Mason nodded. He gazed past Sir Lang’s shoulder at the nervous-looking men standing 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 that 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 lifelong 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 weeks’ 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?” the guard 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 drily. “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, milord,” 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 had openly defied him at breakfast in front of his father and older brother. It occurred to him that, instead of being annoyed with her, he had spent all morning thinking about her welfare. Ironic that he was proving a far better husband than she was a wife! He had 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 golden silk. Postner the tailor was cross-legged on the floor, sketching something out on a piece of parchment. Linnet stood on a low stool draped in blue velvet that was spangled with gold stars. She looked up when he entered the room and broke into a dazzling smile.
“Oh, Mason,” she said and took a step towards him, forgetting entirely she was wrapped in fabric and stood on a footstool.
For a moment, his heart stood still. Then he moved. By the time she had let out a squeak, he had 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 and turned to Postner. “Have you finished measuring my wife, tailor?”
“Er, yes, 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 towards 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. Her arms had come up to wrap about his neck trustingly.
“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.
“Our bedchamber,” he answered abruptly. “’Tis the consequence for rising before me.”
“Oh?” she asked, caressing the back of his neck lightly with her fingers. She snuggled closer, obviously not too concerned about the consequences, he noted wryly.
He rounded the corner, ignoring the star
tled gazes of the servants and booted their bedroom door open. One of the maids was still making the bed. “Out,” he said loudly, as the maid hurriedly smoothed the pillows and then scurried past them with scarlet cheeks.
“Thank you,” Linnet called politely after her. The door slammed shut. Mason dropped her onto the mattress and started tearing off his clothes, suddenly desperate to join with her. “Toss up your skirts,” he said at her as he dragged his tunic up over his head.
“Wait!” panted Linnet and started to crawl off the bed.
Mason’s hand shot out to catch her by the ankle and drag her back into the center of the mattress. He frowned at her as he unlaced his crotch. “Don’t move.”
“Could I just . . . ”she scooted across the mattress and dropped onto the floor. “It won’t take a moment,” she gabbled as she started searching in her chest of drawers for something.
He watched her with growing impatience. “Linnet,” he growled. His ardor was not abating one bit. He wanted her now.
“Here it is!” She held up a small jar, her face flushed with triumph.
“What the hells is it?” he asked with sudden misgiving.
“Oh, well,” she swallowed. “’Tis just a little something Mother Ames gave to me . . . for my . . . for my chest.”
He rolled his eyes. “There’s naught amiss with your breathing Linnet,” he said a little sharper than he intended.
He didn’t want to rub goose fat or some other quackery onto her pretty tits, though he did want to get his hands on them. She bit her lip and he felt suddenly like an ill-mannered lout. After all, it wasn’t her fault her family had turned her into a malingerer. And here he was treating her like some common bar wench! He sighed, his patience wearing thin.
“Very well, bring it here,” he said in a long-suffering voice. “But take your dress off.”
She started fumbling with her lacings and he stripped off his boots and chausses, standing only in his braies, which tented with his arousal. “Come here.”
She came closer, not quite meeting his gaze. “It has to be rubbed into my chest, fifty rotations in total,” her voice was slightly strangled as her face went up in flames.
“Is that so?” He was yanking at her laces now. “Lift up your arms.” He tugged her dress up over her head, leaving her standing before him in her shift, slim but shapely. And all his. He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to lower your neckline,” he told her practically as he took the small pot from her hand. He dipped his fingers into the ointment and sniffed them. “Smells like honey,” he commented with a frown, turning to find his wife now kneeling on the bed before him, her shift slipped down to her waist, her perky breasts completely bared to him.
Her pink nipples stiffened under his incredulous gaze. He almost dropped the pot. She was gazing off fixedly to some point to the left.
“If you could—um, rub it in. Anticlockwise is best apparently . . . ” she swallowed and closed her eyes as Mason stood there, dry mouthed, staring at her.
If it was anyone else other than Linnet he would think she was trying to seduce him. But he knew that couldn’t possibly be the case with his sheltered little bride, so instead he took a deep breath and climbed up on the bed beside her, before settling back on his haunches to steel himself for the ordeal. She let out a small squeak when his fingers made contact with the delicate skin between her breasts, rubbing ever so gently in a small circular motion.
“Here?” he asked. Even to his own ears his voice sounded husky.
Keep it together Mason! For fuck’s sake, can’t you even rub some innocuous ointment into her chest without wanting to pounce on her?
“No,” she corrected him breathlessly. “That’s not right . . . If you could just . . . ” Her hand flew over his and, taking a deep breath, she drew it directly over her left breast. “Here.” He let out a groan at this and her eyes flew to his, looking stricken. “I—I’m sorry,” she apologized. “If you don’t want to . . . ”
“It’s not that,” he corrected her swiftly and, unable to help himself, swiped his thumb across one perfectly pink nipple.
She made a stifled sound which made his cock twitch but she didn’t complain at his licentious treatment. She hadn’t mentioned rubbing it into her nipples, he thought dizzily as he curled his honey-slick fingers around her delicate, breast and slowly circled her soft flesh.
“Like this?” he asked in a low gruff voice.
“Oh yes,” she answered sweetly and again, the sound went straight to his dick. He winced slightly as he lengthened and grew harder. But really under such stimulation, who could blame him?
You . . . you’ll need to do the other next,” she said anxiously, her eyes flying open. “The same amount of circles. I don’t want one bigger than the other.”
He shook his head slightly. He had no idea what the fuck she was talking about. It trickled through his brain that her other breast wanted some attention. Well, he was fine with that. He reached for the pot with his other hand and dipped his fingers in it, bringing them to her right breast which he ministered to similarly, unable to stop himself lightly tweaking the dusky rose nipple before he started. She gave a soft gasp at that and pressed her lips firmly together, staring fixedly at his chest, breathing heavily. Her shining hair fell forward onto her shoulders and she shuddered. He started rubbing them more firmly in tandem, enjoying the feel of them and how well they fitted into his palm. In truth, he had always preferred a fuller bosom, but his wife’s high, perky breasts had a charm all of their own. His lust ramped up another notch when he realized how much Linnet was savoring his touch, her eyes drifting shut and then snapping open again, pupils dilated. Sweet heavens! She was like a little cat enjoying being stroked. Leaning into his caress, reveling in it. He swallowed, watching her flushed face. She was so receptive to this—to being touched, to being pleased. She wasn’t accustomed to physical pleasure. He remembered how naturally she gave herself up to him and he felt himself begin to throb with the need to join with her again. His own breathing was somewhat ragged and he dropped his hands suddenly at the realization that he was reaching a dangerous level of arousal if he were supposed to hold out till he was inside her. Her eyes flew open again.
“Was that fifty?” she asked throatily.
“Twenty-five each,” he lied. He had absolutely no fucking clue. “Lie back on the mattress,” he told her abruptly. Time to suffer the consequences of your husband’s cock.
“Um . . . ” she made no move to lie back. He stared at her. Was she trying to test his goddamn limits? He wondered incredulously.
“What?” he asked unable to help himself. What the hell did she want from him now?
“Well, for maximum efficacy,” she mumbled almost incoherently, “You have to . . . ”
He craned his ears to catch her words. “What was that?” he asked sharply.
“ . . . Lick it off,” she whispered, shamefaced.
He stared as she turned rosy pink all the way up her neck to the tips of her ears. There was a rushing sound in his ears and the next thing he knew he had yanked her forward into his lap so she straddled his steely erection. He held her gaze deliberately for a couple of heartbeats before lowering his head to open his voracious mouth against her left breast. She cried out as he licked her nipple in several firm swipes of his tongue before sucking the whole of her breast into his hot mouth. As she bumped against his groin, he palmed her peachy derriere and pulled her even tighter against his turgid cock. She undulated against him, her hands flying to run through his hair, massaging his scalp and encouraging him as he sucked at her and swirled his tongue around her hard, puckered nipple. She shivered as he released her breast with seeming reluctance before turning his attentions to her other breast.
“Ohhhhh,” she whimpered, arching her back and pressing even more firmly into his embrace, his hungry mouth, his rock-hard cock. “Oh, Mason!”
Her voice was so breathy, like a siren. His blood pounded in his head with the need to possess, to ta
ke from her sweetness.
“Was this what you wanted?” he asked her in a low growl, panting against the delicate swell of her bosom.
“Yes,” she answered dreamily without a trace of guile, her hands still running through his hair.
“So glad I could oblige,” he replied, sounding pained. “But now you’ve had what you want, I think it’s my turn.” He thrust his hips up so she could be in no doubt as to his meaning. Her eyes flew wide.
“You don’t need any ointment on that,” she panted in alarm. “It’s already big enough, I’m sure.”
“What?” he asked with a frown, grasping the hem of her shift, pulling it up over her head so that she was fully naked and squirming on his lap.
He caught his breath at the sight of her: naked, pale, and scattered in golden freckles. Beautiful. All mine. He shook his head again, his thoughts confusing him. It seemed to him now that he could barely remember a time that he had not been attracted to her. He tipped her onto her back and covered her with his body.
“Kiss me, Linnet,” he said huskily as he took her mouth. Gods, she felt so good. He groaned as he felt her palms move down his sides to his hips. “Touch me some more,” he whispered against her jaw.
She only hesitated a second before her hands slid around to his cock. He hissed through his teeth and she froze. “Is that not . . . ?”
He swore. “Next time,” he promised. “I need to be inside you now. Open your legs.” Gods she was sweet. And probably needed his touch before he ploughed her. Godsdamnit! He reached down, breathing through his nose only to find her wet and ready for him. “Linnet, sweetheart,” he whispered as he settled between her thighs and entered her in a swift, sure thrust. She gasped beneath him, her hands clutching at his back. Planting one hand on the mattress by her shoulder, he braced himself against her as he thrust, slow and steady. “I want your eyes on me, Linnet,” he said in a voice so gravelly he could barely recognize his own voice.
He breathed out as he waited for her eyes to open, and then basked in the warmth of her hazel-green eyes. Had he once thought them pale and insipid? Hard to remember he had once been indifferent to her charms.
Her Baseborn Bridegroom (Vawdrey Brothers Book 1) Page 16