Her Baseborn Bridegroom

by Coldbreath, Alice

Mason reached over to run a hand slowly through her loose hair, making her jump.

  “Cobwebs?” she asked nervously.

  He shook his head, continuing to thread his fingers through the silky length. If she didn’t know any better she would almost think he liked it!

  Remembering how she had played with his hair that morning while he slept, she felt herself blush faintly. Or maybe that was just the fact he was touching her so casually when she wasn’t accustomed to such treatment.

  A dry cough brought them both out of the moment. The steward Cecil Robards stood before them holding two leather satchels. His bearing was tense, his expression tight.

  “Sir Mason, my lady. These two sacks need to be added to the inventory.”

  Linnet sat up as Mason’s dark brows snapped together. Cecil placed them stiffly on the table before them. Linnet reached to open the first bag as Mason merely turned to her. To her surprise she recognized the contents. It was her mother’s jewelry. Golden necklaces set with rubies and pearls, and silver-linked belts decorated with sapphires.

  “The Cadwallader jewels!” breathed Cuthbert reverently.

  “Where were they?” asked Mason sharply.

  “I thought it expedient to retrieve them from the . . . um . . . the garderobe of Sir and Lady Jevons before they finished packing the other night.”

  “They kept them in their latrine?”

  Linnet snatched her hand back hastily.

  “Indeed they did, sir. Many people do. It’s quite a common hiding place,” he added apologetically at Linnet’s disgusted expression.

  “I don’t believe I will wear them to supper after all,” she said in a weak attempt at humor. Cuthbert gurgled with appreciation but Robards still looked ill at ease, staring at his feet.

  “Thank you, Robards,” she said. “My husband and I were discussing your honest service the other day. We do appreciate that you have remained with us.”

  Robards’s face became suffused with color as he stammered his thanks, and Linnet almost missed Mason’s look of displeasure, it was so fleeting.

  “I would like you to look over my wife’s household accounts, Robards,” he said coolly. “Paying particular attention to the staff listed therein.”

  Linnet stiffened at the idea of relinquishing her precious accounts to the steward. It was hard not to take it as a personal slight. She stared down at the tabletop a moment to compose herself. When she looked up she addressed her page.

  “Cuthbert, would you be so kind as to fetch my accounts book forth?”

  “From the tower, milady?” asked Cuthbert, reaching out his hand for the key to her chest.

  “No, from the bedchamber in the master suite,” she correctly softly.

  He gave a small bow and skittered off in his yellow and blue hose, his golden bobbed hair glowing. As he exited the room, Oswald entered carrying a stack of papers. No doubt his inventory from the strong room, she thought. Linnet steeled herself for an ordeal. Something told her that what was left of the afternoon was not going to be pleasant.

  VIII

  Mason was not fooled by Linnet’s compliance. He could tell she had not liked turning over her accounts one bit. But he did not have time to pussyfoot around her finer feelings. He needed to know how things truly stood at Castle Cadwallader. Women were strange creatures, but even he had to agree she seemed even tempered for a female. She had not pouted or shed tears after her deflowering, and indeed for almost a week now she had sat three parts of the day in a dank cellar, scribing. Now, as he watched Robards strike a line through the name of yet another fictitious servant in red ink, he could feel his brother’s disapproval. He raised an eyebrow at Oswald’s troubled countenance.

  “Well, what is it?” he asked finally. “Out with it. You’ve been pacing and sighing this last hour.

  “You should go to her,” said his brother, frowning. “She sits now in the solar. You should accompany her for a while.”

  Mason’s eyebrows rose. “Why should I? I clearly have more pressing concerns.”

  Oswald rolled his eyes. “This seems rather . . . unseemly, Brother.”

  “What does?”

  “This preoccupation with the dowry she brings you. It’s been almost a week now you’ve been totting up your wealth.”

  Mason gave a short laugh. “Why else do you think I married her?” he asked coldly.

  Oswald swiveled to look at Robards, who was apparently absorbed with checking off his list against Linnet’s household book.

  “For the sake of the gods, Mason, what of servants’ tattle?” he cautioned in a low voice.

  “Linnet’s well aware of the fact,” he answered scathingly. “I spoke no words of love or courtship.”

  “Well, maybe you should have,” muttered Oswald.

  “No, I thank you. I’d rather have honest, plain dealing than hollow words and promises. Do you really think Roland would have played the lover for her?” he sneered. “He wasn’t even going to bed her.”

  Oswald’s lips thinned. “You think because she’s small and ugly she doesn’t deserve a few pretty words?” he asked. “When she brings you all this?” He swept a hand wide.

  “Is that what this is about?” asked Mason in a low, lethal voice. He had gone very still for a moment. “The fact that your bastard brother is now head of an estate three times as big as his sire’s?”

  A look of surprise flickered over Oswald’s face, and then his eyes dropped a moment as he seemed to turn over Mason’s words in his mind. Then he looked back up, his gaze open. “No, Mason, I can honestly say that is not it. I am worried about . . . about this marriage.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed to slits. “What affair is it of yours, Brother?”

  “What will our father say?” Oswald continued in a rush. “You were always so focused on your career, and now―”

  “The uprising in the North is quelled, Oswald,” he cut in drily. “That chapter is now definitely closed.”

  “But your post in the King’s army―it took you so long to get promoted to general.”

  “What of it?” he shrugged. “I will return to court as soon as I have trusted people in position here at the castle to keep all in order.”

  “You will just abandon her then? So soon after wedding her?”

  Mason laughed harshly. “Name one of our number who keeps his wife by his side,” he jeered. “Her place is here. I doubt very much she’d enjoy life at court.”

  “It’s just she’s so . . . naive and trusting, Mason.”

  He felt himself stiffen. “Save your concern for your own wife when you take one, Oswald. I have said I will find some trustworthy retainers, and then, yes, I will leave her like a shot from a bow.”

  Oswald’s mouth tightened with disapproval. “You have many qualities I admire, Mason. But I wish to the gods you had not taken such a woman to wife. You are ill suited, I fear.”

  Mason’s hands fisted at his sides, but he reined his temper in with effort. “Your concern is duly noted, Brother.” It was the first time he had addressed him as such. Oswald flushed. “Now let this be the end of it, for the deed is done and there is no use regretting it now.”

  Mason knocked briskly on the studded oak door before pushing it open. Linnet was in their room rather than in the solar. She sat in the window seat, a needle and thread in hand and a pile of cushions at her feet. As he approached he could see she was embroidering gold letters. With a flicker of surprise, he realized they were his initials. He paused a moment as she snapped the thread with her teeth and discarded the cushion she had been working on. Was this what she had been doing with her evenings? He had been leaving her to her own devices now for days, joining her in their rooms only when it was very late and his wife fast asleep.

  “Have you finished?” she asked softly.

  “For today. Tomorrow I shall start on the stables and outbuildings. Then next week I will start riding out to look at the lands and tenants.”

  She nodded.

  “That wi
ll take at least a week, if not two.” And by the time he was finished they would have been married a month already.

  “But we have finished the castle contents, more or less,” he continued smoothly. “I shall leave totting up the pantry, buttery, and livestock to Robards.”

  She nodded again, as he dropped down onto the window seat beside her, stretching out his long legs before them.

  “Linnet, I want you to know I do appreciate how . . . practical you have been about this. Our bargain, arrangements . . . ” he trailed off with a shrug.

  She turned impulsively towards him. “And I too,” she said with feeling. “I am ever so grateful for what you have taken on and I mean never to let you down again.”

  He blinked a moment at her vehemence. “What I have taken on?” he murmured slowly.

  “My vassals, and um . . . ” she swallowed nervously. “My inexperience and lack of housekeeping skills.” She swallowed. “You gave me the keys to the castle but I don’t deserve them. Have I made you a very bad marriage bargain?” Her eyes were shining with unshed tears, and she looked so worried that he felt a twinge of the same guilt Oswald had been unable to inspire in him only half an hour earlier.

  “Not at all, nothing like that.”

  She gulped. “Really?” It was little more than a whisper.

  He found himself leaning forward and tugging the cushion from her grasp before flinging it on the floor. Suddenly he felt glad that Oswald had spouted all that crap to him about being an inconsiderate bastard. At the time, it had been infuriating, but perhaps he had needed to hear it. Linnet’s lips had stopped trembling, although her eyes had spilled over and her cheeks were now wet with tears. He tugged her over from the opposite seat into his lap and let his own lips travel over her soft skin, sipping at them. Her cheeks felt perfectly smooth, and he could not feel the thousands of freckles in any way by mere touch alone. He murmured when he felt her hand reach out and stroke his face in a soft caress he had not expected. She fanned her fingers out and rubbed against his stubble. He almost laughed. “Is it rough?” he asked throatily.

  “A little. But not unpleasantly so,” she admitted breathlessly.

  “You’re silky smooth. Like satin, only warmer,” he told her huskily. Where the hell had that come from? Sweet words, Oswald had said. He hadn’t known he was capable of them.

  She smiled at that, looking unspeakably flattered. “You’re so kind,” she breathed, coloring up adorably.

  Adorably? He blinked at his thoughts. What the hell was going on with him? Kind? Hardly. His chest tightened inexplicably. The Jevons had done worse than defraud her estate. They had failed to protect their innocent little niece from a marauding bastard like himself.

  Mason watched her carefully over the next week. Oswald was right, he was going to have to try and have a care with her, he realized with foreboding. She had absolutely no guile, no defense, and no insight into the harsh realities of life. Her sheltered upbringing had not prepared her for a husband such as himself. That was why she had thrown herself at his feet and offered him her hand, her wealth, and a child of her womb. She was a total innocent. He had taken her up on it and now he was going to have to live with that. It wasn’t all bad, he supposed. Because of her, he now had lands and wealth far outstripping that of his own father and legitimate brothers. Oswald was a saint. There could be no other reason his brother was not gnashing his teeth with envy. Of course, Linnet was plain. She would never inspire jealousy in any man’s breast. But that was his cross to bear, and truth be told he was sure that having a beauty for a wife brought its own problems for a man. She would never be demanding or coquettish, expecting him to trail after her like a trained lapdog. She would never flirt with other men or drive him to distraction. He doubted she knew how. And despite her reputation, she was not some chronic invalid. He had hopes that if he was gentle with her and patient, she would give him a son and heir. A son that would bear the title of Duke of Cadwallader. It was a week later when Mason had finished his inventory of the armory, stables, and outbuildings. They were eating a private supper in their rooms as he looked over his list of findings. Linnet made valiant small talk throughout the meal, but at the end, when he produced her ledger, her gaze studiously avoided falling on it. He cleared his throat. “Can I explain this to you Linnet?” he asked in a low voice. He had a much clearer view now of how things had been running at the castle. Most of the Jevonses tricks had been laid clear to his piercing gaze. She swallowed and after the smallest of pauses nodded, coming out of her seat and around the table to sit directly next to him. She placed one hand on his sleeve for a moment and gave a small reassuring squeeze before tucking her hair behind her ears and leaning forward to look at the open page. He saw her flinch at all the crossings out of her angelic round handwriting. Robards’s scrawl was not half so neat. But it was accurate. Her head hung slightly, and Mason reached one hand to the back of her neck where he ran his thumb up and down her slender neck in a gesture meant to comfort her.

  “You see where Robards has crossed out name after name on your list of servants?”

  She nodded bravely.

  “’Tis because they never existed, Linnet.”

  Her head turned to look at him. Her gaze was uncomprehending. “But . . . I never dreamt them Mason. I was told . . . ”

  “Aye. That you were. Your aunt, I expect, told you the alewife in the buttery had a team of four women working with her?”

  “Yes,” she nodded.

  “’Twas a lie Linnet. The alewife has only ever had one assistant, never four. This pattern, this method, is repeated for every servant grouping you have listed.”

  Linnet looked down the page at all the crossed-out names. She paused a moment and then looked him straight in the eye. “So they could draw more money each month for wages,” she said hoarsely.

  “Exactly. And then there’s the mouths to feed, the cloth to clothe, the fuel to burn, all magnified by four times the workforce you actually had in your household accounts.”

  She swallowed. “I see.”

  “I suspect a lot of the expenses listed in your book for repairs and maintenance never actually took place. There are several parts of the castle that need renovation.”

  She nodded bravely, but he could see she felt a total idiot.

  “’Tis not your fault,” he found himself saying, despite himself. “You weren’t to know.”

  “But . . . ” she shook her head. “That’s not true though, is it?” she trembled. “Because after just one day in my company you realized there is naught amiss with my heart.” She lifted her hand to her chest. “Whereas I, fool that I am . . . All this time I believed . . . ”

  “ . . . The lies of people you trusted and who raised you,” he cut in.

  She gulped. “I feel so stupid,” she said in a small voice. “You must think—”

  He cut her off by sliding his hand under hers where he could feel her heart steadily beating. “I’m just glad there’s naught amiss with it.” When her fingers warmly grasped his, he realized he was telling the truth.

  The following night, Oswald joined Mason and Linnet for a supper of sturgeon in a strong yellow sauce, which Mason guessed was to disguise the taste of salt, followed by a very good pigeon pie and vegetables. The kitchen staff were skilled, and Mason was glad the Jevonses had not thought to take them with them.

  As the last course was cleared away and fresh wine and beer brought forth for the table, Oswald asked him directly: “Have you sent word to our father yet?”

  Mason leaned back in his seat, gesturing for Cuthbert to refresh his cup. He glanced at Linnet, but she had barely touched her own mead. “Not yet,” he admitted. “But he will not be uneasy. We only left court two weeks ago.”

  Oswald shook his head. “Where do you imagine Linnet’s uncle and aunt have scurried off to, Brother?” he asked quietly.

  Linnet looked up with interest.

  Mason shrugged, not overly concerned. Oswald was always overcautious. “D
oes your uncle have a property of his own?” he asked Linnet.

  She shook her head. “They had a manor house over at Lye-Green, but they sold that after my father died.”

  “They will go to court,” said Oswald heavily. “Depend upon it.”

  “To court?” asked Mason in surprise.

  “Sir Jevons is a courtier,” pointed out Oswald. “He holds some minor office . . . ” He glanced across at Linnet for confirmation.

  “He is a door ward for the King,” she confirmed. “And very proud of the fact.”

  “A door ward?” snorted Mason. “I would not want him guarding my treasure.”

  Linnet flushed and he wondered for a moment if she had thought it a clumsy attempt at gallantry. He shifted awkwardly in his chair. Paying pretty compliments were not his forte. The sooner his new bride wised up to that, the better it would be for her.

  “But why should you worry if they have fled to court, Oswald?” she asked after a moment’s heavy pause.

  Oswald looked even more pained than usual. “They will have gone to court full of the news of your hasty marriage and the fact Mason threw them out.”

  Mason lowered his cup and found them both regarding him with worried faces. For a moment, Oswald’s words did not register. He had been too distracted by the fact that Linnet addressed his brother by his given name. Though the gods alone knew why that should bother him. He blinked, gave his head a slight shake and growled: “Let them. Wymer has more to occupy him than some disgruntled courtier.”

  “But our father will likely not take the news well from a stranger . . . ”

  Mason shrugged a shoulder again. He had not overly concerned himself with pleasing Baron Vawdrey since he had been a boy. His father’s state of mind was largely a matter of indifference as far as he was concerned. Oswald constantly pandered to the old man and where did it get him? Their father was not one whit fonder of his heir than he was his other two sons. If anything, he was more critical of Oswald who he claimed “fretted like an old woman” and lacked decisiveness. He shouted and bawled at Mason when in a rage, but it was like water off a duck’s back.