Page 9 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

Mason woke disorientated some three hours later and lay staring up at the velvet bed-curtains for a moment while his eyes adjusted to the dark room. The fire was low and reduced to glowing embers. He turned his head and found Linnet sleeping soundly at his side, her face serene, one hand tucked under her cheek against the pillow. Her hair was fanned out over the coverlet like a silken curtain. You couldn’t see the extraordinary color in this light, but he was suddenly tempted to touch her hair again. Remembering she was naked, he had the ignoble impulse to draw down the covers and get a good look at those smooth, pale limbs that had lately tangled with his own. He wanted to see just how much of her was freckled. And if the hair on her pussy was a matching red gold. The only thing that stopped him was the uncomfortable suspicion that she would lie there with timid obedience and let him inspect her like a new purchase. Clearly Linnet Cadwallader intended to be a good, compliant wife. Nay, Linnet Vawdrey he corrected himself. He frowned in the darkness. He had a wife, and one that would likely feel hard used after her bedding. Though he had been as gentle as he knew how, the act was a pretty brutal one for a virgin, and he knew she had not enjoyed the deed itself. She had made no protest but he had heard her muffled sounds of discomfort even as she had tried to suppress them. He wasn’t a small man and he should have tried to comfort her afterward, he thought uneasily, instead of falling straight to sleep. But he didn’t have the gentle words she would have needed to hear. He was a soldier, not a poet, damn it, and he had never had a virgin before. Besides she needed to get used to feeling hard used. He was not the bridegroom of anyone’s dreams and she had been a fool to marry him. With a gesture of disgust, he flung back the covers and dragged on his braies and then his close-fitting black chausses. This left only his chest bare which would hopefully not be too alarming for his modest bride. Striding across the room he flung the door open to find out what had happened to the meal he had requested. A servant seated across the corridor leapt to his feet.

“Milord, you are awoken. ”

“You will call me Sir Mason,” he interrupted him swiftly.

“Yes, Sir Mason.”

“My wife and I were expecting some repast.” He hesitated. “But first send a lady’s maid with a pitcher of hot water for washing.”

“Yes sir.”

Mason scowled at him. “And be quick about it.” He turned back and closed the door. He noticed warily that Linnet was rubbing her eyes and sitting up. To his surprise she gave him a shy smile.

“You’re awake,” he said stupidly and then turned away to draw his linen shirt over his head. He hadn’t missed the dazed look in her eyes as they passed over the expanse of his chest or the slash of color that spread across her cheeks. He suddenly felt the bewildering need to reassure, not terrify his new bride. As he drew his shirt down over his body he remembered her words from earlier You’re big and hard all over. He almost stumbled. Was it any wonder he had been a touch overeager? His sheltered wife’s words had inflamed him, as had her hesitant touch. He hadn’t been expecting her awkward advances. They had been strangely endearing. A hearty knock on the door heralded the arrival of a rosy-cheeked maid who looked more fit for the kitchen than for above stairs.

“Your pardon, gentles,” she said cheerfully and bustled in with a large pitcher of steaming water and some linen towels.

Mason opened his mouth to direct her, but she had taken a swift look about the room and made straight for the dresser on Linnet’s side of the bed.

“Here you are milady,” she said encouragingly. “Let’s get you freshened up before your dinner.”

Linnet slid towards her beneath the covers. “If you could just pass me my shift,” she asked politely. “I would be most grateful.”

Mason tried to disregard their whispered conversation as he set about adding more logs to the fire, but he felt a surprising awareness of every movement being made as the water was poured into a bowl and his wife washed herself under her thin chemise. The maid dried her off with the linen towels and helped maneuver her underdress throughout.

“If you could fetch me my robe and veil that would be very kind of you . . . ?” Linnet floundered, not knowing her name.

“Name’s Gertrude, milady.”

“Thank you, Gertrude,” Linnet’s voice was warm and encouraging. Mason mildly wondered at it. She was not living up to her ill-tempered, peevish, invalid reputation one bit. He smiled grimly, imagining his brother Roland’s reaction when he found out the truth about his jilted bride. Looking up, he found Gertrude facing him with a resolute expression on her face.

“Yes?” he asked curtly.

“Will I be taking the bedsheet now?” she asked squaring her shoulders. “For the showing.”

Mason’s eyebrows snapped together, but before he could respond, Linnet’s steady voice forestalled him.

“Yes please, Gertrude,” she said. “You must hang it from the north tower as is the custom.” Her cheeks were pink but she gave a small smile. “Has my uncle’s party yet removed itself?” she added softly.

“Not all of ‘em, milady,” sniffed Gertrude. “He’s gone and his fine lady with him,” her words were faintly scornful. “But there’s still many and sundry lingering.” She was stripping down the bed now with firm economical movements. “Reckon this sight may see some of them off.” She gave a satisfied nod as she surveyed the bottom sheet before bundling it up. He could see the small spots of red on the white from where he stood and his gaze flew to Linnet, quite sure she would be shrinking in horror at the idea of her maiden blood being displayed to the castle. His wife was sat busily finger combing her silky hair, her glowing face lowered. Of course, reports of the consummation of their marriage would strike quite a blow to her furious uncle. He nodded to Gertrude as she gave him a brief curtsy and left the room. The door thudded behind her.

“Come and sit by the fire,” Mason said, clearing his throat. “You must be cold. I can see you shivering from over here.” What he meant was that he could see her nipples clearly outlined under her lightweight shift and was curious about the color, but Linnet was not to know that. It had been too dark in their bedchamber when he had had her. Next time he would have candlelight. She rose quickly and approached until she stood before the newly awakened fire. Mason drew a chair up for her.

“Thank you, Husband,” she said formally as she sat down. He saw her wince slightly and realized that she suffered some discomfort from their joining. There it was again, the odd pang of guilt. Being addressed as ‘Husband’ was distracting enough to draw his attention away from her small, pink nipples. “Call me Mason,” he said.

“Mason,” she repeated as if trying it out for size.

Their eyes met and he was the first to look away. Linnet busied herself twisting her hair into a coil and then driving the retrieved pins into it securing it to her nape.

A knock on the door announced the arrival of another maid. This one was younger with eyes as big as saucers. She almost gasped when she saw Linnet wearing her transparent shift before the fire.

“I’ve bought your robe milady,” she said bobbing a curtsy.

“Thank you,” smiled Linnet as she stood up. The maid helped her don the dark-green front-lacing gown.

“Have them send in our repast now my wife is dressed,” said Mason as the maid finished buttoning the long cuffs on Linnet’s sleeves.

“Yes milord,” whispered the maid, as she scurried from the room.