hopefully to have sweet dreams. It would be a shame to have eaten that vile meat and not be rewarded for it."

Emilie sighed. "Well, all right, but have Cecily sleep in your room, and tell her to come fetch me if you start feeling any worse," she ordered.

Murie just smiled, refusing to make a promise she didn't intend to keep. She had no plan to make her maid sleep in her room. To distract her friend from noticing she'd not promised, she asked,

"Are you not going to wish me sweet dreams?"

Emilie chuckled softly and shook her head. "Very well, sweet dreams."

"Thank you," Murie murmured.

Shrugging, Emilie gave her a hug. "I suppose stranger things have happened. Mayhap Malculinus is right and your mind will supply the answer to your heart's question."

"Aye," Murie said as her friend opened the door "Sleep well, Emilie."

"And you," Lady Emilie answered, slipping inside. Murie grimaced as she turned away and continued up the hall to her own room. It seemed questionable whether she would sleep at all tonight. Her stomach really was not happy to have the rotten meat in it. On the other hand, she was also quite exhausted and even a bit woozy. She didn't know why that should be; she'd hardly had any of the wine or ale that had poured so freely tonight, but there it was.

"My lady." Her maid, Cecily, smiled widely and popped up from the window ledge where she'd been seated while mending an undertunic. She set the garment aside and hurried forward as Murie closed the door. "Did you have a good evening?"

"Not really," Murie admitted wearily.

"Oh?" Cecily set to work helping her to disrobe. Murie was silent for a moment, then asked, "Cecily, have you ever heard of a superstition connected to St. Agnes Eve?

Something about - "

"Dreaming about the man who will be your husband?" Cecily finished with a nod. "Aye. In fact, my sister once tried it."

"Oh?" Murie said. "What happened?"

"She dreamt of a stranger. Met him a week later, and they were married six months after that," she announced.

"Really?" Murie smiled, hoping that her upset stomach might not be for nothing after all.

"Aye." Finished with the fastenings of the gown, Cecily helped her mistress slip out of it, then helped Murie out of her undertunic as well.

"Have you ever tried it?" Murie asked. She moved to the basin of water on the stand by her bed and dipped in a bit of linen.

"Aye," the girl said slowly.

"And did you dream of a man?"

"Nay. Not that I recall." She smiled wryly and put the gown away. "Though, that was years ago, and I am not yet married. Mayhap I never shall be, so there was no one to dream of."

"Oh, I am sure that is not the case," Murie said quickly. But while Cecily had been a young woman when she'd first come with Murie to court after the death of Murie's parents, that had been ten years ago.