Her Baseborn Bridegroom

by Coldbreath, Alice

  “It little matters to me how he takes it,” he rumbled, and Oswald pursed his lips. Even as he opened his mouth to direct some comment at Linnet, Mason raised a finger.

  “Do not try to involve Linnet in this,” he warned. “It’s family business.”

  “She is family now,” Oswald pointed out tersely.

  Mason glowered at him as Linnet bit her lip and fiddled with the base of her goblet.

  “I would not put it above my kinsman to stir up some trouble,” she said in a worried tone. “I only hope he does not poison your father against me.”

  Mason dropped his gaze from her earnest expression. His wife had no way of knowing how poorly she was regarded at court. The name Linnet Cadwallader was synonymous with “wretched invalid.” When his father had betrothed his youngest son to her, he had done so in the full and absolute belief that she was a misshapen creature without long to live. His father had been angry that Roland baulked at the last minute and refused to honor the contract, but he had not really blamed him. And any show of spirit usually earned the old man’s grudging respect. Mason had fully expected to return to find his father and younger brother fully reconciled. It crossed his mind now that both of them might feel differently when they learned of Sir Jevons’s perfidy. After all, Jevons had not wanted his niece to produce any offspring that would obstruct his own eventual claim to the Cadwallader estate. He had grossly exaggerated Linnet’s poor health over the years for his own aims and exploited her isolation.

  “I doubt Jevons can stir up too much scandal at court, not without his own role coming to light,” he said with a shrug.

  “His own role?” Oswald looked uncertainly from Mason to Linnet and then back again. “What do you mean by that? I thought the coin was far in excess to what was anticipated? Some three times over . . . ” his words trailed off at Mason’s heavy frown.

  Linnet drew in a sharp breath. “Then . . . The coffers . . . ?” she gasped, her wide eyes flying to Mason.

  He gave a slight shake of his head. “I meant to explain all this to you in a week’s time when I’d got the full picture,” he said shortly. “Now is not the time.”

  “It is not kind of you to let Lady Linnet think her kinsman a thief, Mason,” Oswald objected.

  Mason glared at him, as a rather hurt look crept over Linnet’s face. “It’s not as straightforward as that, you fool,” he said. “Only think, how did Sir Jevons accumulate all this extra wealth? Use your brain, man.”

  Oswald merely stared in puzzlement. It was Linnet who came up with the answer.

  “He levied far heavier taxes on the people,” she said tonelessly. “Oh gods. Three times heavier?” Her face paled. “But however would our vassals have managed such a demand?”

  Mason shook his head. “They would have found it very hard,” he said grimly. “Very hard indeed.”

  Linnet was quiet for the rest of the meal. She only piped up once and that was to query if the soldiers they had sent from the Cadwallader estate for the King’s army would have been sent the supplies she had instructed. Robards assured her he would make enquiries with the tanner and blacksmith and let her know if the orders were fulfilled. She excused herself as soon as the table was cleared, and Cuthbert escorted her back to their rooms. Mason stayed with his brother for a while, looking over a map of the estate. They were plotting out their full tour of the estate for the next couple of weeks. The lands were extensive with many tenants. He invited his brother to join him riding out the next day.

  “Wouldn’t it be logical to take the steward?” asked his brother with raised brows. “He can introduce the tenants to you.”

  “I’d rather leave Robards here,” answered Mason. “He’s got the castle inventory to finish up.”

  “And?” prompted Oswald shrewdly.

  “I want people to be able to talk freely in front of me, without a member of the old regime in attendance.”

  “That makes sense,” agreed Oswald. “Very well, I shall join you on the morrow.”

  Mason drained his cup of ale. “I’ll bid you good night,” he said with a nod.

  When Mason got back to their room he found Linnet had snuffed out the candles on her side of the bed and was lying with the covers drawn up to her nose facing the wall. He smiled grimly to himself as he stripped to the waist and washed. She was probably tired after all the recent activity. He glanced over at her a few times as he readied for bed, but she didn’t stir. Something told him she wasn’t asleep, though. To his surprise, once he snuffed out the candle and climbed in beside her, she rolled over so she was facing him.

  “Can’t sleep?” he asked in a low voice.

  She shifted closer and reached out a tentative hand, resting it against his cheek. “I’ve been thinking about what you might hear tomorrow,” she sighed. “When you start meeting with the tenants.”

  He lay still a moment, surprised by her touch. “I’ll report back. You’ll soon hear all.”

  “Can I come with you?”

  He frowned in the darkness. “I don’t think that would be wise, Linnet,” he said heavily. “You’ve extensive lands. There will be a lot of riding involved for days on end. Can you even ride?”

  He heard the pillow rustle as she shook her head. “No, but that’s not what really concerns you, is it?” Her tone was mildly apologetic for contradicting him. “They all despise me, don’t they?” Her tone was flat. She withdrew her hand and wrapped her arms around her slight body.

  “Sir Jevons would have levied those taxes in your name, Linnet,” he pointed out matter-of-factly. “You must realize you won’t be a popular figure.”

  But he knew he wasn’t telling her anything she hadn’t already guessed. For a sheltered invalid she was pretty sharp. He reached out and drew her up against him, even though he knew she wasn’t trembling from the cold. He ran a comforting hand down her side, being as careful with her as he would with any shy creature. She lay her head against his chest and let him comfort her. He wasn’t usually so considerate with women, he realized wryly. For some reason, he remembered her words from a couple of weeks ago. You’re different in the dark. He wondered if she really believed that. Her sheltered upbringing certainly hadn’t taught her much about men! He wondered idly how she would spend her days now that she was down from her tower? Once the inventory that had kept her so occupied was finished. She was totting up the castle linens and furnishings now. She would be bitterly disappointed if she expected him to dance attendance on her. He had enough to keep himself occupied advancing his career, and paying court to women had never been to his taste. The war in the North was over, that much was true. But he was not yet ready to play at the role of landed property owner, though pouring over the plans and maps had left him strangely intrigued about estate management. He had a suspicion that he could adapt to this new life eventually, perhaps in twenty years’ time, when his beard was grey, but he was not yet ready for country life. Or a wife! He frowned into the darkness. How did most women occupy themselves he wondered? Needlework, music, gossip. He had seen her embroider, which was one out of three.

  “Do you play a musical instrument?” he asked abruptly.

  Linnet’s head rose from his shoulder. “I’m afraid my ill health did not permit . . . ” she said before biting her lip. “I suppose I could take some lessons now if you think I ought . . . ” her words trailed off.

  “It makes no odds to me, Linnet.” he said. “I’ve not much of an ear for music.” It little signified. What she needed was society and the company of other genteel women. That would take the burden of her company off him.

  “What of our neighbors?” he asked. “Have you ever met them?”

  “No, my health prevented it. At least . . . I thought it did,” she added conscientiously.

  “Do you know much of the families whose lands border ours?”

  She considered this a moment. “Only what my aunt and her ladies told me. On the north border is the Jauncey estate. Sir Lambert Jauncey died last spring, leavi
ng his younger brother Chilton, his widow, and his mother. I’ve never met them.”

  “And on the south border?”

  “The Lascombes. A very old family in the county. Lord Lascombe has been married three times and his current wife is—” she broke off distractedly.

  “Is what?”

  “Much younger than he,” she said hurriedly.

  His mouth twisted. “Yes, but that wasn’t what you were going to say.”

  She hesitated.

  “Illegitimate?” he guessed.

  “No, no . . . ” she protested. “’Tis only what my aunt told me, I was repeating it without thought.”

  “What then?”

  “Lowborn,” she admitted with reluctance. “Her father was a miller.”

  “I see.” It seemed some female gossip had reached her ears after all. “What about the northeasterly border?” he said, remembering the map from earlier.

  “Some new family. My uncle was most displeased. They are from a merchant background, and my aunt refused to socialize with them. She said they were upstarts and a blight on the area.”

  “What do you think?” He was curious.

  She digested this a moment. “I think I should like to meet them,” she said.

  He gave a shrug. “Why don’t you then? You could invite the womenfolk here.”

  He heard her swift indrawn breath. “Oh yes!” she agreed. “Company would be nice. I do miss my aunt’s ladies-in-waiting. Well, at least a couple of them were fairly nice on occasion.”

  “I don’t see why not. It would be a good idea to spread the word that you are not an invalid on her death bed.” Then you would not be so dependent on me, he added silently. And will not be so devastated when I leave you here alone for months on end.

  “We could have a banquet,” she suggested enthusiastically. “Maybe send for some musicians from Lynford.”

  “I think you should start small,” he suggested, making it clear that he would not be participating in the social circle.

  She went quiet at that. “Perhaps it would be better,” she agreed, ducking her head.

  “Linnet?”

  “I only hope . . . ” she hesitated. “that people will like me,” she finished in a small voice.

  He stared at her pale face in the darkness. “Why wouldn’t they? You’re likeable enough.”

  “Am I?”

  “And if they don’t, why would you care? You’re wealthy. They’ll cultivate your company anyway.”

  She tried to pull back to get a better look at him, but for whatever reason his arms tightened on her, preventing her retreat. “Wouldn’t you care what people think?” she asked with curiosity.

  “No,” he replied firmly. “Whether people like me or not is up to them.”

  “What about what they think of your wife?” she persisted.

  He pondered this a moment as he’d never given it any thought. “The same principle applies,” he shrugged. He thought her shoulders slumped a moment.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding a little sad.

  “Linnet, go to sleep,” he said firmly.

  “Very well, Husband.”

  It took him far longer to go off to sleep than it did her.

  IX

  When Linnet woke the next morning, she found the bed empty and realized Mason must have already left to start his sweep of their lands and boundaries. She lay for a moment, wondering if he’d had to prize her off him before he could rise and devoutly hoping that he hadn’t! She’d woken a few times in the past couple of weeks and found herself wrapped around him. Usually however, he rose before her. Rising swiftly, she called for Gertrude and made haste to dress and make her way to the great hall for a hurried breakfast. She had much she wanted to do today! Cuthbert came immediately to her side as she spooned jam onto her bread.

  “Oh Cuthbert, would you mind sending word to your grandmother to come up to the castle? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

  “Aye milady,” he agreed. “Would you be wanting her to come up this morning?”

  “When she is able,” she agreed. “We were going to try a new skin remedy for my freckles.”

  Once she had broken her fast, she hurried along to her tower to fetch her writing things so that she could invite the neighboring ladies over now that she was emerged from her convalescence. Climbing all the steps to the top left her out of breath, but not fit to drop. She placed her hand against her chest to feel its steady beat. Although it was pounding, it did not skip or reel as if it was about to give out. She made her way thoughtfully to her trunk and, retrieving the key from its new place on her chatelaine, she opened the lid and looked down at her collection of inks, reed pens, and parchments. There were two high piles of vellum sheets. The left pile was entirely illustrated with intricate borders, gothic lettering, and tiny miniature pictures of the hero Sir Maurency and his heroic deeds. On every tenth page, there was even a smattering of gold leaf from the precious, dwindling supply her father had left her. The second pile was blank sheets yet to be used. The topmost one showed the page she was currently working on. She had already written out the words of the story in precise black lettering and painstakingly outlined the illustrations which were now waiting to be filled in with colored inks. She lifted the page and looked critically at the figure of the knight. She had thought when she drew him that he embodied every knightly virtue. Now she thought he looked a bit insipid somehow. She frowned. He would need to be reworked before she added in the inks. With a shrug, she bundled the supplies she needed into a woven work bag and then resecured the trunk. Swinging the bag over her shoulder, she made her way thoughtfully back down the winding steps and then hurried across to the courtyard and the main part of the castle. Dragging herself from her thoughts, she noticed that she was still drawing curious looks from those hustling and bustling around the castle and she sent smiles and nods to those she passed. Of course, it would take a while for them to become used to seeing her out and about, and as Cuthbert had warned her, half of them thought she had two heads! As Mason was absent, she donned a light linen veil as was seemly for a married woman and a red velvet gown with semifitted sleeves. It was a dress she hadn’t worn much in the past as, to be honest, she had mostly worn semidresses when confined to her tower as an invalid. It seemed pointless to be fully laced and dressed when she was not allowed out of doors and was only visited by ladies. Feeling every stone underfoot for the last month, she realized her fabric shoes were probably not going to be robust enough for general wear and tear, and that she would need some stouter footwear. She added it mentally to her list of outstanding tasks and hurried to her sitting room to write out some invitations to the ladies to come and pay a social call on her at their liberty. When she reached the solar, she found someone had lit a small fire as, despite the sun shining in a blue sky, there was still a nip in the air. After setting her inks and pens out on the writing desk, she cut the parchment with her penknife and started ruling out the lines for her script. Later, Cuthbert sidled in with some fruit cordial on a tray. He set it down for her and then peered over her shoulder at her writing.

  “Who’s Lady Sybilla?” he asked with interest.

  “The widow who lives on the estate at our north border,” she answered.

  He poured her a glass of the cordial and then placed a peeled apple at her elbow. “Granny’s coming over presently. She says she has a new remedy for you. Not hare’s blood this time.”

  “Thank goodness,” she shuddered. She had felt bad refusing Mother Ames’s suggested treatment last time, but that really was too unpleasant to contemplate!

  “Why do you wear a veil today when my master will not like it?” asked Cuthbert.

  She gave him a sidelong look. “Your master is not here today, Cuthbert,” she told him drily. “And I am a married lady and should have my head covered.”

  He seemed to mull this over a moment as she took a gulp of cordial and then returned to writing out invitations. The ladies of the Lascombe family were next. />
  “Will you illustrate the invitations to the neighbors?” he asked, absently eating a slice of apple.

  “I don’t think so . . . ” she hesitated. “Unless . . . I did a small border of vines down the one side?” she cocked her head to look at the small rectangle, which now that Cuthbert mentioned it, did seem a little bare. She hesitated. “Perhaps I will just add a little decoration.”

  “Granny said that Sir Mason rode past her cottage this morning with Sir Oswald.” Cuthbert dropped down onto the rug in front of the fire.

  “Did he speak with her?” asked Linnet as she unscrewed her bottle of green ink.

  “I shouldn’t think so. She doesn’t pay rent,” he shrugged.

  Linnet nodded, Mother Ames had been assured her cottage rent free due to her status as village wise woman. Linnet’s late father had been a great believer in her remedies and treatments. She busied herself drawing a twirling vine down the side of the Jauncey invitation card and inked in some graceful green leaves. “Have some more apple, Cuthbert. And maybe this would be a good opportunity for you to practice your letters.”

  Cuthbert groaned. She had taught him his letters herself, but he was frankly an indifferent scholar. “Lady Millicent said it was pointless teaching the likes of me,” he reminded her darkly.

  “My aunt is no longer mistress of this house,” she pointed out firmly. “And I happen to think they will stand you in very good stead.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Aye milady,” he sighed, pulling out a chair next to hers and appropriating a sheet of parchment. As Cuthbert scratched his quill over the page beside her, covering it with an assortment of blots and scrubbings out, she finished all three invitations and placed them on the window seat to dry.

  Robards appeared just before midday with a final draft on the food-store inventory he had been working on. What they had stocked up seemed to her like a healthy amount for the castle. He also had good news in that the tanner had confirmed the leather jerkins and boots she had ordered for their soldiers had indeed been bought and paid for and sent to their troops on the battle lines. This cheered Linnet no end, as she often thought of the fifty men they had sent to swell the King’s ranks. If they had not received any of the things she had ordered to follow them from home, she would have been devastated. She guessed that her uncle would not have wanted to look bad to the King by sending their troops unkitted for battle. It would have been a face-saving exercise at court, but she didn’t care. She and her aunt’s ladies-in-waiting had sent several bundles of blankets and warm woolen undergarments for their men. It had been one thing she had felt involved in, although she hadn’t left her tower once. She looked over Robards’s inventory figures and gave her opinion tentatively. He seemed ill at ease, although he agreed the food stores were in good order. She guessed it was because her husband was out visiting the tenants without him and she felt a pang of sympathy as Robards retreated. The steward never seemed to stop working from dawn till dusk. She wondered briefly if he had a wife tucked away somewhere. She didn’t have long to dwell on this though, as the nervous-looking maid that she had since learnt was called Nan, announced that Mother Ames had arrived to see her.