The Brat Page 0,87

At first he thought his wife had left him alone, but then he saw her kneeling on a fur before the fire, mending something by the light cast by the flames. He watched her for a moment as she concentrated on her stitches and had just realized that the pale yellow cloth she held must be Juliana's new dress when he became aware of the pungent smell in the air.

"What is that smell?" he asked after a moment. It smelled like onions to him, but there was no good reason that he could think for the room to reek of the scent.

Murie glanced up from sewing, wide eyes swiveling his way.

"You are awake." Setting Juliana's dress aside, she climbed to her feet and crossed to the bed.

"Aye," Balan acknowledged, as she settled on the straw mattress next to him and placed a hand at his cheek. Her gaze slid over his face and eyes.

"Your coloring is much better, and your eyes are clear," she noted. "The rest has done you good. How is your head?"

"Fine," he muttered, then repeated, "What is that smell?"

"What smell?" she asked with confusion.

"It smells like onions," he said, glancing around again.

"Oh. Well that would be onions," Murie answered,bending to pick up a tankard of some liquid left beside the mattress. Straightening, she held it out. "Here. Drink this."

"Nay, it made me sleepy the last time," he protested, waving it away. "Why would our room reek of onions?"

"Because there are onions in our room," she answered simply, and held the tankard out again. " 'Tis not the same brew as last time. 'Tis a special concoction to strengthen you. It will not make you sleep. Drink it."

Balan scowled, but took the tankard and drank half of it in one gulp, only to pause and make a face. "This is worse than the last one. What is in it?"

"Rosemary, sage and St. John's wort - among other things," she answered evasively.

"Hmmph." Balan scowled but drank more of the liquid before asking, "Why are there onions in our room?"

"They will help prevent your getting an infection or fever," was Murie's answer.

"Humph," Balan muttered. He gulped the rest of the vile drink down, then handed back the tankard.

"Are you hungry?" Murie asked, taking it.

"Aye," he admitted. "I do not suppose there is any boar left?"

"Of course there is," Murie assured him, standing and moving to place the tankard on one of her chests that had been moved beside the bed to be used as a table. There was a trencher on it, which she picked up to carry back. "They saved you the choicest bits. Clement brought it up before the others sat down to eat. It has been waiting here for you to wake."

"Mmm." Balan sat up as she handed him the trencher. Murie settled on the bed as he began to eat, but shook her head when he offered her some.

He ate in silence for several minutes before she asked, "Balan?

Do you remember what happened?"

"Aye. We went down to the river, washed our clothes and laid them out to dry on the rocks, then bathed. Osgoode was done quicker than I and left to head back to the castle. I had just got out and re-donned my clothes when someone cracked me over the head. I must have fallen into the river."

She was silent as he ate some more. Then: "You did not hear or see anything ere they hit you over the head?"

"Nay. There are small rapids just up from where we swam. The sound of the water rushing over the rocks would have covered for any sound of an approach," he pointed out.

"Aye," Murie murmured. "I passed Osgoode on my way down to the river. His clothes were wet."

"Aye. They did not get a chance to dry ere our getting out. Mine were still wet too when I donned them," Balan said absently, his concentration on his food. Clement had outdone himself. The boar was juicy and well-seasoned, and the man had indeed saved him the choicest bits.

"So, he was not wet from dragging you into the water?" Murie asked.

Balan stiffened, the food forgotten. Raising startled eyes, he said, "What?"

"You do not think he ..." She paused and bit her lip, looking uncomfortable, and blinked in surprise when Balan burst out laughing.

"Nay, wife," he said when his laughter had slowed. "Osgoode did not cosh me over the head and throw me in the river to drown."

She gave a half-relieved smile, but asked, "You are sure?