Her Baseborn Bridegroom

by Coldbreath, Alice

  “Robards,” he said, gesturing for him to enter. He saw the fellow’s eyes dart around the room looking for his mistress.

  “Lady Linnet has gone to fetch her household accounts,” he said. “Now tell me the truth of it before she returns.”

  Robards gulped, turning rather pale. “It’s true that Lady Linnet keeps a scrupulous accounts ledger,” he said in a wavering voice. “But what is entered therein is what she is told by Lady Jevons and her ladies. They passed her the receipts and notes of what had been spent.” He lowered his eyes guiltily.

  “And it is a piece of fiction?” asked Mason cynically.

  “I . . . hardly know, my lord. I was not privy to Lord and Lady Jevonses confidence . . . ”

  “But you have your suspicions?” Mason cut in.

  “I—yes, my lord. I suspect she was not given the correct information.”

  “In fact, that she was given falsified information?” asked Mason cuttingly.

  Robards hung his head. “As you say, Sir Mason.”

  Mason looped his arm around the back of his seat. “A full inventory will be carried out starting on the morrow, Robards. The strong room, the stables, the grain sacks, every last groat. Do you understand?” It would be ironic, he thought, if he had married the woman only to find her estates up to the hilt in debt!

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Mason nodded at him in dismissal. The wretched man tarried a moment before retreating, and Mason removed himself to the fire while the covers were removed and the food cleared away. Honeyed ale and a sweet cider had been brought along by another maidservant. Clearly the kitchen heard tell of their supper conversation. He wondered if they had heard his demand for a son as well. A hurried footfall in the hallway outside had him look up as Linnet hurried into the room, hugging a large, leather-bound volume to her chest. She dropped it on the table and stood a moment, catching her breath.

  “Did you run the whole way?” he asked curiously. The courtyard was wide and her tower had at least one hundred steps to her bedchamber.

  She nodded, pressing a hand to her side.

  “Without stopping?”

  She nodded again and flashed him a triumphant smile. “I did not keep you waiting overlong?”

  He shook his head and lifted his hand to beckon her over to him. She went to scoop up the book, but he uttered a sharp “Leave it there.” She headed over to him with a quizzical look. “Closer.” She stopped in front of him and he lifted his hand to rest on her thudding chest. She sucked in her breath but stood quietly enough as he felt her heart beating beneath his palm.

  “Hmm,” he muttered at last and let his hand drop to his side. He cocked his head to one side and took in her pink cheeks and bright eyes. “Linnet, who told you, you had a weak heart?”

  She looked taken aback by his question. “My father always said I took after his beloved sister. She expired of a weakened heart when she was but fifteen, following a childhood fever. And my mother, she also died young.”

  “But you are four and twenty,” he pointed out.

  “Yes, but I was a somewhat sickly child, much given to coughs and ailments. My father always feared I would not outlive childhood.”

  “And fevers?” he asked, gesturing to a chair beside the fire. She dropped into it obligingly enough.

  “No, at least, not that I remember . . . ”

  “I see.” He fetched her barely touched goblet of mead and placed it into her hands before making his way over to the table where he opened the ledger and glanced down at the meticulous handwriting. Her scribing skills would rival a monk’s for tidiness, he thought idly. Each page contained great totaled up lists of wine, spices, fabrics and charitable donations, all listed in looping black ink.

  “The household accounts are at the front of the book and the estate accounts are at the back,” she interrupted him. He looked up to find her eyes watching him nervously.

  “Who taught you to keep the books?” he asked.

  “My father.”

  Suddenly he wanted to ask if she was close to her sire, but after snubbing her own questions earlier he didn’t really feel that he had the right.

  “I have two brothers,” he said grudgingly. “Oswald is older. Roland is younger. We all had different mothers. Baron Vawdrey wasn’t married to mine.”

  She gave him an encouraging smile, shifting forward in her seat. “And your mother?” she asked.

  “Dead. During my sixth summer.”

  Her smile wavered. “Were you close to her?”

  “No.”

  She cleared her throat. “Oh. My mother died when I was three years. I don’t really remember her.”

  “And you have no other kin?”

  “None, save yourself now.”

  He almost started at that. He shut the book with a snap. “I have ordered an inventory of the household tomorrow Linnet.”

  She stared at him in consternation. “You have no confidence in my accounts?” she asked slowly.

  “I have no confidence in those that furnished you with its contents,” he corrected her.

  “Oh.” She looked crestfallen. “I assure you . . . ”

  “It’s not your sums I doubt.”

  She swallowed. “You think . . . ”

  “Let us see on the morrow.”

  “Very well.” She all but whispered the words.

  “Shall we back to bed?” he asked heavily. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”

  “Indeed it has,” she agreed, almost in a whisper.

  The bed had been discreetly remade as they ate their supper.

  “I’ve dismissed the servant,” he admitted gruffly. “Do you need help to undress?”

  She balked a little at this. “I’m sure I can manage as the dress is front fastening,” she pointed out, gesturing to her laces.

  They both undressed speedily, and Linnet climbed under the covers as Mason banked up the fire. She snuffed the candles, plunging her side of the room into darkness. He followed suit a few moments later, and after a moment’s hesitation he put out the candles on his side of the room. Although he had felt tired, as soon as he lay on his back in the darkness, sleep simply refused to come. Linnet lay as still as a corpse and was throwing off about the same amount of heat. He wondered briefly if she really did have a circulation problem. He suspected she wasn’t asleep either. At least she had known that morning that she would be wed, he thought. He was still adjusting to the idea. A faint rustle alerted him to the fact she had turned on her side. He flung a pillow out of the bed in an attempt to get comfortable and she sat bolt upright.

  “Wha—?” Her panicked voice rang out.

  “That was me,” he said in a low voice. “Were you asleep?”

  She sighed with relief. “For a minute I thought someone else was in the room,” she whispered.

  His lips quirked into a smile. “Do you normally sleep alone?” he asked.

  “Of course,” she whispered back, sounding faintly scandalized.

  “I meant, I don’t know, a nursemaid or a female cousin or something?”

  “I’m not in the nursery!” she hissed back.

  This time he laughed at her chagrin.

  “Are you teasing me?” she asked suspiciously.

  He shook his head slightly even though she couldn’t see him.

  “What about you?” she asked after a moment’s pause. “Don’t you sleep alone?”

  “I rarely have that luxury,” he answered drily. “I’ve been in the battlefield. Remember?”

  “Oh . . . do you . . . do you have to sleep surrounded by your men?” she asked curiously.

  “Yes,” he answered shortly. It wasn’t something he relished.

  “That must be strange. I can’t imagine sleeping surrounded by the household staff.” He felt her wriggle around a moment. “In truth, I’d hardly met any of them before today.”

  He suspected as much. “Who had you met?”

  “Cuthbert. He is my own personal page.” She fidge
ted a moment. “I have not seen him since we came thither.”

  “They probably did not think to send a child to attend you after your bedding.”

  “Oh.” She digested this a moment. “I see.”

  “You might have been wailing and caterwauling,” he elaborated lazily.

  He heard her swiftly indrawn breath. “Why would I have been doing that, pray?” she asked.

  “Mourning the loss of your maidenhood.” Shit, wondered Mason incredulously, was he teasing her? He frowned in the darkness. It felt like he was teasing her. But he was Mason Vawdrey, the Despoiler of Demoyne, and he did not flirt.

  He heard her head turn on the pillow and guessed she was trying to make out his face. “That’s silly. I don’t think women really do that,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he shrugged. “You’re the only virgin I’ve ever had.”

  She was silent over this a moment. “Oh.”

  He had the feeling she had more to say on the subject.

  Sure enough five seconds later she piped up uncertainly: “Was it . . . alright?”

  He gave a choked cough. She was asking him? Really? “You tell me, Linnet.”

  “Well,” she said, breathing out with a whoosh. “I haven’t anything to compare it with.”

  “Are you still sore?” he asked, his voice low and intimate. He turned his head towards her, even though he could only see her outline.

  “A little,” she admitted awkwardly. “What about you?”

  “It’s different for men.” He could hear the tremor of laughter in his own voice.

  “Oh. Of course.” He could hear the embarrassment in her voice. “Sorry, that was foolish.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He rolled on his side towards her, reaching out until he found her. He stroked his hand down her side till he reached her hip and then pulled her into him. Linnet let out a faint squeak, her nose pressed to his chest. He ran his hand down her back. She mumbled something.

  “What was that?”

  “I said . . . You’re different in the dark.”

  He pulled back to look at her face but of course, could not make out her expression. She was a fool if she believed that. In light of day or dark of night, he was still a bastard. His fingers were on her hair, drawing out the pins so that he could run his fingers through the soft, shiny length of hair, unimpeded. He could feel her relax with each pass of his fingers, her soft breath against his chest, even a sigh as his fingers brushed against her scalp. Her hair felt like finest silk. Her skin like rose petals. If anything, she was the one that was different in the dark, he mused. In the dark, Linnet was beautiful.

  VI

  Linnet woke early and lay blinking a few moments in half-sleep as she puzzled over the fact that she was plastered against something warm and solid. It turned out to be Mason Vawdrey’s muscular back. Even worse, she not only had her arm wrapped around his waist, but at some point during the night she had also flung one of her legs over his as if trying to scale him in her sleep! Mercifully he was a sound sleeper. With the utmost care, she set about extricating herself from his big warm body. First, she gingerly withdrew her leg, then she unclasped her arm from his waist. But when she began to shuffle back across the mattress from him she felt him give a disgruntled murmur. Holding her breath, Linnet lay stock still. He rolled onto his back, then rolled towards her in the space she had created and flung an arm across his face. This meant that the front of her body was now pressed into his side and, due to the fact her shift had ridden up in the night, her legs were bare. She gulped and squeezed her eyes shut. Well this was somewhat mortifying. They appeared to have switched positions in the night! Reaching down, she tried to disentangle her thin linen shift and yank it down for some decency.

  “Stop wriggling, damn it,” he grunted sleepily and then rolled practically on top of her! Linnet gasped, finding herself flat on her back underneath all that muscle and warm skin. He was heavy. After a few deep breaths, it dawned on her that he was really only half on top of her or she would be squashed indeed. His breath tickled her neck, and she could feel the dark stubble of his chin against her collarbone. After a few moments, she realized with astonishment that he had gone back to sleep! Action in the battlefield must make you practically impervious to your surroundings for the purpose of sleeping, she marveled. Unless . . . unless her husband was used to having a bedfellow of the female variety? It wasn’t hard to believe. He wasn’t handsome as his features were too harsh, but he was quite striking looking in his masculinity with his black eyes and dark, curling hair. She absently reached up to stroke it. True, he wasn’t good looking in the bland, smooth-faced manner that she had heretofore admired. Mason Vawdrey had a dark, brooding, almost menacing quality about him. His eyes flashed. His voice was deep and gravelly. He was frankly horrible to the servants, snapping and snarling at them as if he could barely tolerate their presence. She remembered anxiously that he had ordered an inventory to commence today and she felt a pang. What if he found her bookkeeping inadequate? Or even worse, incompetent? He didn’t seem to have much in the way of patience, she thought with a tremor. She took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. There was nothing she could do now. She would simply have to weather it as best she could. Slowly his head rose from where it lay in the crook of her neck and he regarded her bleary eyed. She stilled her fingertips which had been lazily circling his scalp. Oh my goodness, Linnet! Were you petting him as if he were your hound? She watched as his eyes came sharply into focus and he blinked down at her.

  “Linnet?” he said groggily.

  “Aye, Husband?” Her tone was nervous.

  “What—?” He glanced around and seemed to take in the fact that she was pinned underneath him. Giving a sharply muttered oath, he rolled off her and sat up, rubbing his eyes.

  Linnet suffered her second pang of the day. She had been enjoying his physical proximity, she realized with surprise. It had been strangely comforting.

  “Have I been lying on top of you all night?” he asked gruffly.

  “Er no,” she said, feeling grateful he didn’t know she had been clinging to his back in the early hours. How humiliating that would have been!

  He gave her an odd look. “I don’t usually—” He broke off his words, his gaze travelling down over her. Linnet struggled to sit up now, aware of the fact she must look a sleep-wrinkled sight.

  “It was nothing. You weren’t all that heavy,” she hurried to assure him.

  He cleared his throat. “All the same, you should wake me next time.”

  She blinked at him. “Um. Very well, Husband.”

  “Mason,” he corrected her swiftly.

  He was still eyeing her oddly, she thought nervously. She patted her hair and then noticed her shift was hanging off one shoulder as though she were a slattern. She hurriedly dragged it back up, then with awful clarity she realized what he was looking at: the sight of all her ghastly freckles in the light of day. She swallowed nervously, drawing up her knees and tugging the neckline of her shift higher. There was no hiding the fact she was so horribly afflicted. She glanced back up, expecting to see an expression of distaste on his face, but instead he looked quickly away, a strangely guilty expression passing over his face. He moved off the bed stiffly, keeping his back to her and made for the ewer and basin of water for a brief wash.

  With wide eyes she surveyed his impressive form while she had the chance. His wide tanned shoulders tapered down his lean torso to muscular buttocks and heavy thighs. His legs were long and athletic. Even his calves looked strong, she thought admiringly.

  “Linnet,” he said in a strangled voice. “I’m trying to be considerate here. Unless you want to be flat on your back again, I suggest you get up and dressed.”

  Linnet’s jaw dropped. Was he really still so tired? She felt a sympathetic pang. It was doubtless after all that campaigning in the North. He must be bone-deep exhausted, poor man. She shuffled to the edge of the mattress, throwing her legs over the edge. She was half-incli
ned to offer to let him sleep away a few more hours resting against her bosom. That would be the truly charitable thing to do. She knew for a fact she would just lie there awake, though feeling tingly and peculiar. It was a strange sensation, being pressed against another body all night. And then there was the awareness of the physical act they had performed together yesterday. She blushed hotly and slid off the mattress until her bare feet hit the floor. She wasn’t anxious to repeat that anytime soon. She still felt tender betwixt her legs, but it had sealed their marriage bargain and mayhap, if she was lucky, it wouldn’t need to be repeated too many times before she could produce his heir. She would have to try and speak to Mother Ames, the wise woman who lived in one of the cottages on the estate, for advice. She sometimes came up to the castle for a visit, as she was grandmother to Linnet’s page.

  Linnet frowned, waiting for Mason to finish his ablutions. Usually a maidservant entered her bedchamber promptly every morning with warm water, but it did not seem any servant would venture in on them this morning, and she needed a change of clothing and fresh linens. The servants were probably afeared of intruding on their new lord. In that case, she would have to summon one herself. She made her way resolutely over to the door, intending to poke her head out and call for someone.

  “Where are you going, Linnet?” asked Mason, looking back over his shoulder. His tone was abrupt.

  “I was just going to call for someone for clean water and clothes . . . ”

  “You’re not dressed,” he pointed out. “Remain here. I will summon a maid.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that had been her intention, but the look in his eye stopped her. Could Mason be outraged by the idea of a male servant seeing her only partly dressed? She blushed at him thinking her immodest. But perhaps he didn’t want everyone to see her shameful spots. “Very well,” she uttered miserably.

  He looked up sharply at that. “Don’t sulk. I’ll fetch someone now.” He strode over to the door, flung it open and bellowed for assistance. She gaped at him. No one had ever accused her of sulking before! There was the sound of feet thudding against the floorboards beyond, and she heard male voices in the corridor. There was a murmuring and then the sound of someone running off in search of a maid, no doubt.