“You will speak freely in front of Lady Linnet, Robards. Despite what you may have been told, she is not in a weakened condition nor is she feebleminded.”
Linnet stiffened slightly at his side. “I should say not!” she spluttered.
“Certainly, sir,” answered Robards quickly. “The groom was to be housed in the Great Chambers next to Sir Jevons and Lady Millicent’s own rooms.”
“Sir Jevons and his lady wife will be leaving us today,” said Mason coolly. “You will instruct a party of servants to help them remove their personal effects and pack them for immediate departure.”
Linnet drew a quick breath and for a moment Mason thought she would argue, but instead she pointed upward at a long standard hanging from the ceiling.
“How long have the Jevons arms hung over Cadwallader Castle?” she asked, sounding annoyed.
Robards’s mouth opened and closed.
“You will take it down at once, and any others that may be about the place.”
“Yes, your ladyship,” he answered and summoned another servant into whose ear he whispered.
“I believe I saw the Vawdrey and Cadwallader colors outside . . . by the two tents,” she said lightly but with some emphasis on the word two. Obviously, that still rankled. “You will bring them inside and hang them from the rafters instead.”
Mason could have pointed out that as a bastard he had no right to use the Vawdrey panther, but he held his tongue. “Where are your sleeping quarters?” he asked her instead.
“I—in the tower,” she said looking a little taken aback.
He turned to Robards. “You will give instructions for Lady Linnet’s things to be moved from the tower into the master suite, as soon as the Jevons have vacated. But first,” he led her resolutely to the dais staged at the front of the great hall. “Attention, all!” he announced in a booming voice, handing her up onto the raised platform. “Your mistress Lady Linnet Cadwallader has this day done me the honor of marrying me and joining her lot with mine. My name is Sir Mason Vawdrey and you need to consider where your loyalties now lie. Sir Jevons and his wife will be departing the castle before this day is out.” There was a slight murmur and, as if on cue, the green standard of Sir Jevons fluttered down from the ceiling where a servant had cut it down. “They will be leaving with their own personal belongings only, and on no account are any papers or bookkeeping documents to leave with them. If you are asked to burn or destroy any effects of this kind you will instead keep them safe until Lady Linnet is free to examine them.”
“For now . . . ” he glanced down to Linnet who was leaning rather heavily on his arm. “You will lead us to the rooms prepared for Sir Roland.”
Robards gave another swift bow and turned towards a large doorway to the left of the great hall. “Follow me Sir Mason. My lady.”
IV
The chatelaine was a solid weight on Linnet’s hip. The keys to the castle, suspended on chains, jingled against each other as she walked. She had to force herself not to look around for her aunt when she heard the familiar sound. For astonishingly, her aunt no longer held the keys. She did. In truth, she was flagging now after all this rushing about. She felt pretty exhausted. Her new husband’s arm was reassuringly solid as she hung off it and crossed the great hall to find the groom’s bedchamber. She swallowed. She wasn’t so sure about the next part! Her aunt had explained to her that her marriage with Sir Roland was to be in name only, to secure her estates and ally her family with another powerful family at court. But she had not echoed that in her proposal to Sir Mason. To him she had promised something else entirely. A son and heir. Glancing up at his handsome and pitiless face, she felt a certain nameless dread. After all, what did she know about husbands and . . . beddings? She swallowed past the lump in her throat and traced the ring he had placed upon her finger. Well, she had one now. A husband, that is. She would have to learn, and quick. Something told her that her husband did not suffer fools gladly and would have no great reserves of patience. They had reached a studded oak door now, and Robards opened it to reveal an expansive chamber done out in burgundy with a fire already lit in the stone fireplace. At the far end of the room was a large bed with heavy velvet curtains decorated with gold thread hanging down around it. Only the best for Sir Roland. Linnet released Mason’s arm and made her way to the window which was cut into the stone so it had seats on either side, where you could be seated and enjoy the view. Plump velvet cushions had been placed there for this very purpose, and Linnet traced the gold thread where someone had embroidered the letters RV for Roland Vawdrey, but had not seen fit to add her own intertwined initials as was customary. She grimaced at the slight. Perhaps the marriage had not been seen as a matter for celebration at all? She wondered whose needle had embroidered the initials. Aunt Millicent’s? Fleetingly, she thought of the fancy tunic she had sewn for her bridegroom with her own hands. She had needed a lot of help from her aunt’s ladies in waiting to get it finished. She didn’t even know if it would fit Mason. Her aunt had told her that Roland Vawdrey was a man of slender build. Certainly nothing like this man who must be well over six feet tall and had a pair of wide, muscular shoulders that would likely burst the seams of her handmade garment! Picking up the cushions she turned them around to their plain side and placed them back down. As soon as she got the chance she would unpick the R and replace it with an M.
“We will dine in here, the two of us,” her new husband was telling Robards. He gestured towards a small table set up by the fireplace. “After we have eaten you will bring me the household accounts to look over. Bring us a meal in . . . ” he paused and glanced at her. “One hour’s time. We don’t wish to be disturbed until then.”
Robards looked a little harried but performed another bow for both of them and then withdrew, closing the door behind them.
Linnet fiddled nervously with her ring, tracing the crack in the black inscribed stone.
To her dismay, Mason Vawdrey started unfastening his belt. After slinging it on a chair he sat down and started pulling off his boots. He looked up and caught her frozen stare. “Take off your dress and get on the bed.”
Linnet gulped, glancing over at the window. It was still daylight! With trembling fingers she fumbled to undo her own belt, unclipping the chatelaine and setting it on top of a mahogany side table carved with the heads of the Cadwallader heraldic cat, a leopard.
“Sh-shouldn’t we get to know each other first, my lord?” she said in a cracked voice.
He gave her a rather dry glance. “I’m not a lord, Linnet.”
She gave a start at the intimacy of him using her given name. Rather ironic considering the intimacies that would soon follow! She tried not to look as he pulled his tunic up and over his head, standing there entirely bare chested. Good lord! She dropped her chain-link belt through nerveless fingers, and it thudded heavily against the floorboards. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating so heavily she wondered if she would crumple in a fainting heap! She never had actually fainted but she was always being threatened with the prospect. Did brides ever die from shock on their wedding night? Weakhearted ones like her might, she thought distractedly. His chest was huge, and his lean torso heavily muscled. She had never seen anything like it! He was down to his chausses and braies now and unlacing the crotch. He glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes to find her still fully dressed.
“Never undressed without a lady’s maid before?” he asked silkily. She blushed again at the faint contempt she heard in his words.
Shaking her head, she hastily set about toeing off her narrow slippers so she at least stood in her stockinged feet. When next she looked up she was shocked to find he had appeared in front of her. He moved lightly for a big man. She had no sooner had chance to register the scattering of dark hair across his chest then he had spun her round and started undoing the lacings down her back. To show willingness she set about loosening the lacings at her wrists and in no time at all he yanked her overdress open and down her shoulders.
She pulled at the wrists until the tight sleeves eased down her slender arms.
“Step out of the skirts,” he said, tugging the bodice down around her knees. Linnet complied and stood in nothing but her stockings and shift before him. Scooping up her blue dress he threw it over to the chair with his own discarded garments and then took her hand and drew her over to the fireplace. He looked down at her thoughtfully. “Turn around.”
She blinked and then slowly turned in a circle before him. It occurred to her that her shift was pretty transparent and in front of the firelight he would have an almost unimpeded view of her naked body. She ventured a glance at his face but could make out no expression in those hard, dark eyes. He lifted his hand slowly and then slid it over her shift, between her breasts. She gasped but then realized his hand had come to rest over her wildly beating heart. He frowned. “It’s working hard,” he said. “The rhythm seems regular at least.”
She could think of nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. Instead she stared up at him until his warm hand felt like a scalding brand.
“You’re very small,” he said with a shrug. “But other than that I can see no defects.”
She gaped. “W-were you expecting any?” she croaked.
He didn’t answer that, but instead withdrew his hand. She took a deep shaky breath and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.
“Here’s the thing Linnet. We married without the consent of your guardian.”
“I . . . I am of age,” she blurted. “And no longer legally Sir Jevons’s ward now I am past one and twenty.”
“That is true,” he agreed. “But he is still your nearest male relative . . . ”
“Only by marriage,” she interrupted anxiously.
He gave a small smile at her keenness to prove the validity of their union. “I am not trying to back out of our agreement,” he assured her. “But only to explain why we need to consummate the marriage and legalize it as soon as possible.”
She clasped her hands together tightly and nodded. “Yes, that would probably be for the best,” she agreed with a gulp.
“That being said,” he scanned her slight body critically. “You’re hardly up to my weight.”
Linnet’s face fell. She was confused. She had only heard that term in reference to riding horses, never brides! She tilted her chin. “I’m sure I must be more robust than I look,” she said desperately. He raised an eyebrow at that and, strangely enough, Linnet felt encouraged that he didn’t shoot her down.
“Really, I haven’t been ill in such a long while, and I often carry very heavy books around,” she babbled. “If you could just give me a chance to prove it.” Her optimism started to fail under his steady and slightly withering regard. Oh gods, she thought with sudden humiliation. It’s the freckles. Either that or the hair. “Y-you did say you didn’t care about my hair,” she said flatly. She didn’t have the courage to even mention her unsightly freckles. That would be pushing it too far. “But you probably said that just to spare my feelings.”
“Get on the bed,” he said nodding his head in the direction of the big dark wood four-poster.
Her eyes flew to his, but his face gave nothing away.
“Get under the covers if you’re cold.” He was stripping down the last of his smalls and Linnet felt guilty for trying to ogle him when clearly he did not relish the thought of looking at her naked. She made haste to scramble under the covers and then, taking a deep breath, yanked her shift up and over her head, flinging it onto the floor. It was cold under the covers and she shivered waiting for it to warm up. Her face felt hot though, as she tried to sneak surreptitious looks at the tanned, muscular body of her husband. He did not look much like the knights she drew in her life’s work, an illustrated manuscript of Tales of Sir Maurency of Jorde, but then after all, those were just stories. Fact was often far different to fiction. Indeed, she could scarcely imagine Mason Vawdrey performing acts of chivalry or valor. If anything, he looked like one of the villainous knights of her tales! A dark and sinister knight. But he had done her sterling service that day, she thought warmly. He had exposed her aunt’s and uncle’s lies and placed the keys to her castle in her own hands. For that she would be eternally grateful and do her utmost to be the kind of wife he could be proud of. With a start, she noticed that he was climbing in beside her and felt glad that the room had fallen into shadow now that the afternoon sun had sailed behind a large bank of cloud. There was a glow from the fireplace, but other than that, he had lit no candles, and she could only be grateful that her glowing red face would not show her up, nor would her wretched freckles. He shifted over until she felt his bare, hairy leg touch her own and she bit back the squeak she had almost uttered at the contact. Calm down Linnet!
“None of your personal belongings are down here,” he said casually as he moved his arms slowly and deliberately up to rest his hands behind his head on the pillow.
“Er, no,” she agreed nervously. He lay there a moment in silence and Linnet strove to control her shallow breathing. She had just managed to take a deep breath when he spoke again. “Were you expecting to entertain him in your chambers?” he asked.
Her eyes slid over to him. What exactly did he mean by “entertain”? “I hoped to have some private conversation with Sir Roland after the ceremony . . . ” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “Our courtship was carried out by proxy and although I wrote to him, it was not exactly a correspondence . . . ” Her words trailed off awkwardly.
He seemed to digest this a moment, staring at the ceiling. “You weren’t expecting a bedding, were you?”
She sat up and turned to face him, clutching the covers around her shoulders. “In truth I did not negotiate my own marriage terms with Sir Roland,” she confided in a rush. “My aunt and uncle took the lead.” She looked down at her hands on the coverlet, swallowing a lump in her throat.
“You negotiated your marriage terms with me,” he reminded her.
She caught her breath. “I did, didn’t I?” When she looked back at him, his gaze was on her hair.
“Take your hair down, Linnet.”
Yes, it was probably for the best if he saw the worst of it at once, she thought dolefully as she reached up to pull out her silver hairpins. They slid out easily enough from her straight hair which as soon as it was freed, slid down poker straight to hang about her shoulders in a gleaming curtain. She ran her fingers through it, hardly noticing that the blankets had slid down showing her pale arms, neck and shoulders. Mason had rolled towards her onto his side towards and reached out to run his hands through the silky strands.
“Like a mermaid,” he said, and Linnet felt herself blush that he should try and compliment her lack of looks. That was kind of him. And unexpected. She felt her heart warm as she set the handful of pins down on the coverlet and mustered the courage to try and meet his eyes. She felt acutely aware of her nakedness and the fact that his gaze had dipped to her meagre bosom. Clutching her upper arms, she was dismayed to find how cold her fingers felt on her own body. Of a certainty Mason Vawdrey would not relish his bride’s touch feeling like wet fish on the slab! She cupped her fingers and breathed on them in the hope of warming them up. His hand slid down the length of her hair to her middle back and then curled around her waist to tug her forward until she was lying on her side, face-to-face with him in the shadowy light of the room. Calm down Linnet! Unsure of her cue, but determined to do her part she reached for him and when she felt the firm muscle of his shoulder, she curled her fingers around it and drew him closer to her as he had done. He was careful as he shifted his far bigger body around hers. She had to fight against her impulse to leap back when she felt his hard body press against hers. He bit back at exclamation when she hesitantly placed her other hand at his waist to mirror his.
“Sorry,” she cringed snatching it back. “Are my fingers still cold?”
“A little,” he said shortly.
“Wait, I’ll warm them,” she said chafing them together. “My
circulation is sadly sluggish and my limbs are often cold . . . ” Well done, Linnet, she thought with a twist of her mouth, remind him his bride is a weak invalid! With horror, she thought about her feet which were like blocks of ice. She must not touch them to him or he would be repulsed!
“You’re not wearing your shift,” he said in a low hiss, his breath expelling through his teeth.
“Should I have left it on?” Linnet felt mortified. “Wait, I can fetch it!” When she started to move away, his hand shot out to stay her.
“You don’t need it.” He rested his hand on her hip, and she shivered slightly at the contact although she could feel the warmth spreading out from his palm. He rested his other hand against her breast bone, spreading his fingers wide. Linnet tried to steady her breathing but she was panting as if she’d run a mile!
“Be calm wife,” he breathed against her temple, and she felt his mouth brush against her.
She puffed out her breath and dragged in a deep breath. “If . . . if you just give me a moment to accustom myself . . . ” she asked beseechingly. “I promise I’ll do everything you say.”
“Yes,” he agreed in a low, rough voice. “You will,” and in an unhurried move, he dragged his hand down until it lay between her breasts. Then his mouth was on her throat, and Linnet gasped when she felt his tongue lick her there. He shifted again, until his mouth was next to her ear. “Sweet,” he whispered. “You taste very, very sweet Linnet.”
“Do I?” she whispered feeling dazed. She steeled herself to reach for him again and placed her hands against his broad chest. “You feel very different to me,” she marveled and then instantly felt foolish. “Should I stop talking?” she asked feeling slightly mortified.
He seemed to consider this a moment. “How different?” he asked. His voice sounded husky. Definitely warmer than before. His own hands moved until they cupped her small, high breasts. “You’re little and soft,” he breathed. When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Linnet?”
Her Baseborn Bridegroom Page 3
