Her Baseborn Bridegroom

by Coldbreath, Alice

  Mr. Postner hurried around to take Lawton’s measurements as Enid rolled her eyes at Linnet.

  “One of Chilton’s many quirks,” she said in an aside. “He dresses his favorite manservants almost as well as himself.”

  Linnet looked over at Lawton whose current outfit was certainly very fine.

  “I can understand that,” she said, running a hand over Cuthbert’s blond bobbed hair. “I always like for Cuthbert to look neat and tidy.”

  Cuthbert’s eyes were as round as the pennies he kept jingling in his pocket. “We’re not going back to the castle yet are we?” he asked anxiously as they exited the tailor’s establishment.

  “Certainly not,” expostulated Sir Chilton. “A meat pie and a nice flagon of ale is what we all need now, and I know just the place!”

  “Not an inn,” said Enid with misgiving. “Some of them are rather rough in town,” she said to Linnet in explanation.

  “Fear not, dear sister-in-law,” said Chilton. “We have Lawton here to protect us,” he said, slapping his well-built footman on the back. “And besides, I have the coin to procure us a private room away from the common rabble.”

  Enid pursed her lips and slipped her arm through Linnet’s.

  Cuthbert danced a little two-step along the street. “I sometimes come into this one with my grandmother,” he told Linnet as Sir Chilton led them to a large timbered building with a sign reading “The Bear & Staff”. “Some man tried to pick Gran’s pocket and she put a curse on him.”

  “A curse?” echoed Enid in surprise.

  “Cuthbert’s grandmother is a wise woman,” explained Linnet quietly as she ducked through the door.

  The inn smelled musty and of stale ale. As Linnet’s eyes adjusted to the dark she found several pairs eyes trained on her group in surly curiosity.

  “A private room, my man,” cried out Chilton, who did not seem one whit cowed by the atmosphere of the place.

  A thin man in a grubby apron hurried forward. “This way, my lord, my ladies” he said fawningly and led them to a narrow corridor leading to a room out the back.

  Walking through the main room was an education for Linnet. The floor rushes were dirty and smelled. The clientele were also somewhat odorous and villainous looking. She could only be grateful that Sir Chilton had procured them a private chamber. Cuthbert skipped behind her, looking a picture of serenity. She noticed he even bobbed his head in acknowledgement of a few of the customers as if he knew them! Enid’s face was a careful blank as they were seated around a low, sticky table in a small, somewhat grubby-looking room. She looked resigned rather than curious, and Linnet guessed that unlike herself, she had frequented an alehouse before.

  “What fare have you today, sirrah?” asked Chilton jauntily. “We’re hungry and thirsty and in need of sustenance.”

  “There’s pie,” answered the custodian, scratching his head. “And ale.”

  “What sort of pie?” asked Enid suspiciously.

  He shrugged. “Meat. Or pottage.”

  “Pottage pie?” echoed Linnet, her ears perking up. She’d never heard of putting pottage in a pie crust before! “I’ll take one of those.”

  “Yes but what sort of meat?” asked Enid persistently.

  The server shrugged. “Whatever went into the pot today, likely as not.”

  “Gran says you’re not to ask,” answered Cuthbert in a hushed voice. “If’n a carthorse keeled over in the yard, he’ll end up in the meat pie.”

  Enid shuddered. “Pottage pie for me also.”

  “Two pottage pies and two meat pies, my man,” said Chilton. “And a jug of ale with four cups.” He winked at Cuthbert. “We’re not so fainthearted, eh my lad?”

  “What of Lawton?” asked Cuthbert, looking round in surprise.

  “Oh, don’t you worry about Lawton,” said Chilton. “He’s stood in the corridor. Making sure we’re not disturbed.”

  Linnet felt grateful that Sir Chilton was not as wholly oblivious to the dubious company as he appeared. She was starting to enjoy the novelty of the experience now that there were no curious stares trained on them. Reaching up, she adjusted her veil and smiled at the server when he set down their ale before them. He gave a start when he saw her visage.

  “Begging your pardon ma’am,” he started hesitantly. “But . . . ”

  “That’s Lady Vawdrey to you, damn your impudence,” said Sir Chilton, sitting up straight.

  “It’s alright Sir Chilton,” said Linnet hurriedly.

  “This is Johnny Wickers, milady,” said Cuthbert loudly. “His old mam lives in one of your cottages.”

  “Oh indeed,” said Linnet, feeling her cheeks fill with color. Suddenly she felt ill at ease again, thinking of Mason’s talk of exorbitant taxes on her people.

  “So she’s the Cadwallader heiress?” asked Wickers in a hoarse aside.

  “I am lately married,” she said loudly, bringing the conversation back to her rather than about her. “How can I help you Mr. Wickers?”

  He cleared his throat. “Well it’s like this milady. Me old mum, she’s had a hard winter and her knees ain’t so good as they was, so she’s fallen behind on her rent.”

  “This hardly seems the time or the place, Wickers,” cut in Sir Chilton, sounding annoyed.

  Linnet held up her hand. “That’s quite alright, Sir Chilton. Carry on Wickers.”

  He fidgeted, tugging at his neckerchief. “Well, she used to be the alewife up at the castle for nigh on twenty years,” he said belligerently. “Then last winter she had a fall and Lady Jevons told her not to bother coming back when she’d only be a hindrance to her staff!”

  Linnet paused, feeling strangely heartened that her aunt was the villain of this piece rather than it being put on her shoulders. “That seems very unfair after so many years’ service,” she said gravely.

  “S’what we all said!” agreed Wickers roundly. “But that Lady Jevons was a right old bitch, begging your pardon milady.”

  Enid gave a strangled cough and Sir Chilton slammed his cup down.

  “I—er—I’m afraid she was not the most sympathetic of characters,” Linnet agreed hurriedly.

  She took a sip of her ale and was surprised to find it very pleasant. “Did your mother teach you to brew ale?” she asked shrewdly.

  “Taught me and the wife,” he said, nodding his head.

  Linnet made a hasty decision. “Well your ale is certainly far nicer than what we have up at the castle now,” she said, thinking of the bitter ale she had tried. “I shall visit with your mother, Wickers.” She gave him a nod. “And see what we can do about restoring her to her former position with the castle staff. Perhaps in an advisory capacity if her knees aren’t up to the stairs. I am sure we can sort out the issues with her tenancy.”

  Johnny Wickers blinked at her. He looked back at Cuthbert quizzically. Cuthbert gazed back at him. “Right you are, milady,” he said finally. “If you’ll pardon the liberty.”

  Sir Chilton snorted. “Fetch us another jug of ale, while you’re about it,” he said. “And look lively, man.”

  When Wickers bowed his way out of the room, he turned back to Linnet with a rueful expression on his face. “You didn’t ought to make promises like that, Lady Vawdrey,” he said, clicking his tongue. “Promises you can’t keep!”

  “Why can’t I keep them?” asked Linnet, lowering her ale cup with a frown.

  “Your husband will no doubt overrule any such emotional decision you make about your tenants.”

  “I don’t see why. And I’m not being emotional,” responded Linnet. “Mason himself has told me that the Jevonses were levying exorbitant tithes. He is setting about putting things to rights as we speak.”

  “Is he, by all that’s holy?” asked Sir Chilton, quirking an eyebrow at her. He drained his cup and then wiped the droplets from his moustache. “I must say, you paint a vastly differing picture of him than the one commonly held,” he observed wryly.

  “Chilton!” cut in Enid shar
ply. She turned to Linnet. “You must excuse my brother-in-law. Ale vastly loosens his tongue.”

  Linnet paused and looked across at Cuthbert whose look of curiosity no doubt mirrored her own. “What do you know of my husband’s reputation?” she asked Chilton slowly.

  He shot a slightly panicked look across the table at Enid. “Oh, er, well as to that . . . ”

  “He knows naught,” cut in Enid smoothly. “Save for that spoken by ignorant and loose tongues at King Wymer’s court.”

  “They call him Wymer’s most savage hound,” said Sir Chilton, holding up one finger for attention. “’Tis said the King looses him only on his worst enemies in battle.”

  Cuthbert made a choked sound, but when Linnet turned to him, his expression was enthralled. “Is my master cunning in battle?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat.

  “Cunning like a fox and just as ruthless. ‘Tis said he broke the siege at Demoyne in just three days and made a terrible example of the traitor lords who had holed up therein.”

  “What example?” breathed Cuthbert.

  Sir Chilton drew his finger across his throat and Linnet bounced up in her seat. “That is quite enough, Sir Chilton,” she said firmly. When Cuthbert protested, she added with dignity: “If Sir Mason chooses to share those tales with us we should hear them directly from him. Not from someone who wasn’t even there.”

  Sir Chilton laughed as Enid apologized for her brother-in-law’s gossiping tongue. “It seems the Hound of Demoyne has met his match in one just as fierce,” he said with a wink, and Linnet found it impossible to remain cross with him.

  It was almost three o’clock when they returned home. Gertrude came hurrying towards them once they had alighted from the Jaunceys’ litter, made their farewells, and were crossing the courtyard.

  “Why you’ve been ever so much longer than we thought you would, milady,” she huffed. “We started to get fair worried when nuncheon came and passed without you.”

  “We had pasties in The Bear and Staff,” piped up Cuthbert. “So you needn’t have worried we would go hungry.”

  Gertrude let out a yelp. “Not that nasty rough place, milady!” She almost tripped on her own feet.

  “Oh, but we had a private room,” Linnet hurried to reassure her. “And a gentleman escort in Sir Chilton so all was well.”

  “Well I never,” her maidservant gasped with a sidelong at Linnet. “And you so gently reared!”

  “There were no fights today, Gertie,” Cuthbert chimed in. He turned back to Linnet. “Last time I saw Jem Lemmings get a broken pate,” he said with satisfaction. “And a woman with her chests out threw a jug of ale on him after.”

  Linnet blinked. “Her chests out?” she echoed faintly.

  Gertie huffed, her cheeks glowing. “A pretty pickle! Just wait till his lordship hears about this! He won’t be best pleased, I’ll warrant.”

  Linnet drew in a deep breath as she started to unfasten her cloak. “Well, he won’t be hearing about it from you Gertie,” she said firmly. “I shall of course, keep my own husband informed of my day.”

  She passed her cloak to her surprised-looking maid and made her way through to the solar. She had liked going into town today and she had enjoyed both Enid and Chilton’s company. While it was true that The Bear and Staff had been rather rough around the edges, she’d enjoyed spreading her wings and saw no reason to curtail her new social life. While her husband might hold some sway on her activities, her servants certainly did not, and she needed to make sure it stayed that way.

  She turned her head at a tentative tap on the door and found Nan had bought them a tray of fruit and drinks, which she set down with a curtsy.

  “Nan,” Linnet said before the maid had a chance to melt away. “Could you send for one of the groomsmen to come up to the castle tomorrow morning please? I should like to speak to someone about arranging some riding lessons for myself.”

  The maid stared. “Yes milady,” she blurted and then darted from the room, no doubt to announce this latest development below stairs to the agog kitchen staff.

  “Can you ride, Cuthbert?” she asked as her page poured her cordial and plucked some grapes for her plate.

  “Nay, milady. Perhaps if his lordship takes me on as a squire one day . . . ?” he said hopefully.

  “We shall take lessons together,” she said decidedly.

  “Truly?” he gasped.

  “Certainly. What good is it for me to be able to ride hither and thither if I cannot do so in my page’s company?”

  A look of dreamy bliss crossed over Cuthbert’s face and he tottered over to her with her plate and cup.

  “Mr. Hatton promised I should have my boots by the end of the week, so we shall let the stables know our lessons will start then.”

  “Yes, milady,” he agreed with alacrity. “And shall I have my own horse?”

  “Eventually I am sure we will both need our own horses,” she agreed, dragging out her bag of inks and paper.

  Cuthbert threw a few more logs on the fire and then stretched out before it, his hands behind his head. He knew his mistress would require little whilst tied up with manuscripts and he often took the opportunity to take a little nap.

  Perhaps it wasn’t entirely surprising, but after her eventful morning out, Linnet found it difficult to settle to her illustration. It was a task that used to occupy her wholly but today she felt restless and displeased with her depiction of the hero. She wondered if he would look better with longer, darker hair that curled into his neck? And perhaps a more muscular physique? It wasn’t just that though, she thought, sighing as she added pen strokes to the page. Today, even the hero’s actions in the story struck her as somehow off. Before, Sir Maurency’s chivalry had struck her as entirely laudable. Now she sneakily suspected him of lacking in spirit. She found herself wondering if she could perhaps beef up the story a little, without betraying the source material? She felt a thrill of daring at the thought. Her father would have been horrified at the very idea of tampering with the text. But Linnet had heard that sometimes monks and scribes added local flavor to legends and embellished the tale. She hesitated a moment, before putting her pen to the parchment.

  Before she even knew what she had done, worthy Sir Maurency had ended up in a tavern brawl in which he had broken a pitcher of ale over some villain’s head and bloodied the nose of another. Linnet stared down at the page with mingled pride and horror. In the original tale, Maurency had inspired the patrons to mend their ways with his modest and saintly bearing. In this version, he had brawled with the best of them and left the villains nursing their wounds as he carried on his merry way. Her illustration showed an inn floor strewn with broken benches and smashed tables. In the border, she drew a cracked jug and an overturned tankard. The dismayed-looking landlord looked a bit like Johnny Wickers she realized, biting her lip. And Sir Maurency now seemed to bear more than a passing resemblance to Mason. She rested her chin in her hand and considered him a moment. So ruggedly handsome. What a shame that she couldn’t draw herself as one of the comely tavern wenches! Linnet sighed. But that would never work! She simply didn’t have the abundant charms necessary for a tavern wench. Even with her sheltered upbringing, she knew that much! Instead she drew an apple-cheeked and voluptuous woman with a low-cut dress and curling tresses. Then Linett rebelled and gave her woman’s face a smattering of freckles. Linnet glanced down at her own modest neckline and pulled a face. She wondered if Mother Ames could do anything about her meagre bosom. She would have to ask her. Then she remembered that, although she had been climbing the tower steps daily, she had not yet followed her instructions about the amethyst sweat. That would never do. She vowed to remedy that on the morrow.

  XII

  When Mason returned that evening, he found their private rooms empty. It had been a long day traversing his new estates and listening to the grievances of his tenants. No doubt they had cause for their grievances with the inflated taxes Sir Jevons had levied on them, but it had been
trying to have to listen to it. Though none had dared voice it, ’twas plain they blamed the crotchety, unreasonable invalid that owned the castle and to whom they owed their fealty. Their eyes had been curious when they heard that he had married the supposed termagant. There had been a few murmured “Wish you joys” but Mason was under no illusion that they expected the union to be a happy one. The most they could hope for was that he would rein in the alleged greed of his spouse. He promised an immediate review of the tithes owed to the castle and spoke of new relations being forged between landlord and tenants until he thought their gazes turned a bit more cautiously optimistic.

  “God’s truth Mason,” his brother had said, shaking his head as they left the last farm of the day. “But these people think Linnet a monster.”

  It strangely bothered him, considering his usual scorn for the opinion of others, and as he washed for dinner he found himself wondering where his wife was. He vaguely remembered some proposed outing with the daughter-in-law of one of their neighbors and frowned. He supposed he really ought to meet the people. It was all very well finding occupations to keep his new wife from bothering him, but he knew nothing of these Jaunceys. They could be totally disreputable for all he knew, and Linnet was too naive to be any kind of judge of character. Otherwise, he thought grimly, she would never have married him. It turned out there were more responsibilities to taking a wife than he had anticipated. He was irritated to have to go looking for her. After being out on the estate all day you would think she would have come running on his return! Pulling on his dark tunic, he buttoned his cuffs and started off down the corridor in search of her. As it happened, he found her without too much exertion, hunched over a table in the sitting room she seemed to favor with a look of fierce concentration on her face. Her page was curled around a velvet cushion and snoring his little blond head off. Linnet started guiltily when he entered the room, her eyes flying to the window.