The Brat Page 0,38

the shock quickly clearing her mind. She then hopped off the tower stone and hurried after him, slipping and sliding in the mud but uncaring that it was ruining her gown. "Really?"

Pausing, Balan turned to glance at her, then frowned and scooped her into his arms. "Is it what you wish?"

"I... You ..." Murie paused, blew a stray hair out of her face and peered up at him, her body relaxed in his arms. "Well, St. Agnes seems to think it would be a good idea."

His eyes narrowed, mouth twisting with displeasure. "For any reason other than that?"

She considered the matter, then admitted, "I think you are very handsome."

"You do?" he asked. When she nodded shyly, he stared at her.

"And I find you lovely."

Murie smiled and added, "And Emilie and Reginald and even the king seem to think a lot of you, so I already know you are a good man."

"And you are not the horrible brat everyone believes you are." Murie blinked at the back-handed compliment.

"Anything else?" he asked.

She blushed but admitted, "I like your kisses, my lord." A grin took his mouth, and he bent to lightly press another to her lips.

"We shall deal well together," he decided, and turned to continue on to the castle, carrying her in his arms.

Murie stared at his strong face and gave a little sigh, then slid her arms around his neck. It seemed that the decision was made; she would marry Balan. Her mind immediately began to make plans: She would have a new doublet sewn for him for their wedding, a fine new doublet made from the best materials and of colors that would suit him. And she would commission a dress for the child Juliana to be given when they reached Gaynor. And she would order all the things she thought Gaynor might need. The list was endless.

With nothing to delay it, and wishing Emilie and Reginald to be able to attend, Murie did not protest when the king decided the wedding should be a week hence. It meant she would spend the week running in circles trying to get everything done, but with the help of Emilie, Becker and several other servants, she handled everything she wished and even managed to present herself at the wedding both on time and dressed in a lovely new gown of pale blue, with a surcoat of burgundy to match the doublet and houpelande she'd had made for Balan.

Murie was most gratified when her husband arrived in the new garb. He looked very handsome and even regal.

The wedding passed in a blur for Murie; all she could later recall was a buzzing in her ears and being surrounded by people. She was most grateful when it was over and Balan was pressing the wedding kiss to her lips. It was a quick, perfunctory kiss, nothing like the kisses in her dream or the ones in the shelter of the tower wall, but she hardly expected such in front of so many people.

Taking her hand, Balan led her back through the well-wishers and in front of the procession back to the hall for the feast to follow. That too passed in a blur for Murie. She had a vague recollection of Balan feeding her sweetmeats and pressing a chalice of wine to her lips with concern on his face, and saying something about her being quite pale; and then the queen was beside her with her ladies-in-waiting and Emilie at her back, announcing it was time for the bedding.

Murie would have liked to have swooned then and slept through what followed, but she had too hearty a constitution for that. She stayed awake all through the chatter and - not always kind - teasing of the women as they stripped her of her clothing and then put her in the bed. Only Emilie's reassuring murmurs, glances and pats on the hand kept her from striking out at one of the court cows or bursting into sobs. And this time her sorrow would have been for real. Fortunately, Emilie was there, her presence a calming influence that kept Murie teetering on the edge of panic but not falling.

Once in the bed with the linens drawn up, the worst of it should have been done, but Murie found what followed just as distressing. The queen gave her an encouraging smile and moved to open the door. The men immediately burst in, the king leading the procession and Balan in the middle being half dragged, half