The Brat Page 0,4

the land . . . and buy you a whole new trousseau... and have the biggest wedding ever ... and you can even pick your own husband," he added desperately.

Her sobs finally slowed. She raised great, wet wounded eyes to the king, and stuttered, "A-As . . . y-you . . . wish, s-sire." Stumbling to her feet then, the Brat hurried from the hall, hands covering her face to muffle her loud sobs.

King Edward watched as the door slammed behind the girl, then shook his head with a heavy sigh and turned to face the table. He sat for a moment staring at the fare before him, a sumptuous feast all laid out and growing cold: No one dared touch it ere he began to eat. He suddenly stood.

"I have lost my appetite," he announced to no one in particular, and then he turned and walked to the door. "Come, Becker." As the door closed behind the king and his servant, Osgoode asked uncertainly, "Do we get to eat now?"

Balan frowned and glanced around at the other nobles in the hall. They, too, looked uncertain. Were they now allowed to eat the fare provided, or expected to bypass it because the king had?

When the others began to rise from the table, apparently deciding it was better to be safe than sorry, Balan shook his head. The girl's fit hadn't affected his appetite, but he would rather find a meal in one of the many alehouses of London than risk causing the king offense. They had best be off.

"I have been thinking," Osgoode murmured as the two of them made their way out of the keep and toward the stables. "Perhaps you are right. Murie is not the savior we need."

"No," Balan agreed, steering the man away from the stables and toward the gardens. If they were going to discuss this, it was better to do so in privacy. In the stables, there were many ears to listen in, and Balan knew Osgoode well enough that he knew they were going to discuss it. His cousin wasn't the most discreet of men. The man would voice his opinions on the matter whether Balan cared to hear them or not, so it was best to let him talk someplace he wouldn't be overheard.

"I cannot believe the wench!" Osgoode said as they reached the safety of the gardens.

Balan grunted and cast an eye around, to be sure that no one was near enough to overhear. They were in a secluded spot.

"Do not even think of marrying her," his cousin went on, as if he himself hadn't actually been extolling the virtues of such a union just a short time previous. "Not that she would be interested in you. Someone so spoiled would hardly look at you twice. Still, I would rather starve at Gaynor than have that weeping, wailing wench there. Dear God, she carried on so loudly they could probably hear it out here in the gardens. We could never escape the sound at Gaynor, not even in the bailey." Balan would have criticized his cousin for the disrespectful address - Lady Murie might be a brat, but she should not be called a wench - but the man looked so dispirited at the realization that Lady Murie wouldn't do for a wife, he didn't have the heart. Besides, the behavior he'd witnessed in the hall was not that of a lady, so he supposed the term was not too inappropriate.

"Well," Osgoode said, forcing his shoulders straight and his head up. "There are plenty more ladies here at court to consider. Come, let us make a list."

Balan scowled as his stomach growled, reminding him of its emptiness, but he gave in and followed his cousin to a small stone bench. This was an important issue, after all; his stomach would have to wait.

"Let me see," Osgoode began as they both seated themselves.

"There is Lady Lucinda. She's quite pretty and well off." Balan shook his head. "From what I heard, she is as good as wed to Brambury. Their fathers are negotiating the marriage contract."

"Oh." Osgoode frowned. "Well, then, there is Lady Julia. A bit temperamental, they say, but a beauty for all that - and soaking in coin."

"Plague," Balan muttered.

"I did say she was a bit temperamental, but really, Balan, there is no need to call her a plague. She is nowhere near as bad as Lady Murie, and beggars cannot be choosers."

"I was not suggesting she is a plague. She