Her Baseborn Bridegroom

by Coldbreath, Alice

  Her nervous gaze shot past him to a tense-looking Oswald and then to Roland, the youngest brother. He was clearly a Vawdrey, tall and dark like his brothers, but with a slender build like Oswald rather than Mason’s powerful build. In truth, he looked younger than his twenty-two years, so maybe he would fill out later. Boyhood still seemed to cling to him. He looked sulky and out of sorts, his bottom lip sticking out in a pout of displeasure, his dark curly hair spilling forward onto his face. My gods. She had nearly been married to that moody-looking boy! Well, even if they annulled her marriage, she thought, her stomach knotting up. She would not marry Roland Vawdrey! She would never marry anyone but Mason.

  The room was still eerily silent. Linnet turned back to the dais where the Queen had cast her eyes up to the painted ceiling as if for inspiration. It was gorgeously decorated with a scene of the heavens and was covered in clouds, stars, and angels. Linnet held her breath as the Queen spoke in a strangely chilling voice:

  “A choice lies before you, Sir Mason. Two paths in a forked road. On the right hand path you can choose for your marriage to be annulled and the stain of your bastardy removed. You will be elevated to the most senior ranking commander in the King’s army and permitted to use unimpeded the sigil of the black Vawdrey panther.”

  A thrill of surprise ran through the hall. Queen Armenal waited patiently for the reaction to subside before continuing in a hard voice: “The left-hand path is for your marriage to remain legal. But, as a consequence, you will lose the Cadwallader estate which will be confiscated by the Crown and the title Duke of Cadwallader will be rescinded.”

  Linnet gasped. Her feet suddenly felt terribly heavy, like they might crash through the floorboards. The room swayed and went dark. And then Linnet did something that she had never done before in all her twenty-four years. She tumbled to the floor in a dead swoon.

  XXXIII

  It was dark and quiet in the room and something damp lay on her brow. Linnet could feel she was lying on a bed or a cushioned bench of some kind. A voice was coming in and out of focus, loud then quiet, then loud again. Linnet felt spent, hopeless, and wretched. She didn’t even care about her disorientation or lack of vision. What did it matter anymore? She had lost everything. She could feel tears flowing down her cheeks from her closed eyes. She gave a soft sob.

  “Oh, milady!” wept Gertie. “Oh, you did frighten me. When they carried you in here you was as limp as a rag!”

  “Where’s Cuthbert?” Linnet croaked, reaching for Gertie’s hand. Her maid clasped it warmly.

  “He’s helping pack up your things, milady.”

  Linnet went cold. “Packing?” Already?

  She would never see Mason again, she thought dully. She would return to her tower and a life lived through books and illustrations. When she grew old and grey, she would remember her short-lived marriage almost as if it were a dream. She shivered.

  “Are you cold, milady?” Gertie asked considerately. “These rooms is too bare!” She clicked her tongue. “Can tell they’m bachelor rooms. Not a soft furnishing in sight! And not fit for the likes of you and so I told him!”

  Linnet frowned. She was a little woozy, but something wasn’t making sense here. Lady Doverdale was a widow, not a bachelor. She turned her head. But no, Gertie was right. These weren’t Lady Doverdale’s rooms. She did recognize it vaguely though.

  “Where are we?” she asked weakly.

  “Still at that wicked court, more’s the pity,” said Gertie bitterly. “I heard all about it! How you been done out of your birthright and it’s a crying shame! What’s everyone back at Cadwallader Castle goin’ to say when they find out it’s been commandeered? Thievin’ wotsits, that’s what I say!” whispered Gertie hoarsely.

  Linnet’s head reeled. The door cracked open and a dark head peered around it. To her utter astonishment, Sir Roland Vawdrey peered in! Grasping for the bedside cabinet, Linnet reached a brass candlestick holder off the side and flung it at his head as hard as she could possibly manage.

  “Get out!” she whimpered. Gertie shrieked and unfortunately the blasted thing soared only as far as the middle of the room before clanging against the bare flagstones and crashing to a halt.

  Roland dodged back out. “She’s mad as fire,” she heard him say before the door creaked open again and Mason strode in.

  Her heart stopped and she stared at him.

  He looked long and hard at her tear-streaked face and then cursed and pulled her off the bed.

  “There’s no need to be so rough with her!” begged Gertie, flinging her apron over her head and bursting into tears.

  Mason’s expression could have been carved in stone. “You’re coming out to eat with the family and you’d best get used to it,” he said in a flat voice.

  Then Linnet recognized the room. It was Mason’s bedroom at the palace. She had been lying on his bed! No sooner had it clicked into place than he was yanking her out of the room and dragging her into another chamber off the sitting room. When she tried to protest or twist out of his punishing grip, he spun her around and leant his face down close to hers.

  His eyes were hard. “You’re a Vawdrey now Linnet, and you’re staying one. The sooner you get used to that fact, the better.”

  He half-carried her to a seat at a small dining table where Baron Vawdrey, Oswald, and Roland were all looking at her uneasily. An elderly, male servant was placing dishes on the table for dinner.

  Baron Vawdrey sat at the head of the table, cleared his throat. “Right sorry I am about this lass,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s a sad day for you, and no mistake. But er . . . such is the lot of women,” he said, obviously making an attempt to be conciliatory for once in his life. “They’re always the ones to suffer for men’s mistakes. Best to simply try and make the best of a bad lot.”

  Linnet stared, then she realized that Mason was ladling food to her plate. It looked like a vegetable stew and smelled, she noticed distractedly, quite delicious.

  Wordlessly he poured a cup of frothy white milk into a cup and passed it to her. Linnet placed it carefully on the table as he took the seat beside her.

  “What did you do?” she asked in a quiet voice. “Mason?”

  He went still a moment. “Eat your meal,” he said, not looking at her.

  “I’m still a Vawdrey?” she asked in disbelief. When Mason wouldn’t answer, she gazed up at Oswald who sat opposite her with a concerned look on his face. Seeing her silent appeal, he gave a sharp nod of assent, his eyes full of sympathy.

  “We’re still married?” she mumbled numbly.

  “Is she a bit slow?” asked Roland, looking up from his plate. His father leaned over and fetched him a sharp clip round the ear. “Ow!”

  “Would everyone just eat their damn meal?” said Mason in a low, angry voice.

  Linnet stared down at her plate as the fog in her brain started to clear. After being violently ill following breakfast, she found herself suddenly extremely hungry. She picked up her spoon and took a mouthful of nourishing stew. It was delicious. She looked up to give a smile at the servant who was hovering nearby with a loaf of bread.

  “This is lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”

  The old man gave her a grudging smile as Mason’s knife clattered to his plate. She didn’t dare look at him as those hard, angry eyes hurt. Instead she ate her stew as the wheels in her head turned furiously. She had lost her castle and estates. That was a blow. It had been built by her ancestor Sir Geoffrey du Cadwallader and had been in the family for generations. And now it had been confiscated by the crown. But strangely enough, it was the people who she suffered a pang over, rather than the turrets and rolling fields. Faces flashed through her head: Nan, Robards, Gertie and Diggory, Mother Ames, Mrs. Wickers, Sir Lang, Rolfe. Her fingers tightened on her cup of milk as she took a fortifying sip. She refused to even contemplate losing Cuthbert. Surely she’d be able to keep her page? But then how could she take him away from his grandmother? She shook her head and pushed
it to the back of her mind. You’re still a Vawdrey.

  She shot a look at Mason’s averted profile, which was still forbidding in the extreme. And where would they live? Her heart jumped. If it was here at court, then they need never be separated. She felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought. Then she remembered the Queen’s ultimatum and her train of thought faltered. Would Mason retain his position now he had chosen his marriage over his career? She thought he must have turned down a promotion but there had been no mention of him losing his current position as a consequence, had there? How frustrating that she had fainted, she thought, her cheeks suddenly flaming. And in front of everyone! Oh why had she done that? Now she didn’t have a clear picture of what had happened at all and she could hardly ask when everyone was as jumpy it was as if they were seated on a bed of hot coals! She glanced up from her plate and found her in-laws all staring at her with varying degrees of concern. Even Baron Vawdrey looked sheepish. He reached across from his position at head of the table and patted her hand.

  “Don’t fret, lass. There’s nothing to be done about it now, more’s the pity.”

  “At least it hasn’t gone to the Jevonses,” said Roland with satisfaction. “They’ve lost everything too. What?” he asked when Oswald tutted.

  Mason threw down his napkin. He turned to Linnet. “Are you done?” he asked abruptly.

  No sooner had she glanced down and found her plate empty, then he was hustling her up out of her chair.

  “Mason,” Oswald admonished, but was ignored as Mason took her elbow and practically lifted her off her feet as he propelled her towards wards his bedroom.

  Once they were through the doorway, he slammed it shut and turned the key, lifting her up, so he was stood between her legs and pushing her back against the door. Linnet clutched at his forearms as he pressed up hard against her, breathing hard.

  “I’m going to take care of you, Linnet,” he said in a low, steely voice. “You won’t want for anything.”

  She blinked at him. His eyes looked so bleak, she wanted to comfort him. But when she tried to reach up to touch his face, he grabbed her wrist and pinned it over her head.

  “No. Let me say my piece.”

  They stared at one another a moment in tense, pulsing silence.

  Linnet swallowed. “Very well,” she said and licked her dry lips.

  Immediately his gaze was riveted to her mouth. Then he groaned and crushed his mouth to hers in an almost-bruising kiss. Linnet moaned softly into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, accepting his kiss with enthusiasm. She would try and piece together their lives afterward. Right here and now, this was what she needed. She could feel instinctively that he needed it too. Desperately. Then everything would be OK, she just knew it. She cried out in disappointment when he pulled his mouth away from hers.

  “Mason,” she whimpered, but he closed his eyes.

  “I need to say it, Linnet. I know I’ve been a selfish bastard, but you need to know I will provide for you.”

  “I do know that!” she burst out indignantly.

  He stared at her, his breathing ragged. “Do you?”

  “Of course!” She panted, and arched her back to press against him. “And I need you to take care of me right now,” she shifted her hips to rub against him. Too many skirts, she thought distractedly. She was pressed against his hard lower belly rather than his groin. “Please, Mason,” she pleaded.

  His eyes glowed and his grip on her adjusted slightly so that she slid down until she felt the bold thrust of his erection pressed where she needed it, up against the juncture of her thighs. She felt it even through the layers, and whimpered, trying to press closer.

  He sucked in a breath. “You want me Linnet?” he asked, his voice gravelly.

  “Yes!” She forced her eyes to meet his boldly, even though her face was aflame. Her mind cast about for the best way to entice him. “To . . . to reseal our bargain. In your bed.”

  For a minute she thought she had said the wrong thing. Oh gods, she almost groaned. After all, what did she have to bargain with now? Nothing. No title, no lands.

  “Our bed,” he corrected her gruffly, “can bloody well wait.”

  He released his hold of her thighs entirely this time and she slid down his body until her feet hit the floor. Then he dropped to his knees before her and lifted up her skirts.

  Linnet panted as she felt his strong hands strip away her undergarments. His feet encircled her ankles to lift her feet to step out of them, but to her surprise he left her shoes and stockings intact.

  “Shall I give you my mouth?” he asked. “I need you wet for this, sweeting,” his words were dark with promise. “It’s going to be rough.”

  Linnet bit her bottom lip, trying to find the courage to tell him she was already wet. “I . . . I don’t think I need it,” she admitted on a gasp.

  He drew an unsteady breath and slid one hand up her thigh, watching her the whole time through gleaming eyes. When he found her wet core, he slid his fingers right into her, making her cry out.

  “You’re so wet,” he said thickly and came to his feet, still holding her skirts bunched at her waist. “So beautiful,” he said, staring down at her exposed cunny. “And all mine.” He brought his two fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, watching her reaction. “Of course, I owe you my mouth after last night,” he said. “But I’ll get to that later.”

  His hands slid around to fondle her bare buttocks and Linnet’s head fell forward to rest against his chest a moment as she tried to pull herself together. It was almost too much, this assault on her senses. He hauled her back up, pressing her back against the hard wood of the door, supporting her with the hard muscle of his thighs. He reached down and started unlacing his crotch.

  “Brace yourself, Love,” he said. “I’m about to fuck you like Sir Maurency did that tavern wench.”

  Linnet’s head snapped up. “What?” she stammered. “That never—”

  “Trust me,” he growled, adjusting his clothing and then sliding one hand beneath her bottom to boost her up where he wanted her.

  He aligned their hips and then slid the head of cock until it was poised at her entrance, where she ached for him. He looked into her eyes as he eased into her inch by inch.

  “In real life he would have.” They both panted and shifted against each other until he was fully sheathed inside her.

  Linnet wrapped her legs around him and he took her mouth again in a surprisingly tender kiss.

  Linnet pulled away first, gasping for a breath. “What if Sir Maurency was married?” she blurted.

  He didn’t miss a beat. “I saw her freckles, Linnet. They are married,” he groaned and thrust.

  Linnet clung to him. “You noticed the freckles,” she said in slight dismay. She tipped her head back until it bumped against the wooden door.

  “Of course I noticed them,” he grunted, pounding his hips into her. “I’m obsessed with them. I only wish you’d given her more.” He kissed her neck, her cheek, her forehead.

  “More freckles?” she gasped, as she concentrated on the pleasure coiling deep in her belly. His pistoning hips; the feel of his big, warm hands; his greedy, hot mouth gliding over her throat.

  “I like my tavern wenches covered in them,” he said huskily. “All over their bodies. All over their beautiful faces.”

  Linnet sobbed and he ran his hands down her silk covered bodice, squeezing and rubbing at her small, high breasts and then stroking down until he reached the slickness where they were joined. The fact that she was still half-clothed somehow added to the thrilling sensation of being ruthlessly taken. She wished she could feel more of his skin though. She slid a hand across his tanned collarbone to the warm pulse she could see fluttering in his neck.

  “Just how close are you, my leopardess?” he whispered and rubbed the pad of his thumb against her.

  Linnet tensed and then cried out as her pleasure burst forth and engulfed her. She hung on for dear life as Mason hammered
into her with renewed vigor, right the way through her own blissful tremors until, at last, he shouted his own release, pressing his hips forward and crushing her between his big hard body and the door as he spent himself inside her.

  For a few moments, the only sound in the room was their mutual ragged breaths. Then he kissed her temple and swung her round, crossing the room and dumping her on the mattress. He followed her down, kneeling between her outspread legs and lazily stripping off his tunic. Linnet lay too sated to worry about what view he was getting and the fact her legs were splayed. She concentrated on taking deep breaths as her eyes started to close. She felt too pleasurably exhausted. Too relieved by the shattering communion of their bodies. She gave a muffled exclamation when she found herself swiftly turned and dumped on her front. Then she felt his fingers at the lacings up the back of her sleeves.

  “Who the fuck would put lacings in such a damn awkward place?” he muttered. “Did Postner make you this gown?”

  “No,” she murmured, her eyes drifting shut.

  He slapped her on the rump, and Linnet’s eyes jolted open. “Mason!”

  “Up wench, let’s get this off you,” he said, sounding amused.

  She grumbled as she clambered to her knees, and he wrenched the yellow silk over her head. She vowed never to wear that wretched gown again! Her shift followed and then her shoes and stockings.

  “Under the covers,” he said, stripping down the bed, but when she tried to comply, he caught her about the waist and hauled her back into his arms, so he could kiss down her spine and across her shoulder blades.

  Linnet giggled when he finally released her and scrambled under the cool sheets. Her eyes closed with a happy sigh. She could hear Mason stripping off the last of his own clothes before he slid in beside her, hauling her into his embrace. She turned into his hard, warm body and snuggled closer as he kissed her cheek and wound his fingers into her hair.