Her Bastard Bridegroom

by Alice Coldbreath

  "Humph!" grumbled his father, tugging at his beard, thoughtfully this time.

  Mason shut the door quietly behind him and turned, half expecting to find Linnet fast asleep. To his surprise she was sat hunched over a candle in her shift clasping a small bowl of water and what looked like a necklace.

  “What are you doing?” Even in his slightly inebriated state, he knew it was something out of the ordinary.

  She looked up distractedly. “Making my amethyst sweat,” she told him, holding up a pendant to show him the purplish stone.

  He made his way over to the washing stand. “Why?” he asked, because in spite of himself, he was curious.

  “It’s a remedy,” she answered and glancing over he found her rubbing the stone along her throat.

  He blinked. Strange. “Remedy for what?”

  “Freckles,” she admitted grudgingly. She flicked a pained look at him. “You must have noticed I’m beset with them. You’re just too considerate to say so.”

  Mason washed his face while he mulled this over. It was safe to say that no-one had ever accused him of being too considerate before. Once he’d shaken the water out of his eyes, he looked back over and found her holding the stone over the shallow bowl of heated water. As he dried his hands he watched her run the stone along her collar bone. Making his way thoughtfully to the bed, he commented with a frown: “Don’t get rid of all of them.”

  She turned to face him. “I don’t expect it will get rid of any of them,” she admitted ruefully. “This is about the hundredth remedy I’ve tried. I vow Mother Ames will run out of ideas before they fade.”

  He climbed into the bed. “Do you want me to do your back?” he asked, reclining on the mattress.

  She eyed him anxiously, twisting on the bed-sheets. “Have I many there too?” she asked in dismay. “Usually it’s only where the sun has touched me.” She’d braided her hair again for bed, and she flipped it forward over her shoulder to give him an unimpeded view of her narrow back.

  “A few on the back of your neck and shoulders,” he admitted.

  She tutted with vexation. “If you would,” she said hugging her knees to her chest as he reared up behind her.

  “Give me the stone.”

  She handed it to him and after inspecting it a moment, he suspended it over the steaming water.

  “What other remedies have you tried?” he asked. For some reason, this subject interested him more than talk of his father’s arrival at the castle.

  “Well, I’ve tried various unguents and poultices,” she admitted sadly. “The worst was made from vinegar and oats. It smelt pretty foul. I’ve tried lots of others… Crushed strawberries, pure distilled water with flour, pulped cucumbers. The list goes on and on. One time Mother Ames gave me a plaster made of rabbit leather but I couldn’t get on with that. She also suggested applying bull’s blood but I ... I just couldn't.”

  She shivered and he wasn’t sure if that was from his application of the jewel or the idea of animal blood. “How is the amethyst supposed to help?” he asked gliding it over her smooth skin.

  She gulped. “The jewel supposedly has healing properties.”

  “You’re not injured though,” he pointed out and tugged her shift down over her shoulder blades to press his lips to cool, pretty skin.

  “Uh, no,” she agreed. “But my skin is blemished.”

  He made a noise of dissent low in his throat. “No it isn’t, Linnet. Your skin is perfect.”

  She went quite still at that. “Perfect?” she whispered.

  “Perfect,” he agreed, and kissed the line of her upper spine.

  She was quiet and still a moment as she digested that. Then she wriggled. “Is your father settled for the night?” she asked as he slid her shift down over one shoulder and kissed it too. “I told Gertrude to put him in the blue chamber, I hope that’s alright.”

  “He’ll be fine,” he answered shortly. “Let’s take this off,” he said lightly tugging at her sheer night gown. He tossed the amethyst onto the set of drawers by the bed.

  “I didn’t do my arms yet,” she pointed out.

  Mason took one of her slim, pale hands in his and inspected it. There were a scattering of freckles on the backs of her hand. He noticed she still wore the thin scarlet ribbon holding his cracked signet ring in place on her finger. He really should replace that when he got the chance. With what he didn't know precisely as he'd never bought a woman jewelry before. He raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. “Do they really bother you?”

  She stared up at him. “Do they really not bother you?” she asked in a slightly choked voice.

  “No,” he shrugged. “They don’t bother me at all.”

  Linnet blinked once, twice. Then she sighed. “I suppose beauty was probably never on your list of requirements for a bride.”

  Which was true of course but for some reason it annoyed him. “Your looks don’t displease me,” he said shortly. “Though the fact you’re still dressed does.” He rolled away from her to finish stripping off his own undergarments. When he turned back toward her, she’d dragged her shift over her shoulders. He gave a satisfied growl and pounced on her.

  “Wait!” she exclaimed trying to disentangle her arms.

  “I’ve been waiting,” he growled. “For too long. When I come home of an evening, I shouldn’t have to come looking for you.”

  He hadn’t known he was going to say that until it came out of his mouth. Disconcerted by his own thoughts, he leant over and blew out the candle so he couldn’t see Linnet’s surprised expression. Of course she was surprised. He was being fucking unreasonable!

  “What should I do then?” she asked uncertainly as he ran his hands over her hips and buttocks. He buried his face in her neck.

  “You should be waiting for me here,” he said and kissed the point where her neck and shoulders met.

  “In our bedroom?”

  “In our bed,” he corrected her.

  She gave a slight gasp when his lips found hers for a very thorough and deep kiss.

  “Would that not be somewhat unconventional?” she asked when he released her and started shifting down the bed, kissing her sweet little breasts and then down her flat stomach. “Oh,” she exclaimed as if the thought had suddenly occurred to her. “Is this part of our bargain?” She tried to sit up, but he grasped her hips firmly and pulled her back down the mattress.

  “Bargain?” he asked distractedly.

  “For our two – I mean, three sons.”

  “Yes,” he said roughly. As far as Mason was concerned the time for talking was done.

  “I see,” she agreed breathlessly.

  He smirked. His sheltered little bride saw nothing, but it was just as well. In truth, a man might ask such a thing of his mistress, not his wife, but he didn’t give a damn. The thought of returning to the castle and finding her awaiting his pleasure, filled him with satisfaction. He was master here and his word should be law. He buried his face between her thighs and feasted on the sweetness there. When she tried to twist away, he took a firm grasp of her soft thighs and held her in place for his voracious mouth. Her legs trembled, her fingers gripped his hair and soon she was panting his name in helpless appeal, but he wouldn’t give it to her.

  “When I’m inside you this time,” he reminded her as he slid back up the bed. She was eager this time, almost as eager as he when he settled over her. “Linnet,” he breathed. Then he thrust inside her and they both gasped. “Are you…?”

  “I’m well,” she hastened to assure him. “Please don’t stop.”

  “I’m not going to stop.”

  He heard her gasp again and then her hands were travelling restlessly over his back. “Please Mason,” she whispered. “I want you to move like last time.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut, luxuriating in the feel of her all around him, clasping him tight. “I will,” he promised groaning. “Just give me a minute. You feel so good, Linnet.”

  “So do you,” she w
hispered back.

  He wanted to be gentle and considerate, but he knew he wasn’t going to be. Then he remembered he hadn’t been last time. I want you to move like last time, she’d said. His eyes snapped open to look at her, but it was too dark to catch her expression. “Like last time?” he echoed, not quite believing his own ears. He’d been angry last time. Jealous, his conscience corrected him. He’d been a boorish lout. Loud and energetic . He hadn’t held back.

  Her hands slid down his ribs to grip his hips, sparking his lust even further. “Yes,” she said huskily. “Please Mason.”

  And that was it. His restraint was gone. With a smothered oath, he pinned her knee to the sheets and let her have it. She was so tight, so responsive, he had to grit his jaw against the glorious sensation so he would last. This was really no way to take a wife, swiving her like a lusty tavern wench, but lucky for him, Linnet was bloody clueless of the fact. She clung to him, she made approving, encouraging sounds and glory of glories, she took it all and rewarded him by coming on his cock with a enthusiasm that triggered his own. Shit. He even liked how she sobbed his name.

  He wasn't sure how much later it was when she shifted and turned her head to kiss his shoulder. He stroked a hand down her side, taking comfort from her nearness, her body draped on his. He kept his eyes closed to prolong the blissful stupor. He didn't think he'd ever felt quite this content before in all his twenty-eight years. He'd never had a woman that had made him want to tarry in the aftermath. But Linnet was different. Not just some tryst between the sheets. He was just drifting off to sleep again when she said something that shattered all of his euphoric happiness in just seven words.

  "I think I should come to court with you when you go back."

  He grimaced. Bloody hells! "No."

  "But I -"

  "No Linnet. Absolutely not."

  "But people are saying things about you and about our marriage that I don't like."

  He cracked one eye open to find she'd raised her head from his chest and was looking down at him with a concerned look on her face.

  "Damn it, I don't care," he said. "And neither should you."

  "Not care if my husband is being slandered?" she demanded.

  He opened both eyes. "I told you, I don't care what people say about me. Court's rife with gossip. Even if I lived a life of utter virtue someone there would spread horse-shit about me."

  She blinked at this. "Is it really that bad?"

  "Yes."

  "Then why-?"

  "Linnet, I don't want to talk about it anymore," he told her sternly. "Put your head back here," he tapped his chest. "And go to sleep."

  She frowned at him. "I had a warning."

  "What?" He glared up at her. "Someone threatened you?"

  "No, no. Nothing like that. Just ... you know, it was foretold."

  "What was foretold?"

  "That there would be some opposition from House Vawdrey over our marriage."

  "Who the hell told you that?"

  "Mother Ames."

  "Mother...?" he broke off. "That old quack that told you to rub gemstones over your freckles?"

  "She's a wise woman," Linnet told him.

  He snorted. "My father's already half come around. Give him a grandson and you'll be his favorite daughter."

  "He's reconciled to our marriage?"

  "As much as he is reconciled to anything not of his own devising."

  She hesitated. "But what of your brother Sir Roland?"

  He stiffened. "You are no concern of Roland's now Linnet."

  "But your father seemed to think-"

  "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 toward 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' mother the alewife. How many other of the castle's servants had been unfairly thrown off 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 her keeping her end of the bargain and bearing 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. Neither had exchanged greeting or embrace 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 down to her freedom had to be scaled by herself 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 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 a
nother 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’d first started her daily exercises she’d 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' 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.