Page 6 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

He supposed that was customary although his own father was not such a generous overlord. “A feast you would not attend,” he pointed out.

She bit her lip. “It was accounted for in my ledger,” she said darkly. “Both the loss of labor and allowing for their meat and ale.”

He felt a flicker of surprise that she kept the household accounts. He would have thought her aunt would have held the reins. No doubt the one who took the actual coin from her coffers was Jevons. And then pocketed it himself. Mason left this unsaid, but he had no doubt she was forming her own conclusions. It seemed that despite her sheltered upbringing, perhaps she was not quite the fool he’d assumed. “Are you ready?” he asked.

She looked up. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

He offered his arm and she took it again, marching determinedly by his side. Cuthbert was fizzing with excitement ahead of them. Mason followed the little blond page as they sailed through the entrance and past the great chambers. Clearly Linnet was not at all acquainted with this, the main stronghold of her own castle. Her head swiveled around and she seemed more curious to see it than he. The apartments were well furnished, the tapestry hangings well maintained, and the rushes on the floor clean and pleasant smelling. More servants were scurrying around in these quarters, going about their business. Their eyes stood out as if on stalks when they watched their progress.

“Lady Linnet and Sir Mason Vawdrey of Cadwallader Castle,” proclaimed Cuthbert loudly whenever anyone looked poised to hurry over and demand an explanation. It crossed Mason’s mind that several of the staff here had probably never even laid eyes on Linnet. A strange setup indeed! He glanced down at her as they entered the great hall. Her eyes were very bright and flared when they found a hubbub of servants milling around polishing pewter goblets and plates at the long table. They paused on the threshold as the servants all froze and stared back at them.

“But where is the feast?” asked Linnet. She looked up at him. “Surely they would have offered Sir Roland some hospitality?”

“Perhaps your uncle meant to receive him in his private quarters?” he suggested dismissively. He looked around to find an efficient looking man clad in a blue tunic lurking in the corner with a frown on his face. “You! Come here. Your name?”

“My name is Robards, sir. Cecil Robards,” he said approaching quickly, a light flush on his cheeks. He was about thirty years old with thinning hair and an air of competency.

“Robards?” echoed Linnet. “You are the castle steward. I recognize your name from my ledger.”

He bowed. “The very same, Lady Linnet.”

“This is my husband. Sir Mason Vawdrey.”

He bowed again, this time in Mason’s direction. “Your servant, sir.”

“I do not understand. Where are the preparations for the wedding feast, Robards?” she asked. “Where was the Vawdrey party to be put up?”

Robards darted a quick look towards Mason and licked his lips nervously.

“You will speak freely in front of Lady Linnet, Robards. Despite what you may have been told, she is not in a weakened condition nor is she feebleminded.”

Linnet stiffened slightly at his side. “I should say not!” she spluttered.

“Certainly, sir,” answered Robards quickly. “The groom was to be housed in the Great Chambers next to Sir Jevons and Lady Millicent’s own rooms.”

“Sir Jevons and his lady wife will be leaving us today,” said Mason coolly. “You will instruct a party of servants to help them remove their personal effects and pack them for immediate departure.”

Linnet drew a quick breath and for a moment Mason thought she would argue, but instead she pointed upward at a long standard hanging from the ceiling.

“How long have the Jevons arms hung over Cadwallader Castle?” she asked, sounding annoyed.

Robards’s mouth opened and closed.

“You will take it down at once, and any others that may be about the place.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” he answered and summoned another servant into whose ear he whispered.

“I believe I saw the Vawdrey and Cadwallader colors outside . . . by the two tents,” she said lightly but with some emphasis on the word two. Obviously, that still rankled. “You will bring them inside and hang them from the rafters instead.”

Mason could have pointed out that as a bastard he had no right to use the Vawdrey panther, but he held his tongue. “Where are your sleeping quarters?” he asked her instead.

“I—in the tower,” she said looking a little taken aback.

He turned to Robards. “You will give instructions for Lady Linnet’s things to be moved from the tower into the master suite, as soon as the Jevons have vacated. But first,” he led her resolutely to the dais staged at the front of the great hall. “Attention, all!” he announced in a booming voice, handing her up onto the raised platform. “Your mistress Lady Linnet Cadwallader has this day done me the honor of marrying me and joining her lot with mine. My name is Sir Mason Vawdrey and you need to consider where your loyalties now lie. Sir Jevons and his wife will be departing the castle before this day is out.” There was a slight murmur and, as if on cue, the green standard of Sir Jevons fluttered down from the ceiling where a servant had cut it down. “They will be leaving with their own personal belongings only, and on no account are any papers or bookkeeping documents to leave with them. If you are asked to burn or destroy any effects of this kind you will instead keep them safe until Lady Linnet is free to examine them.”

“For now . . . ” he glanced down to Linnet who was leaning rather heavily on his arm. “You will lead us to the rooms prepared for Sir Roland.”

Robards gave another swift bow and turned towards a large doorway to the left of the great hall. “Follow me Sir Mason. My lady.”