time of need." Balan scowled. 'You keep saying we, but there is no we. I am the one who would have to marry and live with the wench, not we."
"I would if I could," Osgoode assured him, looking earnest. Balan merely snorted.
"She cannot be as bad as all that," Osgoode said reasonably, trying another approach. 'You could just marry her, bed her and then .. . then spend your days out in the bailey with us men, neatly avoiding her as much as possible."
"And only have to face her recriminations and whining every night?" Balan suggested dryly.
"Exactly." Osgoode nodded, then grinned and suggested, "She cannot whine and recriminate with her mouth full. Just keep her busy at night. That part shouldn't be too bad. By all accounts she is quite lovely."
"Of course she is lovely," Balan said, as if only an idiot would think otherwise. "That is why the king dotes on her. She arrived here, all big blue eyes and golden curls, and wrapped him neatly around her little finger. He denied her nothing. That's why she's an enfant terrible. And that is also why I shall not be marrying her," he announced firmly. A moment later he exclaimed, "Dear God, I cannot believe you would even suggest it! The Brat? Do you really want a woman like that at Gaynor?"
"Nay, but - "
"But nothing," Balan interrupted. "Besides, spoiled as the girl is, she would hardly look favorably on my suit. She would take one look at my clothing and laugh herself silly. And - seeing how he dotes on and spoils her - the king would hardly be willing to marry her off to someone with an estate in the sad shape Gaynor is in."
Osgoode frowned. Obviously, he hadn't considered that.
"Nay," Balan went on grimly. "He will want the best for his pet - the wealthiest, handsomest, most powerful lord he can find. Not a poor baron with a vast estate but nary a coin to his name."
"I suppose there is that," Osgoode admitted.
"Aye." Balan nodded, relieved at the concession. But that relief faded with his cousin's next words.
"Now that you mention it, I fear no lord will wish his daughter to be married into such circumstances. We have a tough job ahead of us in finding a bride for you, what with the resources Gaynor requires."
The two men fell into a glum silence as they contemplated the matter, and then both glanced around at the sound of the hall doors opening. The servant, Robert, led a petite blonde into the hall.
Balan sucked in a breath at his first sight of the notorious Brat. He'd never seen her before. He wasn't one for court, attending only those special ceremonies required as a member of the Order of the Garter; but Lady Murie Somerdale was something to behold. The famed golden locks were a halo around the sweetest of faces, framing large eyes the same periwinkle blue as the gown she wore. She had an endearingly tipped nose, soft rosy cheeks and large luscious lips that made a man think of kissing - and other, more carnal pursuits.
Balan let his breath out as he watched her move serenely across the hall, and wondered how serene she would be once she learned that she was to wed. To look at her, it was hard to believe she could be the horror everyone claimed.
"Good day, sire."
Balan almost sighed at the sound of her lovely voice as she greeted the king. It took some effort to force his eyes over to see the king's reaction. When he did, he saw that Edward's first response was to smile widely, but then the monarch scowled and looked away.
"Good day, Murie. I trust you slept well?" Edward asked, avoiding her eyes almost guiltily.
"Of course, sire," she assured him with a bright smile. "How could I not? I have the softest bed in the castle."
"The softest bed for the most delicate lady," he agreed, then cleared his throat and glanced around. He was starting to look a tad beleaguered, though all they had done was exchange greetings.
"Did you wish to speak to me about something, sire?" Murie asked as the king remained silent, his gaze searching the room as if for an escape.
Sighing, King Edward swung his gaze back to peer at her, raised his head and opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it closed again and turn to gesture irritably at the man seated beside him. "Get up, Abernathy. Give her