Page 7 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

IV

The chatelaine was a solid weight on Linnet’s hip. The keys to the castle, suspended on chains, jingled against each other as she walked. She had to force herself not to look around for her aunt when she heard the familiar sound. For astonishingly, her aunt no longer held the keys. She did. In truth, she was flagging now after all this rushing about. She felt pretty exhausted. Her new husband’s arm was reassuringly solid as she hung off it and crossed the great hall to find the groom’s bedchamber. She swallowed. She wasn’t so sure about the next part! Her aunt had explained to her that her marriage with Sir Roland was to be in name only, to secure her estates and ally her family with another powerful family at court. But she had not echoed that in her proposal to Sir Mason. To him she had promised something else entirely. A son and heir. Glancing up at his handsome and pitiless face, she felt a certain nameless dread. After all, what did she know about husbands and . . . beddings? She swallowed past the lump in her throat and traced the ring he had placed upon her finger. Well, she had one now. A husband, that is. She would have to learn, and quick. Something told her that her husband did not suffer fools gladly and would have no great reserves of patience. They had reached a studded oak door now, and Robards opened it to reveal an expansive chamber done out in burgundy with a fire already lit in the stone fireplace. At the far end of the room was a large bed with heavy velvet curtains decorated with gold thread hanging down around it. Only the best for Sir Roland. Linnet released Mason’s arm and made her way to the window which was cut into the stone so it had seats on either side, where you could be seated and enjoy the view. Plump velvet cushions had been placed there for this very purpose, and Linnet traced the gold thread where someone had embroidered the letters RV for Roland Vawdrey, but had not seen fit to add her own intertwined initials as was customary. She grimaced at the slight. Perhaps the marriage had not been seen as a matter for celebration at all? She wondered whose needle had embroidered the initials. Aunt Millicent’s? Fleetingly, she thought of the fancy tunic she had sewn for her bridegroom with her own hands. She had needed a lot of help from her aunt’s ladies in waiting to get it finished. She didn’t even know if it would fit Mason. Her aunt had told her that Roland Vawdrey was a man of slender build. Certainly nothing like this man who must be well over six feet tall and had a pair of wide, muscular shoulders that would likely burst the seams of her handmade garment! Picking up the cushions she turned them around to their plain side and placed them back down. As soon as she got the chance she would unpick the R and replace it with an M.

“We will dine in here, the two of us,” her new husband was telling Robards. He gestured towards a small table set up by the fireplace. “After we have eaten you will bring me the household accounts to look over. Bring us a meal in . . . ” he paused and glanced at her. “One hour’s time. We don’t wish to be disturbed until then.”

Robards looked a little harried but performed another bow for both of them and then withdrew, closing the door behind them.

Linnet fiddled nervously with her ring, tracing the crack in the black inscribed stone.

To her dismay, Mason Vawdrey started unfastening his belt. After slinging it on a chair he sat down and started pulling off his boots. He looked up and caught her frozen stare. “Take off your dress and get on the bed.”

Linnet gulped, glancing over at the window. It was still daylight! With trembling fingers she fumbled to undo her own belt, unclipping the chatelaine and setting it on top of a mahogany side table carved with the heads of the Cadwallader heraldic cat, a leopard.

“Sh-shouldn’t we get to know each other first, my lord?” she said in a cracked voice.

He gave her a rather dry glance. “I’m not a lord, Linnet.”

She gave a start at the intimacy of him using her given name. Rather ironic considering the intimacies that would soon follow! She tried not to look as he pulled his tunic up and over his head, standing there entirely bare chested. Good lord! She dropped her chain-link belt through nerveless fingers, and it thudded heavily against the floorboards. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating so heavily she wondered if she would crumple in a fainting heap! She never had actually fainted but she was always being threatened with the prospect. Did brides ever die from shock on their wedding night? Weakhearted ones like her might, she thought distractedly. His chest was huge, and his lean torso heavily muscled. She had never seen anything like it! He was down to his chausses and braies now and unlacing the crotch. He glanced up at her and narrowed his eyes to find her still fully dressed.

“Never undressed without a lady’s maid before?” he asked silkily. She blushed again at the faint contempt she heard in his words.

Shaking her head, she hastily set about toeing off her narrow slippers so she at least stood in her stockinged feet. When next she looked up she was shocked to find he had appeared in front of her. He moved lightly for a big man. She had no sooner had chance to register the scattering of dark hair across his chest then he had spun her round and started undoing the lacings down her back. To show willingness she set about loosening the lacings at her wrists and in no time at all he yanked her overdress open and down her shoulders. She pulled at the wrists until the tight sleeves eased down her slender arms.

“Step out of the skirts,” he said, tugging the bodice down around her knees. Linnet complied and stood in nothing but her stockings and shift before him. Scooping up her blue dress he threw it over to the chair with his own discarded garments and then took her hand and drew her over to the fireplace. He looked down at her thoughtfully. “Turn around.”

She blinked and then slowly turned in a circle before him. It occurred to her that her shift was pretty transparent and in front of the firelight he would have an almost unimpeded view of her naked body. She ventured a glance at his face but could make out no expression in those hard, dark eyes. He lifted his hand slowly and then slid it over her shift, between her breasts. She gasped but then realized his hand had come to rest over her wildly beating heart. He frowned. “It’s working hard,” he said. “The rhythm seems regular at least.”

She could think of nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. Instead she stared up at him until his warm hand felt like a scalding brand.

“You’re very small,” he said with a shrug. “But other than that I can see no defects.”

She gaped. “W-were you expecting any?” she croaked.

He didn’t answer that, but instead withdrew his hand. She took a deep shaky breath and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

“Here’s the thing Linnet. We married without the consent of your guardian.”

“I . . . I am of age,” she blurted. “And no longer legally Sir Jevons’s ward now I am past one and twenty.”

“That is true,” he agreed. “But he is still your nearest male relative . . . ”

“Only by marriage,” she interrupted anxiously.

He gave a small smile at her keenness to prove the validity of their union. “I am not trying to back out of our agreement,” he assured her. “But only to explain why we need to consummate the marriage and legalize it as soon as possible.”

She clasped her hands together tightly and nodded. “Yes, that would probably be for the best,” she agreed with a gulp.

“That being said,” he scanned her slight body critically. “You’re hardly up to my weight.”

Linnet’s face fell. She was confused. She had only heard that term in reference to riding horses, never brides! She tilted her chin. “I’m sure I must be more robust than I look,” she said desperately. He raised an eyebrow at that and, strangely enough, Linnet felt encouraged that he didn’t shoot her down.

“Really, I haven’t been ill in such a long while, and I often carry very heavy books around,” she babbled. “If you could just give me a chance to prove it.” Her optimism started to fail under his steady and slightly withering regard. Oh gods, she thought with sudden humiliation. It’s the freckles. Either that or the hair. “Y-you did say you didn’t care about my hair,” she said flatly. She didn’t have the courage to even mention her unsightly freckles. That would be pushing it too far. “But you probably said that just to spare my feelings.”

“Get on the bed,” he said nodding his head in the direction of the big dark wood four-poster.

Her eyes flew to his, but his face gave nothing away.

“Get under the covers if you’re cold.” He was stripping down the last of his smalls and Linnet felt guilty for trying to ogle him when clearly he did not relish the thought of looking at her naked. She made haste to scramble under the covers and then, taking a deep breath, yanked her shift up and over her head, flinging it onto the floor. It was cold under the covers and she shivered waiting for it to warm up. Her face felt hot though, as she tried to sneak surreptitious looks at the tanned, muscular body of her husband. He did not look much like the knights she drew in her life’s work, an illustrated manuscript of Tales of Sir Maurency of Jorde, but then after all, those were just stories. Fact was often far different to fiction. Indeed, she could scarcely imagine Mason Vawdrey performing acts of chivalry or valor. If anything, he looked like one of the villainous knights of her tales! A dark and sinister knight. But he had done her sterling service that day, she thought warmly. He had exposed her aunt’s and uncle’s lies and placed the keys to her castle in her own hands. For that she would be eternally grateful and do her utmost to be the kind of wife he could be proud of. With a start, she noticed that he was climbing in beside her and felt glad that the room had fallen into shadow now that the afternoon sun had sailed behind a large bank of cloud. There was a glow from the fireplace, but other than that, he had lit no candles, and she could only be grateful that her glowing red face would not show her up, nor would her wretched freckles. He shifted over until she felt his bare, hairy leg touch her own and she bit back the squeak she had almost uttered at the contact. Calm down Linnet!