Her Bastard Bridegroom: A Medieval Romance

by Alice Coldbreath

  He reached out and seized her chin, turning her face back toward him. "I don't like you creeping from our bed, Linnet," he said in a low voice only meant for her ears. A cough from his brother made him realize the others had heard his words.

  She flushed. "I wasn't creeping," she said hotly. "I thought you might benefit from an extra hour or so of sleep this morning."

  His eyebrows rose at that. "You think you wore me out?" he asked arrogantly.

  She reddened. "I-er, you have been working very hard..." she said feebly and her fingers tightened on his in silent appeal. He ignored it, not really giving a damn if his family heard them.

  "I don't want you leaving the bed before me," he said. "I don't like it."

  She stared. "Very well," she conceded. "I will wait for you to rise first in future, husband."

  "And I don't want you to visit that crone again," he continued smoothly. "It's pointless."

  Her fingers clutched at his and she turned away from him a moment. "Cuthbert, could you please run to the kitchen and have them make me a honey posset?" she requested sweetly.

  Mason's gaze remained steady on her averted profile as he heard her page's steps leave the hall.

  "She is Cuthbert's grandmother," she hissed.

  "Your page can visit her whenever he pleases," he said coldly.

  "Cuthbert is - that is he is more to me than a mere page," she stammered trying to withdraw her hand from his.

  He did not let her, retaining a firm grip. "As your husband I would have thought my feelings would be of some import," he said tersely. He thought he heard his father make a choking sound but ignored it. "Linnet?"

  "Well of course they are! But Mother Ames is my trusted adviser."

  He glared at her. “Are you defying me, Linnet?”

  She swallowed. “On this matter, yes I’m afraid I am.” You could have heard a pin drop in the hall. She reached across and placed her hand on his forearm appealingly. "Please understand Mason. She's not just my advisor. She's also my friend. And I don't have many."

  And the wonder of it all was that he found he did. He did understand. Linnet knew scarcely anyone. And this old crone had probably known her all her life. He lifted his arm, dislodging her. Her expression turned dismayed in an instant. For fuck's sake. "Fine," he said abruptly. "You're free to see who you please." As soon as he'd said it, he felt annoyed with himself. Like hells she was! He glowered at her. Linnet bit her lip, looking crestfallen. He turned away in exasperation to find his brother and Father staring at him like he was a stranger. He stood with an irritated exclamation and strode from the hall without even having had a bite to eat.

  Mason stood gazing moodily out over the courtyard. Laborers were toiling in the fields in the distance. Like the day they were wed. They never did get their marriage feast, he thought remembering Linnet’s angry words on their wedding day five weeks ago. A discreet cough let him know he was no longer alone. He turned frowning to find the castle steward stood with his hands respectfully folded.

  “Robards,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “Wait,” he held up his hand forestalling whatever query it was the fellow bought this time. The castle steward was always checking if old practices should continue or be replaced by new one’s. He was damnably conscientious. “How many more of those striped tents do you have about the place?”

  Robards looked surprised. “Lady Jevons had a good quantity made up some five years ago for a tourney party the Jevons' held.” When Mason said nothing but continued to glare at him, he spread out his hands. “I could check their number sir?” he suggested sounding unsure.

  “Do that,” growled Mason, turning back to the view of the agricultural workers. Gods, was he really considering throwing a celebration? He winced imagining his father’s reaction. But damn it, this would get their introductions to the neighbors with over in one fell swoop! And if all the tenants and workers got a good look at Linnet, it would put an end once and for all to all this tyrant-hunchback ballocks! He sighed and turned back to his steward. “Robards, we’re hosting a feast. On a large scale. Every serf, servant, tenant and neighbor is to be invited.”

  Robards gaped. “Y-yes, sir,” he stammered.

  “Get on it at once. We need large quantities of ale, wine and roast meats.” Inspiration struck and his frown cleared. “Order everything the Lady Linnet accounted for in her ledger for the marriage feast.”

  “Everything sir?” gasped Robards. “But we won’t scarcely have enough salted meats in stock to cover such an event…”

  “Order it in,” answered Mason coolly. “The coffers are spilling over with the taxes the people have paid. Let’s give them a feast day to remember.”

  “But sir!” objected Robards hurrying along beside him as Mason started to leave the room. “What of the entertainment for all these people?”

  “Send someone to the nearest city,” shrugged Mason. “Commission tumblers, jesters and musicians. As many as you can find.”

  “Tumblers?” echoed Robards, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Why, I would scarcely know where to start!”

  “Try the ale-houses,” suggested Mason dryly. “Send someone who has some experience of the town. Not some farm boy fresh from the field.”

  Robards had whipped a small book from his pocket and started to make notes. He nodded rapidly. “I will of course, check my every order, every step of the way with you…”

  “Pray don’t!” Mason interrupted him sharply. “I am leaving this in your capable hands Robards. I have given you the budget and your instructions. “

  Robards flushed. “But sir…”

  “I believe you have already proven yourself trustworthy. Don’t make me reconsider.”

  “Yes sir!”

  Mason halted. “Three weeks hence,” he said thoughtfully. “From today.”

  “Three weeks?” uttered Robards faintly. “But Sir! I’m not sure tis possible!”

  “Nonsense. Get those striped tents out of storage.” He turned on his heel and started across the courtyard. Now the decision was made, Mason found himself remarkably sanguine about the whole affair. It seemed a simple way to achieve his aims with the minimum of effort on his behalf. True, there would be a whole day of parading before the castle’s retainers, but that could be borne. And then things would seem more established before he returned to court to take up his duties as Wymer’s newest general. The whole neighborhood, the whole county would know whose wife she was, he thought with satisfaction. His step faltered a moment when he caught the direction of his own thoughts. Then he shrugged it off. After all, he was possessive of his sword, he tended to it himself. He'd never owned much and what he had, he'd guarded jealously. But that had never included women, an annoying voice in his head pointed out, shattering his assurance. He frowned. But Linnet was his wife. And that meant Linnet was an extension of his property. Yea, that made sense. He relaxed. He was in control. There was nothing to worry about. Coming out of his reverie he found Cuthbert escorting a stranger toward the castle, talking to him nineteen to the dozen as if he were an old friend. He heard Linnet's name mentioned a handful of times, shooting his calm all to hell! Who the devil is that? "Cuthbert!" he shouted. They both halted in their tracks and swung back to look at him. Cuthbert was gesturing and no doubt explaining who he was as Mason strode toward them.

  "Mr Postner is here to see my lady," said Cuthbert.

  "Sir Mason," the other man bowed. He was dressed rather fussily in a mustard colored tunic and matching hose.

  Mason glared at him. "And you are?"

  "Postner. The tailor."

  Mason's brow cleared. "I see." She had mentioned a tailor. He cleared his throat. "You may proceed." They had only taken two steps before he called them back. "Not the bedchamber," he said abruptly. Mr Postner's jaw dropped.

  "Lady Linnet said to take him to the solar," piped up Cuthbert helpfully.

  "The solar," repeated Mason. "Right." He nodded. "Proceed."

  Postner was looking at
him rather nervously. "My lord?"

  "She needs an occasion dress. For a feast," Mason suddenly remembered. "In three weeks time."

  "Three weeks?"

  "Make it blue."

  Postner swallowed. "Lady Linnet said she already had the materials to be used for her wardrobe."

  "It's true, she had the fabrics carried up to the solar this morning," said Cuthbert.

  "Blue," repeated Mason firmly. "I like her in blue." Without more ado, he turned from the panic-stricken tailor and headed to the Place of Arms, where all the weapons were kept and the castle guard, such as it was assembled on a daily basis. His expectations weren't high and he approached the task without much enthusiasm even though it was his area of expertise. Maybe even because of it.

  As expected, the castle guard was shambolic but it seemed Cadwallader Castle had never suffered an attack in its entire existence. Any decent soldiers had been sent to swell Wymer's troops for the war in the North. Jevons, acting as feudal lord had sent fifty men to serve the king from the Cadwallader estate. That had left a mere eight men behind to guard the castle, three of which had had to come back out of retirement. The returning men he estimated would return in waves over the next couple of months. They would be released from service as the peace held and things calmed down in the north. To his surprise, the leader of the guard, a rather stout individual of about sixty or thereabouts called Sir Lang hesitatingly asked after Linnet's health. Mason regarded him narrowly. "You have met my wife?" he asked sharply detecting none of the usual hostility.

  "Not exactly met," he conceded grudgingly. "But before our men departed they were marched around to the tower so she could see them off from her window."

  "And?"

  Sir Lang rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Well... we were surprised," he admitted. "She's such a little thing. And young-looking for her years. And when she waved them off, sir...."

  "Yes."

  "She cried. And not only that sir, she's sent packages north for our men. Blankets, leather jerkins, woolen stockings and boots. Her page brings them down to the armory and we send them off. Course, not many of them can read but she writes that their positions are assured here at the castle when they come back "

  A faint memory stirred in Mason's mind. She had spoken of this, but he had dismissed it as sentimental nonsense.

  "The Jevons' certainly never showed any interest in the men's welfare," said Sir Lang resentfully.

  "I doubt they ever showed any interest in anyone’s save their own," Mason retorted. "When I'm back at court I will ask the King when we can expect their return to Cadwallader."

  Sir Lang's eyes brightened. "That would be good of you, sir."

  Mason nodded. He gazed past Sir Lang's shoulder at the nervous looking men stood in their armor for inspection. They were a sorry lot. Usually he would shout and bawl and reel off a list of demands for improvement to bring the place up to scratch. But, after all, the regular guard would return soon. There seemed little point in giving them hell. And this small community in the castle was the only one who seemed to bear Linnet no ill will. "Carry on men," he found himself saying instead. He turned back thoughtfully to Sir Lang. "My wife would like it if you would join us in the Great Hall to take dinner at least once a week. As you are aware, the welfare of the men is high in her concerns. Do you have recent news of their number?"

  Sir Lang looked more alarmed then gratified by the honor, but he pulled himself together. "We have lost two men, sir. And several more are injured to varying degrees." He hesitated. "One has lost a limb. What do I-" He broke off awkwardly. "Lady Linnet may ask after them."

  "She is sure to ask," Mason corrected him. "And you must tell her the truth of course. Then she can prepare for their return."

  Sir Lang nodded though he looked ill at ease.

  Mason guessed he was a life-long soldier and not much used to the company of women. "You married, Lang?" he asked.

  Sir Lang threw him a startled gaze. "Er.. no, sir. Once I thought... But it was not to be."

  "You have quarters here in the castle?"

  "Yes, sir. In the east wing."

  "We're having a feast in three week’s time at the castle. All the men will be attending of course."

  Sir Lang looked pretty horrified at this news, but there was a stir of interest from the guards behind him. One, with more backbone than the others cleared his throat.

  "To celebrate your nuptials, sir?" he asked.

  "That's enough of that, Rolfe," exploded Sir Lang.

  Mason held up a hand to forestall his wrath.

  "Rolfe is quite right. It's a belated wedding feast," he said mildly. "All the tenants and workers on the estate will be invited. Castle staff too."

  There was some nudging and staring at that.

  A fair-haired lad of about seventeen stood next to Rolfe cleared his throat. "Will we be doing a display for her ladyship?" he asked, turning bright red.

  "A display?" echoed Mason.

  "Presenting arms," stammered the lad. "She might like to see it.." he tailed off as Rolfe elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

  Mason glanced at Sir Lang's pained expression. "She probably would," he agreed. "Perhaps you could think of a simple presentation to run through, Lang?"

  Sir Lang perked up. "Just a short formation?" he suggested looking gratified. "Yes, we could probably put something together." There was an excited murmur from the men. "Of course, we're not at full strength, but when the men return from the north perhaps we could run through it again for her ladyship?"

  "I'm sure that could be arranged," agreed Mason swiftly. "Until then, I have an additional duty I will need from you men. To act as a guard to her ladyship when she leaves the castle."

  Now this announcement caused a definite stir.

  “We had heard that her ladyship had started going out and about,” said Sir Lang.

  "A personal guard?" piped up Rolfe, his hand shooting in the air. "I volunteer!"

  "You can do it in rotation between the five of you," said Mason dryly. "I will have her page run down to the guardroom whenever she goes abroad." He paused. "I mean on our own castle grounds as well as off the estate."

  The men accepted this without the blink of an eye although Sir Lang stroked his short grey beard and looked troubled. "Of course, m'lord," he answered. "We will be ready and waiting for duty."

  It seemed, Mason thought, expedient to inform Linnet of this new condition for her leaving the castle immediately. Who knew when she would next take it in her head to visit a tavern or some neighboring crone? He thought grimly as he made his way to the solar. The wench was proving headstrong despite her pretty ways. He could hear voices drifting along the corridor, Linnet was exclaiming over something, sounding pleased. He felt his tension trickling away in spite of himself. He was annoyed with her, he chided himself. She’d openly defied him at breakfast in front of his father and older brother. It occurred to him that, in contrast he’d spent all morning thinking about her welfare. Ironic that he was proving a far better husband than she was a wife! He’d arrived at the solar now and found himself surrounded entirely by swathes of fabrics stretched out over the chairs and tables. Cuthbert was unravelling a length of gold silk. Postner the tailor was cross-legged on the floor sketching something out on a piece of parchment. Linnet was stood on a low stool draped in blue velvet spangled with gold stars. She looked up when he entered the room and broke out into a dazzling smile. “Oh Mason,” she said and took a step toward him, forgetting entirely she was wrapped in fabric and stood on a foot-stool. For a moment his heart stood still. Then he moved. By the time she’d let out a squeak he’d already caught her in his arms. She blinked up at him through her blonde eyelashes and laughed. He couldn’t bring himself to join in. He stared at her. Something was wrong with him.

  The smile dropped off her face. “What is it?” she asked sounding alarmed. He shook his head. “Tell me,” she said.

  He just held her tighter. “You need to be more careful
,” he managed to force out brusquely.

  “Lady Vawdrey!” exclaimed Postner sounding alarmed. “Are you well?”

  She turned her head to reassure the tailor but Mason forestalled her. “My wife is easily distracted, Postner. You will oblige me by letting her stand on the floorboards as the gods intended.”

  The tailor looked a little pale. “Yes, Sir Mason,” he said hastily.

  Linnet’s hand stroked his forearm. “I’m well truly,” she told him softly. “You rescued me. Again.” She smiled.

  Is that what she thought he was? Her rescuer? “This is exactly what –“ He bit off his angry words. “Have you finished measuring my wife, tailor?”

  “Er, yes sir Sir Mason.”

  “Good.” He stood up, Linnet still in his arms.

  “Wait!” gasped the tailor. “We have not yet determined which fabrics her ladyship …”

  “Yes you have,” Mason corrected him as he started toward the door.

  “Whatever you think, Mr Postner, I am sure will be fine,” Linnet called over his shoulder. “Pray take as many of the fabrics with you as you think necessary for the garments we discussed.”

  “Yes your ladyship,” agreed Postner, sounding somewhat mollified. Mason thought he heard the fellow mutter something under his breath, but ignored it as he swept out of the room.

  “Cuthbert, you must help Mr Postner carry the bolts of cloth down to his wagon,” Linnet instructed her page as Mason bore her off down the corridor. She seemed supremely unconcerned about his cavalier behavior though her arms had come up to wrap about his neck.

  “I’ve instructed the guard to accompany you whenever you leave the castle,” Mason told her tightly. “As you continue to gad about without due concern for your welfare.”

  A pucker appeared between her brows. “Yes, husband,” she said sounding puzzled. “If you think it necessary.” She was peering at his face, trying to determine his mood. He steadfastly avoided meeting her eyes. “Where are we going?” she asked, giving up and resting her head against his shoulder.