Her Baseborn Bridegroom (Vawdrey Brothers Book 1)

by Alice Coldbreath

  “Be damned to what that old man thinks!” he burst out. “Are you trying to drive me from my own bed, Woman?”

  Linnet stared at him. When she reddened and tried to clamber off him, he rolled fully on top of her.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” he said thickly. “So stop wriggling.”

  She went still and he rolled them both onto their sides and drew the blankets up around them. He was spooning her now, his hand resting on her hip.

  “Linnet?”

  She turned her face away from him towards the pillow. For some reason he didn’t like feeling shut out. “Are you—?” Hells. Had he made her cry? He felt his chest clench. “Just go to sleep,” he said frustratedly. She didn’t make a sound. For some reason that bothered him too. He was too tired to think why. Instead he pressed his face into the side of her neck and let his eyes drift shut again. She had worn him out. He would deal with it in the morning.

  XIII

  Linnet woke early and quickly remembered the falling out from the night before. Mason was still tucked against her back, his arm slung about her waist. Physically close, but emotionally miles away. She frowned over his erratic behavior. She had no idea why her defense of their marriage should have displeased him so greatly. Unless he thought it unworthy of protecting, she thought uneasily. Her chest ached at such a thought. She remembered how he had told her more than once that he cared little for the opinion of others. It seemed she had not taken on board just how little the opinion of the world mattered to this new husband of hers. Mayhap he did not care that the majority of their tenants thought she was a horrid, grasping tyrant? She thought of Johnny Wickers’s mother the alewife. How many other of the castle’s servants had been unfairly thrown out by her aunt? Then there was her uncle’s unfair taxation. She bit her thumbnail. And how was she to address these wrongs? She glanced back over her shoulder, but Mason was still asleep, his face relaxed and far less harsh looking in repose. No matter how she looked at it, she just could not spin a positive view of Mason’s attitude. He had told her she was naive and sheltered, but she had not heeded his warning. Clearly, he expected her to get on with her life inside the castle and not try and turn him into her confidante or friend. She remembered how she had falsely assumed their physical closeness the night before had meant she could pour out her deepest fears and thoughts to him. Only moments earlier, their bodies had moved together as one, but when she had tried to have a heart-to-heart conversation, her husband had cruelly snubbed her! Blinking back tears, she realized that she needed to wake up. The sad truth was she had no right to feel sorry for herself. She had made her marriage bargain and not one word had been spoken of love or affection. He had cleaved to her as a wife, that much was true. He had every intention of making sure she kept her end of the bargain and bore him a son. Sons, she corrected herself with a pucker between her brows. He had been quite firm about the fact she would be giving him more than the initial heir she had imagined. But that didn’t mean he saw them in any sentimental light she told herself sternly.

  She remembered his father Baron Vawdrey’s explosive arrival the night before. She could see little by way of affection or paternal bond between them. They had not exchanged greetings or embraced at their reunion, she pondered. And Mason had certainly not spoken of any fondness existing within the bonds of their marriage. Oswald had attempted to remonstrate with his father’s brusque, offensive words, but Mason had not even risen from his seat to defend her! She needed to stop romanticizing things in her head and understand that her marriage was not the stuff of ballads. Mason was not a chivalrous knight and true. He was no Sir Maurency of Jorde. She was not a beauteous maiden and he had not rescued her from her tower. If anything, she had called down to him and he had pointed out there was a door. The many steps leading to her freedom had to be scaled by Linnet alone. She shivered and, gently removing his arm, slid from the bed to wash and dress. Somewhere in the castle her father-in-law was abroad and forming opinions. It did not matter to Mason one whit what they were, but it did matter to her! She didn’t want Lord Vawdrey to think she was some useless ninny or malingering burden. She needed to show that she could be a worthwhile addition to his family. She just needed to be less emotional where Mason was concerned. Clearly the Vawdrey men had no time for emotional outpourings from women.

  By the time she slipped from their chamber, Linnet’s melancholy had almost completely dispersed. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, and she had another promising day ahead of her. She went first to her tower and dutifully climbed her stairs eight times until she could feel her heart steadily beating in her chest. She was definitely growing stronger and had more stamina. When she had first started her daily exercises she had grown quickly out of breath and had to pause several times to recover. Now, although her pace had slackened off on the very last climb and ascent, she was much faster and didn’t need to pause at all. If Mason’s increased attentions in the bedroom were anything to go by, she must be getting up to his weight now, if nothing else!

  Her tread was light as she made her way to the great hall, but to her surprise neither Lord Vawdrey nor Oswald were yet out of bed. She breakfasted alone, reflecting that her father-in-law had taken a long horseback journey yesterday and was probably exhausted. He wasn’t a young man anymore. And Mason had imbibed more ale than he usually did. Perchance his head was sore this morning. Catching sight of her page approaching with her toast, she suddenly had an idea.

  “Cuthbert, let us call at your grandmother’s cottage today,” she smiled. “And perhaps you could also direct me to John Wickers’s mother’s dwelling while we are out. Do they live close by?”

  Cuthbert’s eyes widened at the idea of going out again today. He looked at her doubtfully. “We’ll need to take a horse and cart,” he said. “’Tis too far for you to walk, milady.”

  “Very well, then directly after breakfast we must have one of the grooms drive us over. It’s a beautiful day and would be a shame to waste it.” She took a hasty gulp of milk. “Can you send word to the stables?”

  “Yes milady.”

  “And could you kindly borrow the housekeeper’s cloak again for me, Cuthbert, in case ’tis colder out than it looks. Pray assure her I will have a new one commissioned for her when Mr. Postner the tailor comes this week.”

  Cuthbert hurried away.

  “Ask her what her favorite color is,” she called after him. “And if she wants a hood!”

  Linnet had already finished her morning meal when her brother-in-law appeared, looking somewhat worse for wear with bloodshot eyes and a somewhat grey complexion.

  “Father and Mason are animals,” he grumbled. “I vowed I would never drink with them again after the last time.” He rubbed his stomach.

  “Neither have arisen yet,” Linnet told him. “Mayhap you will feel better when you have broken your fast?”

  He blanched. “It is doubtful I could keep anything down,” he confessed.

  “I wonder if Mother Ames could whip you something up,” she pondered. “She’s wondrously good with potions and remedies.”

  Oswald looked bewildered. “Who?”

  “Cuthbert’s grandmother and the local wise woman,” she confided. “I’m off to see her now about some other matter.”

  He grimaced. “Trying to get some foul potion down my gullet does not appeal one whit. Who are you taking with you?”

  “Oh—Cuthbert.” When he frowned, she added. “And the groom to drive the cart, of course.”

  He hesitated. “You should not go out unattended,” he fretted. “You saw Mason’s reaction to you going abroad yesterday.”

  “Well yes,” she admitted. “But that was into town and a tavern, no less. This would just be on my own grounds and amongst my own people—” she broke off. “Oh! I see,” she said, feeling herself flush. She had forgotten for a moment how wildly unpopular she was.

  Oswald looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry Linnet, I did not mean—”

  “No, no,” she inte
rrupted swiftly. “It’s quite alright. You were only thinking of my welfare after all.”

  “Even so,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It was clumsily done. Can I offer to accompany you to make up for it?”

  “Only if you’re really sure it would not take you from more passing matters?”

  “Oh, Mason can finish his blessed inventory with Robards,” shrugged Oswald. “The majority of it has been done now. I am at your disposal.”

  “Well, I will be very happy to have your company, Brother,” she told him. “If you’re sure you are up to it?” Truth be told, he did look a little green around the gills.

  “Fresh air will doubtless do me good,” he shrugged.

  Once they were in the cart up behind the groom, Linnet found herself worried more than once at Oswald’s pallor. At one point as they bumped along a stony lane, he actually leant over the side and heaved, though mercifully he managed to hold his stomach.

  “Diggory, please can you slacken off the pace,” she called to the driver who muttered darkly under his breath. “We are in no great hurry after all!”

  Cuthbert was fascinated by Sir Oswald’s queasiness. He regarded him with a keen eye. “How much ale did you actually drink?” he asked with interest.

  Oswald groaned.

  “Leave him be, Cuthbert,” she tutted. “Poor Sir Oswald will be right as rain presently.” A thought occurred to her suddenly and, exclaiming, she turned to her page. “How are my freckles this morning?” she asked.

  Cuthbert stared at her face a moment. “Plentiful milady,” he answered after a moment, then glanced up at the sunny sky. “’Tis likely you’ll have a few more by the day’s end too!”

  Linnet’s face fell. “Oh bother, I have got quite used to going around and about without a veil thanks to my husband’s peculiar aversion to them!”

  “He will doubtless grow used to them,” said Oswald, lifting his head from where he had it rested against the side of the cart. “So I wouldn’t worry overmuch.” He looked uneasy.

  “Do you think so?” asked Linnet. “I thought it must have been a long-held conviction the way he simply won’t allow me to wear one!”

  Oswald stared at her in confusion. “I beg your pardon,” he said faintly.

  “Veils,” said Linnet, growing puzzled herself.

  “Oh! Oh veils . . . ” he said, his head sinking back down onto his crossed forearms. “Your pardon, I had lost the thread of the conversation.”

  Linnet sat and frowned a moment. Then she realized what it was Oswald had thought she had said. “Actually, Mason does not really care about my freckles,” she said quietly.

  Oswald’s head didn’t rise from where it lolled, and she lapsed into silence. Surprising as it was, she did not think Mason would have lied about her freckles. He did not seem to care about sparing other people’s feelings enough to lie about anything. He believed in plain speaking with the whole unpalatable truth. Right from the outset, she reflected. He had been completely up front with her. With the possible exception of just how many sons he expected from her. She was almost sure he had only asked for one at the beginning!

  “We’re here!” yelled Cuthbert as the cart lurched to a stop outside a tumbledown cottage. Cuthbert scrambled down from the cart and held his hand up to her obligingly. Deciding against waiting for the fragile Oswald’s support, she instead took Cuthbert’s little hand and swung down from the cart. Both of them reeled back a few steps. “It’s higher than it looks!” puffed Linnet. Cuthbert tugged his blue tunic straight. “I believe you’re getting heavier, milady.” He said ingenuously.

  “Do you think so?” asked Linnet. “I must say, I do think my appetite has improved lately, so I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  Oswald was climbing rather gingerly down from the cart. “I may walk back,” he said grim faced.

  “Oh dear, do you really feel unwell Oswald?” she sympathized. “Is it affecting your head as well as your stomach now?”

  “Please don’t let’s talk of it,” he grimaced. “It only makes it worse when I dwell on how wretched I feel.”

  “Very well,” she agreed hurriedly. “Let’s go in.”

  “Can’t,” said Cuthbert cheerfully.

  They both turned back to look at him in astonishment. “Whatever do you mean, Cuthbert?”

  “See that scarf?” he said, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at the wooden door where sure enough, an old grey looking scarf was wound around the latch. “When that’s there it means you have to wait, as granny’s got someone in with her.”

  “Someone?” grouched Oswald, plainly annoyed.

  “Someone seeking her advice, I take it,” said Linnet thoughtfully. She looked about her. “Well, let us sit on this stone wall a moment and breathe the fine country air.”

  Cuthbert hopped up onto the wall and unwrapped some cheese and dry biscuits from his handkerchief. He offered some to Linnet which she smilingly declined. Pulling herself up onto the wall beside him, she swung her legs under her blue skirts, drumming her heels against the stones. She could feel the sun on her shoulders and hair, and even though that meant more freckles, at this precise moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. She glanced sideways at Cuthbert and he beamed back at her. She held her hand out to him and they clasped hands in silent companionship as Oswald once again dry heaved over the rose bushes.

  “Silly great sot,” whispered Cuthbert.

  Linnet gave a gurgle of laughter. “Your master may have a sore head today also, Cuthbert.”

  Cuthbert snorted. “Not he. Sir Oswald cannot hold his ale and had to be carried up to his bed yestere’en.”

  “Did he indeed?” asked Linnet with interest. “And what of Lord Vawdrey?”

  “Nay, Lord Vawdrey took one step back for every three steps forward, but he did find his own way there,” Cuthbert informed her gravely.

  “I see.”

  “Was the master sotted?” asked Cuthbert curiously.

  “Possibly, he was a little, but not so much that you would notice it.” She blushed, but luckily Cuthbert was distracted by a passing bumble bee.

  Presently the cottage door opened and a short, nervous-looking man sidled out. Linnet could not help wondering what manner of help he had asked from Mother Ames, but she merely nodded at him as he hurried past them.

  “That’s Samuel Johns,” whispered Cuthbert. “He’s worried he’s going bald.”

  “Oh,” Linnet glanced after him and thought he had every right to be worried with his thin-looking hair.

  “Good morrow,” called a voice from the doorway, and Cuthbert hopped down off the wall.

  “Morning, Granny.”

  “Good morning, Mother Ames,” called Linnet.

  Mother Ames was scrutinizing Oswald, who was now leant against the house and who looked like he had broken into a light sweat. She disappeared back into the cottage for a moment and then reappeared with a cup in her hand which she handed wordlessly to him. She turned back towards Linnet and her page, who were watching with interest. “You stay out here with this young man, Cuthbert. Make sure he drinks his draught down.” She nodded at Linnet. “You may come in, milady and welcome.”

  Linnet slid off the stone wall and approached the cottage. “You have a pretty garden, Mother Ames,” she said, admiring the way the flowers were sown in among the vegetables in a huge jumble.

  “Lots of useful herbs,” nodded the older woman. “’Tis my livelihood.” She held the door open for Linnet who entered and looked about her with curiosity. Indeed, she had never been in a cottage before and Mother Ames’s cottage had so much to look at.

  Every surface was covered in bunches of flowers and drying herbs. There was a fireplace with a hearth but this was not the focal point of the room. That was a large square table in the center of the room that was overlarge for the proportions of the room and covered in implements and apparatus. There were also little bowls full of seeds and mirrors, a mortar and pestle, and a whole array of candles. Ther
e was a large book on the table with yellowing pages, but even as Linnet marveled that Mother Ames could read, she noticed that the script was not anything that she herself could read. They looked like small pictorial symbols rather than letters.

  Mother Ames cleared her throat, drawing Linnet’s attention. “You are looking well, milady.” She said approvingly. “Married life clearly agrees with you.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” agreed Linnet, taking a seat on a wooden stool as her hostess bade her.

  The older woman sat down beside her, drawing a jug and a cup towards her. She poured Linnet a cup of pale-green liquid. “You have broken your fast?”

  “Oh yes, at least an hour ago. I have done my exercises too as you prescribed.”

  Mother Ames nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that,” she said. “Ye have a good color.” She reached for Linnet’s wrist and placed her fingers there a moment before nodding again.

  Linnet took a cautious sip of her drink and found it pleasant enough, though it looked a bit like pond water!

  “’Tis nutritious juice of plants,” said Mother Ames.

  “Is this what you gave my brother-in-law?”

  She gave a cackle of laughter. “His had a few added ingredients,” she admitted and tapped her nose. “My secret recipe.”

  Linnet smiled.

  “You’re here about your freckles, I suppose,” sighed Mother Ames. “The amethyst did not work?”

  “Not ostensibly,” admitted Linnet, looking down at her freckled wrists. “However, I thought I’d try it a few more times in case it had a cumulative effect?”

  Mother Ames looked intrigued. “Oho! So not the freckles for once?” she said. “Ye want your fortune told?”

  “Not precisely,” Linnet colored up. “I was wondering . . . It was something else this time.” She fidgeted on her seat a moment.

  Mother Ames narrowed her eyes. “A love philtre?” she hazarded. “To inflame your husband between the sheets?”

  Linnet choked on her plant juice. “No, no,” she assured her hurriedly. “’Tis nothing to do with Mason, but rather my own shortcomings . . . I was wondering,” she looked down fleetingly at her slight figure. “Is there not some way to encourage my own comeliness? I am not very . . . womanly.”