The Brat Page 0,99
funny?" Balan asked.
"I was just recalling how you squawked at the very idea of marrying her when I first suggested it. What was it you said... ?" He tipped his head back and peered at the sky thoughtfully. "Oh, yes, I believe your response was, You are quite mad if you think I would even momentarily consider marrying the king's spoiled goddaughter.'" He grinned at Balan and taunted, "I must be quite mad indeed."
"Oh, all right, have your fun," Balan muttered. Then he grinned and added, "But I have Murie."
"Aye, you do," Osgoode said, sobering. "And you are most fortunate to have her. I hope I am so fortunate one day." Now it was Balan's turn to grin. Eyes sparking with deviltry he said, "Mayhap I can help you with that. Murie may know one or two ladies at court with a home and demesne of their own for you to rule."
Osgoode gave a quick laugh. "Oh, dear Lord, do not even say it!"
"Why not?" Balan asked with amusement. "Hmph. I would not marry one of those highbrow witches. Murie is the absolute only female at court who did not sneer at our garb. Well, aside from Lady Emilie, but she is already married to Reynard." Osgoode shook his head. "Nay, I am too young to settle down. Besides, you would miss me here."
"Aye, I would," Balan acknowledged. He and his cousin had been knocking about together since they were very young children. In truth, he could not recall a time when Osgoode hadn't been there, watching his back or getting him into trouble. He would miss him, but he knew the day was coming when his cousin would wish for a wife and home of his own. Balan would be sad to see him go, but happy for him as well when that day came. A smile on his lips, he said, "You could always marry Lauda. That way, you would have a wife and home of your own and still remain close by. We would be neighbors."
"And have Malculinus for a brother-in-law?" he asked with horror.
"If that is your only protest, we could always find an excuse to challenge the man and kill him," Balan said with a laugh. Osgoode started to shake his head and then paused, his gaze dead ahead. "That does not look like a hearth fire to me, Balan." Balan glanced at the buildings ahead, eyes widening with alarm when he saw smoke coming through the door of the largest cottage. It had been the blacksmith's home before the plague hit, but that man and his family were among the first claimed by the plague, and it had been empty ever since.
"That is not where you saw Murie?" he asked with dread.
"Aye," Osgoode muttered, concern marring his own brow. Balan cursed and put his spurs to his mount, crossing the remaining distance at full speed. "Murie!" he shouted as he drew the animal to a halt a safe distance from the cottage. "Murie?" As Osgoode drew up, Balan dismounted and headed for the door. Smoke was billowing out in a constant, dark, noxious stream, and he could not imagine what was burning.
"It smells like she is burning some of those twigs and herbs she likes to collect," Osgoode gasped, running to catch up.
"Aye. Cover your nose and mouth with your doublet," Balan suggested, and did so himself as he hurried inside.
The smoke billowing out the door was nothing compared to that caught inside the cottage: a dark, heavy cloud obscured his ability to see.
"Murie!" he shouted, stumbling into furniture.
"Murie!" Osgoode shouted right behind him, then cursed. "I cannot see a damned thing."
"Neither can I," Balan admitted. He bent at the waist, wracked by a violent cough. Despite the cloth over his face, smoke was getting through and choking him.
"She could not possibly be conscious in all this smoke, Balan," Osgoode said anxiously. He was coughing violently himself.
"I shall look for her; you go back outside," Balan ordered, dropping to his knees to feel around the floor. If she were not conscious, she would be on the ground.
"Where have you gone?" Osgoode's voice sounded alarmed, directly above him. The man was nearly standing on him. "I cannot even see you anymore."
"I am down here. 'Tis less smoky by the ground." Balan began to crawl toward the back of the cottage in an awkward three-limbed maneuver, trying to hold the cloth of his shirt to his face while moving.
The building was smaller when it was first