Her Baseborn Bridegroom

by Coldbreath, Alice

  “I hadn’t realized the time,” she cried, jumping up and hurrying to his side.

  To his surprise she embraced him warmly. He suffered this and returned it with an awkward pat on her back.

  “Wife,” he muttered, clearing his throat. “What’s all this?” he said, gesturing towards the inks and sheets of parchment spread out on the table.

  “Oh, ’tis nothing!” she said, hurrying back to the table to sweep it into a cloth bag. “Just my scribblings. Nothing to signify.”

  Apparently some of the pages were still wet as she had to leave one page out to dry. He walked to the table edge and angled his head to look at the illuminated page. The writing was fancy like that of a monk, and intricate leaf and floral borders decorated it. The main drawing though was of a knight in black armor, kneeling as though making a solemn vow. His eyebrows rose and he glanced at Linnet to find her face fiery red with embarrassment. “It is naught but an exercise my father set me many years ago, to illuminate the Tales of Sir Maurency of Jorde.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” he replied shortly.

  “Never heard of them?” she echoed in surprise. “Oh but . . . I thought . . . my father said they were much celebrated tales of great fame.”

  “Likely they are,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I never spent much time in a schoolroom.”

  Linnet’s eyes grew wide.

  “I can read,” he forestalled her. “I just haven’t overmuch.”

  “Except on manuals of strategy and warfare,” put in his brother who had appeared at the doorway.

  “Oswald!”

  He smiled at Linnet’s greeting. “Mason eats them up like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I need to swap them for books on agriculture and estate management,” Mason said, glowering at his brother. For some reason, he didn’t want Linnet thinking he was overly bloodthirsty.

  “Mayhap you should supplement the instructional reading with some lighter material, Brother?” Oswald suggested. “Such as Sir Maurency’s tales of chivalry and romance.” Mason had opened his mouth to firmly refuse the offer, when his brother turned to Linnet. “If Mason is not so inclined, I would myself be very keen to read your illustrated manuscript Linnet.”

  Linnet turned even pinker if possible. “Oh, but . . . ” She stared at her feet. “No one except my father ever read them . . . ” she admitted timidly. “My handiwork doesn’t really do justice to the subject matter . . . ”

  “I’ll read it,” cut in Mason swiftly, shooting a glare at his brother. “Put the completed pages by my bedside and I will study them at my leisure.”

  “Very well,” nodded Linnet. “But only if you find yourself so inclined.”

  Mason opened his mouth to reply, but Cuthbert’s gentle snoring suddenly broke off and he sat up wiping his eyes. “I never done it!” he objected spiritedly. Then he blinked and looked around. “Oh,” he said calmly. “Just a dream.”

  Little villain has a guilty conscience thought Mason grimly.

  “Sleeping on the job, little man,” joked Oswald, ruffling his hair.

  “Cuthbert and I have had a very busy day,” said Linnet proudly. “I visited my first shoemaker’s establishment, commissioned a tailor for the first time . . . ”

  “And went in an inn, don’t forget,” interjected Cuthbert helpfully.

  Linnet’s fixed smile wavered a little. “And visited my first inn,” she agreed hurriedly.

  “A day of firsts,” chimed in Oswald agreeably, though he looked a bit shocked.

  “An inn?” Mason said heavily.

  “Shall we all make our way towards the great hall?” suggested Linnet breathlessly. “I think it must be supper time indeed.”

  “Which inn?” he asked quietly.

  “Um, I believe ’twas called The Bear.”

  “The Bear and Staff,” Cuthbert corrected her.

  “Just a small place in town,” she said, twisting her hands in her skirts.

  “Why, ’tis the biggest inn in Upper Derring,” protested Cuthbert.

  Mason felt the strangest flicker of anger and alarm. “What possessed you to go to an inn, Linnet?” he asked sharply. “Two unprotected females.”

  “Oh but . . . ” she gulped. “Well, you will scarcely believe it, but Enid’s brother-in-law was kind enough to offer to join us and so we weren’t unaccompanied at all you see.”

  “And I was there,” pointed out Cuthbert. “And Sir Chilton’s man, Lawton.”

  Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Sir Chilton?” Now the alarm was fading but the anger was definitely kindling to a flame. “He accompanied you today?”

  Oswald cleared his throat warningly, and Mason glanced up to find two servants stood agog in the doorway.

  “Supper awaits you in the Hall, milords, milady,” the stouter one announced hurriedly, and the two bowed and backed out of the room with obvious reluctance.

  Mason drew in a breath and then extended his arm to Linnet. “We will continue this after supper,” he said coolly. She took his arm, her eyes wary. “I did not realize Sir Chilton would be with us until they arrived in the carriage,” she told him in a low urgent voice as they walked along the corridor. He could hear Oswald and Cuthbert’s steps behind them but did not bother to moderate his tone.

  “But you suspected I would not be pleased,” he pointed out coldly.

  “Well, not really. Not straight away,” her imploring gaze dropped a moment. “At least, I did suspect a little,” she admitted “but only because you said I was not to visit Jauncey Hall yesterday. But this was not the same thing as visiting his home,” she pointed out defensively.

  “It is the same principle however.”

  They had reached the great hall by now.

  “Enid was there the entire time. And Cuthbert. And Lawton,” she murmured as he drew out her chair and saw her seated.

  “But I was not there,” he pointed out angrily. “And I do not expect my wife to go haring off into the countryside with other men.”

  The silence was almost deafening. Linnet turned so pale all he could see was her freckles. Someone coughed. Cuthbert fidgeted behind Linnet’s seat. Probably dying to point out that they had gone into town not into the countryside, thought Mason irritably. Impudent little pup. He shot a warning look at the page and turned impatiently to beckon for the food to be brought in by the hesitant servers.

  “You are both very new to marriage,” ventured Oswald in a soothing voice which immediately made Mason seethe. “Doubtless both of you will take some time to establish . . . ”

  “I find it remarkable that you have aught to say on the matter, Brother,” Mason cut him short. “As you have never taken a wife to my knowledge.”

  “Aye, that is true enough,” his brother conceded with a wince.

  “I am very sorry husband,” said Linnet wretchedly. “I did not realize my actions would displease you so.”

  Mason’s jaw clenched. Displeased wasn’t really the word and he was coldly furious at his own reaction. It made no sense. Unless . . . it was because she had not yet upheld her part of their bargain? Yes, that could be it. “Mayhap when you have given me a couple of sons, I will be less restrictive,” he gritted out, slamming his fist down on the table. “But until then, you will be on a short rein, wife.”

  Oswald choked on his meat.

  “A couple of sons?” echoed Linnet, looking thunderstruck.

  “Isn’t that what you promised me?” He narrowed his eyes at her in challenge.

  She stared. “Um . . . just the one,” she mumbled. “I thought.”

  “You can give me two at the very least,” he snapped in reply. “If not three. Now we know that naught ails you.” He took a deep draught of ale, then lowered his tankard to find Oswald gazing at him in astonishment. “More ale,” he shouted.

  He suddenly had a good mind to get well and truly sotted. Unfortunately, none of his usual drinking partners were around. Oswald was frugal as a parson and imbibed just as cautiously. Getting drunk
in his own company held little appeal. Instead he eyed Linnet’s scarlet-cheeked face speculatively. Perhaps there were other ways he could seek oblivion, between his wayward wife’s thighs. Her slight body was an unexpected source of pleasure and he was enjoying teaching her to please him. He wondered how soon he could whisk her to their bedchamber after the meal. As if aware of the turn of his thoughts, Linnet’s gaze dropped down to her plate and she bit her lip.

  He drew in a sharp breath. “What’s that on your head, Linnet?” he asked silkily.

  Her hand flew to her head covering. “Why ’tis only because I went into town,” she stammered guiltily. “I thought . . . ”

  “Did you?” He drained his tankard again and rapped it against the table to be filled. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “It seems to me, Wife, that you gave precious little thought to my feelings this day.”

  A nervous-looking servant refilled his drink with a hand that shook. Mason eyed the growing puddle of ale on the table but made no comment as the poor wretch retreated from the table on wobbly legs. Instead his gaze snapped back to true culprit. His wife.

  “And how did you find the fare at the inn, Linnet? Was it sufficiently common for your tastes?”

  His brother spluttered at his rudeness but she didn’t flinch.

  “They served their pottage in a pie,” she said loudly. “It was not as good as our kitchen serves.” She sent a brave smile to the knock-kneed servant, who was approaching to refill his cup once more. “And how was your day?” she ventured, squaring her shoulders.

  She was surprisingly resilient this little wife of his, Mason acknowledged as he pushed away his half-eaten plate. He had no stomach for food this evening. Not when his muscles clenched and roiled with tension. What the fuck was wrong with him? He felt wrong footed. Out of sorts.

  “Come over here,” he said softly. “And I’ll tell you.” Her eyes grew wide and he realized they were the exact shade of peridot. He dragged his chair back from the table a few inches and slapped his thigh. “Come, sit here.”

  “She’s not a tavern wench, Mason,” his brother warned him in a low voice.

  “She’s mine and I’ll treat her how I damn well like,” he hissed back. “And she’s not as sheltered as she once was, are you Linnet?”

  He gave her a smile. A predator’s smile. He was tired of keeping her at arm’s length. After all, she should be getting accustomed to him by now. She rose from her seat and came around the table with surprising grace.

  “I didn’t see any tavern wenches today,” she admitted with a nervous laugh. Hitching up her skirts, she perched herself on his knee. “Is this what they do?”

  He reached out and dragged her more firmly into his lap. “Amongst other things,” he said, his voice deep and rough with promise. He ran his hand across her lower back. “Loose your veil, Linnet.”

  He took another long swig of ale as she unpinned the white, linen square covering her red-gold hair. When she placed it on the table, he ran a hand over her long, silky braid. “Take down your hair. I want to see it loose over your shoulders.”

  He had forgotten Oswald. His muscles relaxed as he felt his energy flow into a different kind of tension. A sweeter kind. Lust. A servant had brought Linnet’s plate and cup around to her, and she had picked up a piece of her coarse-grained bread and was crumbling it distractedly into her bowl of vegetable soup. He picked up her cup of sweet apple wine and held it to her lips.

  “Drink,” he said. Her hands were now occupied with loosening her hair so she obediently drank deeply from the cup before he set it down. “That’s better,” he said approvingly as her hair spilled down. “I finished meeting your tenants today, Wife.”

  “Our tenants,” she corrected him swiftly.

  He smirked at this and inclined his head. “As you say.”

  She took a deep breath, “Do they think I’m something of a bitch?” she asked, promptly flooring him.

  Oswald gasped, but Mason ignored him. “What did you say?” he repeated, tipping his head to one side. He’d surely misheard her.

  “Is that not how it is said?” she said uncertainly.

  He glanced down at his half-emptied tankard. How many had he had?

  “I heard someone say that in the tavern today,” she confided.

  “What?” His words exploded out angrily.

  “Not about me,” she hastened to assure him. “About my aunt actually. But I thought they might have had cause.”

  He lapsed back into astonished silence.

  “But it could have been a lot worse,” She added. “Cuthbert said last time he was there, some woman had her chests out. I didn’t see anything really shocking like that.”

  She sounded, he thought, a little wistful. His eyes dropped to Linnet’s own rapidly heaving breasts. They were sweet rather than impressive. He had no idea why he was so entranced with them. Absently he raised his hands to palm them over her dress. Her back was to Oswald so his prim brother couldn’t see anything. Linnet’s soft gasp went straight to his groin.

  “Mason,” she whispered, and suddenly his lust went from a smolder to a roaring blaze.

  “Linnet,” he started, but the door had flung open behind him.

  “Baron Vawdrey!” announced a servant loudly.

  “Father!” exclaimed Oswald behind them.

  There was a clatter, and Mason guessed his brother had jumped to his feet. Sliding his hands down to Linnet’s waist he turned in his chair to see his travel-worn sire come striding through the doors to the great hall. Though a great dark beard covered half his face, Mason could tell his expression was grim.

  “So here ye are, making merry with your doxy,” roared his father. “After snatching the bread from your own brother’s mouth, ye ungrateful bastard!”

  Mason’s mouth opened, but before he could so much as get a word out, Linnet had hopped from his lap and taken a step towards the intruder.

  “How do you do,” she said clearly. “You must be my father-in-law.” She dropped a graceful curtsy. “I am Linnet Vawdrey.”

  “Father, this is Mason’s wife,” said Oswald hurriedly as Mason continued to loll in his chair, watching his father’s face turn puce as his jaw dropped in astonishment.

  “This . . . is her?” blurted Lord Vawdrey, huffing and puffing and tugging on his beard.

  “Linnet, this is Baron Vawdrey, our father,” said Oswald at pains to carry out conventional introductions.

  Mason snorted, his gaze returning to Linnet, who was eyeing his father with open curiosity.

  Lord Vawdrey grunted. “You’ve made a bad bargain with this one, my fine lady,” he harrumphed.

  “Do you think so?” asked Linnet. “I disagree.” She smiled.

  His father blinked. “Well, you’ve got all your teeth,” he said weakly.

  “She’s not a horse,” Mason found himself pointing out caustically. “Come and sit down. Or do you want to wash off your travel dirt first?”

  He felt irritated by the timing of his sire’s visit. What the devil did he want? When Linnet went to move to away, he grabbed and pulled her back to him.

  His father scowled at him and then collapsed into a chair.

  “Bring ale and another plate, for Lord Vawdrey,” said Linnet, turning to one of the gawping servants.

  Mason sat back down and pulled Linnet to sit between his legs. He sent a lazy look of challenge across to his father whose jaw jutted aggressively. Maybe it was all the ale he had consumed, but he was finding it hard to concentrate on his father’s ire. Not when Linnet’s hair smelled so sweet and she was so distractingly close. Damn the old man’s eyes for turning up at such an inopportune moment! He would have hustled her between the bedsheets within a half hour but for this interruption. He rested his chin on her shoulder as she picked daintily at her vegetables. Feeling eyes on him, he glanced up to find his brother curious and his father outraged.

  “How was your journey, my Lord?” asked Linnet brightly.

  His father’s mouth ope
ned and closed. “As well as could be expected,” he muttered angrily, as a servant placed a cup and plate before him. “Given the ill tidings I have received of late!”

  “You mean of our marriage,” said Linnet, taking the bull by the horns. “But indeed, Mason did me a great favor by stepping into the breach and—”

  “Linnet,” Mason cut her off. “We don’t owe him any explanation, sweeting.” He spoke the words low, for her ears only, but ’twas plain that they had carried when his father made a sound of choked indignation.

  She half turned her head towards him. “But I don’t want him blaming you,” she whispered over her shoulder. “After all, ’twas my proposal and . . . ”

  He squeezed her hip. “Are you trying to unman me, Linnet?” he asked quietly.

  She hesitated. “No, but . . . ”

  “Then it was my proposal,” he corrected her. “Never let it be said otherwise.”

  For a moment, it was just the two of them alone in the room, looking into one another’s eyes. Then she gave a small nod. “Very well,” she answered. “If that’s what you want . . . ”

  “It is.”

  He looked up to find his father’s eyes trained on them as roasted meat was piled onto his plate. Lord Vawdrey cleared his throat. “When did she rise from the sick bed?” he growled, rudely ignoring his daughter-in-law’s presence.

  “There was no sick bed,” Mason answered drily. “I see you have been listening to the Jevonses lies.”

  Lord Vawdrey dropped his knife with a clatter. “No sick bed?” he echoed, his voice rising.

  “No sick bed,” confirmed Linnet quietly.

  “And why was I not informed of this?” demanded his father. “Why did you not write to Roland, of this gross deception?”

  Mason shrugged a shoulder. “You sent me to jilt her. Not make enquiries after her health,” he pointed out.

  His father slammed his fists onto the table. “Disgraceful!” he roared.

  Linnet jumped and Mason wrapped his arms around her waist. “He’s a shouter,” he whispered into her ear. “Don’t let it bother you. I never have.”

  “How dare you sit there, scoundrel! Cozying up to your own brother’s betrothed!”