Her Bastard Bridegroom: A Medieval Romance Read online

  “Father and Mason are animals,” he grumbled. “I vowed I would never drink with them again after the last time!” He rubbed his stomach.

  “Neither have arisen yet,” Linnet told him. “Mayhap you will feel better when you have broken your fast?”

  He blenched. “It is doubtful I could keep anything down,” he confessed.

  “I wonder if Mother Ames could whip you something up,” she pondered. “She’s wondrously good with potions and remedies.”

  Oswald looked bewildered. “Who?”

  “Cuthbert’s grandmother and the local wise woman,” she confided. “I’m off to see her now about some other matter.”

  He grimaced. “Trying to get some foul potion down my gullet does not appeal one whit. Who are you taking with you?”

  “Oh – Cuthbert.” When he frowned she added. “And the groom to drive the cart, of course.”

  He hesitated. “You should not go out unattended,” he fretted. “You saw Mason’s reaction to you going abroad yesterday…”

  “Well yes,” she admitted. “But that was into town and a tavern, no less. This would just be on my own grounds and among my own people-“ she broke off. “Oh! I see,” she said, feeling herself flush. She had forgotten for a moment how wildly unpopular she was.

  Oswald looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry Linnet, I did not mean-“

  “No, no,” she interrupted him swiftly. “It’s quite alright. You were only thinking of my welfare after all.”

  “Even so,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It was clumsily done. Can I offer to accompany you to make up for it?”

  “Only if you’re really sure it would not take you from more passing matters..?”

  “Oh Mason can finish his blessed inventory with Robards,” shrugged Oswald. “The majority of it has been done now. I am at your disposal.”

  “Well, I will be very happy to have your company, brother,” she told him. “If you’re sure you are up to it?” Truth be told he did look a little green around the gills.

  “Fresh air will doubtless do me good,” he shrugged.

  Once they were in the cart up behind the groom, Linnet found herself worried more than once at Oswald’s pallor. At one point as they bumped along a stony lane, he actually leant over the side and heaved, though mercifully he managed to hold his stomach.

  “Diggory, please can you slacken off the pace,” she called to the driver who muttered darkly under his breath. “We are in no great hurry after all!”

  Cuthbert was fascinated by Sir Oswald’s queasiness. He regarded him with a keen eye. “How much ale did you actually drink?” he asked with interest.

  Oswald groaned.

  “Leave him be, Cuthbert,” she tutted. “Poor Sir Oswald will be right as rain presently.” A thought occurred to her suddenly and exclaiming she turned to her page. “How are my freckles this morning?” she asked.

  Cuthbert stared at her face a moment. “Plentiful milady,” he answered after a moment, then glanced up at the sunny sky. “Tis likely you’ll have a few more by the day’s end too!”

  Linnet’s face fell. “Oh bother, I have got quite used to going around and about without a veil thanks to my husband’s peculiar aversion to them!”

  “He will doubtless grow used to them,” said Oswald lifting his head from where he had it rested against the side of the cart. “So I wouldn’t worry overmuch.” He looked uneasy.

  “Do you think so?” asked Linnet. “I thought it must have been a long-held conviction the way he simply won’t allow me to wear one!”

  Oswald stared at her in confusion. “I beg your pardon,” he said faintly.

  “Veils,” said Linnet growing puzzled herself.

  “Oh! Oh veils…” he said, his head sinking back down onto his crossed forearms. “Your pardon, I had lost the thread of the conversation.”

  Linnet sat and frowned a moment. Then she realized what it was Oswald had thought she had said. “Actually, Mason does not really care about my freckles,” she said quietly.

  Oswald’s head didn’t rise from where it lolled and she lapsed into silence. Surprising as it was, she did not think Mason would have lied about her freckles. He did not seem to care about sparing other people’s feelings enough to lie about anything. He believed in plain speaking with the whole unpalatable truth. Right from the outset, she reflected. He had been completely up-front with her. With the possible exception of just how many sons he expected from her. She was almost sure he had only asked for one at the beginning!

  “We’re here!” yelled Cuthbert as the cart lurched to a stop outside a tumbledown cottage. Cuthbert scrambled down from the cart and held his hand up to her obligingly. Deciding against waiting for the fragile Oswald’s support, instead she took his little hand and swung down from the cart. Both of them reeled back a few steps. “It’s higher than it looks!” puffed Linnet. Cuthbert tugged his blue tunic straight. “I believe you’re getting heavier, milady.” He said ingeniously.

  “Do you think so?” asked Linnet. “I must say, I do think my appetite has improved lately so I wouldn’t be at all surprised.”

  Oswald was climbing rather gingerly down from the cart. “I may walk back,” he said grim-faced.

  “Oh dear, do you really feel unwell Oswald?” she sympathized. “Is it affecting your head as well as your stomach now?”

  “Please don’t let’s talk of it,” he grimaced. “It only makes it worse when I dwell on how wretched I feel.”

  “Very well,” she agreed hurriedly. “Let’s go in.”

  “Can’t,” said Cuthbert cheerfully.

  They both turned back to look at him in astonishment. “Whatever do you mean Cuthbert?”

  “See that scarf?” he said gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder at the wooden door where sure enough, an old grey looking scarf was wound around the latch. “When that’s there it means you have to wait as granny’s got someone in with her.”

  “Someone?” grouched Oswald, plainly annoyed.

  “Someone seeking her advice, I take it,” said Linnet thoughtfully. She looked about her. “Well, let us sit on this stone wall a moment and breathe the fine country air.”

  Cuthbert hopped up onto the wall and unwrapped some cheese and dry biscuits from his handkerchief. He offered some to Linnet which she smilingly declined. Levering herself up onto the wall beside him she swung her legs under her blue skirts, drumming her heels against the stones. She could feel the sun on her shoulders and hair and even though that meant more freckles at this precise moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. She glanced sideways at Cuthbert and he beamed back at her. She held her hand out to him and they clasped hands in silent companionship as Oswald once again dry-heaved over the rose-bushes.

  “Silly great sot,” whispered Cuthbert.

  Linnet gave a gurgle of laughter. “Your master may have a sore head today also, Cuthbert.”

  Cuthbert snorted. “Not he. Sir Oswald cannot hold his ale and had to be carried up to his bed yestere’en.”

  “Did he indeed?” asked Linnet with interest. “And what of Lord Vawdrey?”

  “Nay, Lord Vawdrey took one step back for every three steps forward, but he did find his own way there,” Cuthbert informed her gravely.

  “I see.”

  “Was the master sotted?” asked Cuthbert curiously.

  “Possibly, he was a little, but not so much that you would notice it.” She blushed but luckily Cuthbert was distracted by a passing bumble bee.

  Presently the cottage door opened and a short, nervous-looking man sidled out. Linnet could not help wondering what manner of help he had asked from Mother Ames, but she merely nodded at him as he hurried past them.

  “That’s Samuel Johns,” whispered Cuthbert. “He’s worried he’s going bald.”

  “Oh,” Linnet glanced after him and thought he had every right to be worried with his thin-looking hair.

  “Good morrow,” called a voice from the doorway and Cuthbert hopped down off the wa
ll.

  “Morning Granny.”

  “Good morning Mother Ames,” called Linnet.

  Mother Ames was scrutinizing Oswald who was now leant against the house and looked like he had broken into a light sweat. She disappeared back into the cottage for a moment and then reappeared with a cup in her hand which she handed wordlessly to him. She turned back toward Linnet and her page who were watching with interest. “You stay out here with this young man, Cuthbert. Make sure he drinks his draught down.” She nodded at Linnet. “You may come in, milady and welcome.”

  Linnet slid off the stone wall and approached the cottage. “You have a pretty garden, Mother Ames,” she said admiring the way the flowers were sown in amongst the vegetables in a huge jumble.

  “Lots of useful herbs,” nodded the older woman. “Tis my livelihood.” She held the door open for Linnet who entered and looked about her with curiosity. Indeed, she had never been in a cottage before and Mother Ames’ cottage had so much to look at.

  Every surface was covered in bunches of flowers and drying herbs. There was a fireplace with a hearth but this was not the focal point of the room. That was a large square table in the center, over-large for the proportions of the room and covered in implements and apparatus. Little bowls full of seeds and mirrors, a mortar and pestle and a whole array of candles. There was a large book on the table with yellowing pages, but even as Linnet marveled that Mother Ames could read, she noticed that the script was not anything that she herself could read. They looked like small pictorial symbols rather than letters.

  Mother Ames cleared her throat drawing her attention. “You are looking well, milady.” She said approvingly. “Married life clearly agrees with you.”

  “Yes, I believe so,” agreed Linnet, taking a seat on a wooden stool as her hostess bade her.

  The older woman sat down beside her, drawing a jug and a cup toward her. She poured Linnet a cup of pale green liquid. “You have broken your fast?”

  “Oh yes, at least an hour ago. I have done my exercises too as you prescribed.”

  Mother Ames nodded thoughtfully. “I can see that,” she said. “Ye have a good color.” She reached for Linnet’s wrist and placed her fingers there a moment before nodding again.

  Linnet took a cautious sip of her drink and found it pleasant enough though it looked a bit like pond water!

  “Tis nutritious juice of plants,” said Mother Ames.

  “Is this what you gave my brother-in-law?”

  She gave a cackle of laughter. “His had a few added ingredients,” she admitted and tapped her nose. “My secret recipe.”

  Linnet smiled.

  “You’re here about your freckles, I suppose,” sighed Mother Ames. “The amethyst did not work?”

  “Not ostensibly,” admitted Linnet, looking down at her freckled wrists. “However, I thought I’d try it a few more times in case it had a cumulative effect?”

  Mother Ames looked intrigued. “Oho! So not the freckles for once?” she said. “Ye want your fortune told?”

  “Not precisely,” Linnet colored up. “I was wondering... It was something else this time.” She fidgeted on her seat a moment.

  Mother Ames narrowed her eyes. “A love philter?” she hazarded. “To inflame your husband between the sheets?”

  Linnet choked on her plant juice. “No, no,” she assured her hurriedly. “Tis nothing to do with Mason, but rather my own shortcomings... I was wondering,” she looked down fleetingly at her slight figure. “Is there not some way to encourage my own comeliness? I am not very… womanly.”

  Mother Ames eyebrows shot into her grey hair. “The obvious way to ripen curves is to get with child,” she pointed out dryly.

  “Well, I do want that of course,” agreed Linnet earnestly. “But is there not some salve you could give me in the meantime?”

  “Salve?” Mother Ames appeared taken aback.

  “To … To encourage buxomness,” said Linnet taking the plunge.

  The other woman blinked. Then she stood up and swished across the room in her purple woolen dress. “Hmmm. Let me think…” she muttered. She glanced back at Linnet a moment. “But he is performing satisfactorily?” she asked.

  Linnet gazed blankly back at her. “Er, yes?”

  “As a husband?” elaborated Mother Ames cautiously.

  “Oh yes! I am very happy with him as a husband,” nodded Linnet enthusiastically. “It is only that I worry about myself…”

  The other woman looked as if she would say more for a moment but then seemed to stop herself. “Mayhap if ‘twould give you more confidence,” she murmured almost to herself. She looked at Linnet again uncertainly and then as if coming to a quick decision, made for a cupboard on the wall. She opened the door quickly and then banged it shut before Linnet could get a good look. It had looked like a normal kitchen cupboard from what she had seen. Mother Ames had a jar in her hand which she brought back to the table. “This must be used very sparingly,” she cautioned. “It is sticky and you only need to apply a very small amount.”

  Linnet clapped her hands together. “Is it an ointment?” she asked.

  Mother Ames hesitated. “Yes. And how you apply it is a little unusual.” She was spooning some of the gloopy golden contents into a smaller purple jar. “Now listen to me carefully.”

  Linnet leant in and paid attention.

  XIV

  Mason woke alone with a sore head and a feeling of nagging unease. Seeing Linnet's empty spot in the bed irritated him from the outset. Where had his blessed wife run off to now? He rolled out of the bed, washed, dressed and made his way below stairs with a ferocious glower on his face. Servants darted out of his way as he stalked to the Great Hall. To his dissatisfaction his father was sat there consuming a plate of salted fish and a loaf of bread. He beckoned to a hovering servant. "Where's your mistress?" he barked out as he sat down.

  "She broke her fast early my lord and went out on the estate."

  "What?"

  The servant blenched as he turned in his seat to glare at him.

  "Who accompanied her?" he asked in a quieter voice after taking a moment to collect himself.

  "Sir Oswald, Cuthbert and Diggory the groom, Sir Mason," he answered wringing his hands.

  Mason grunted and turned to his father who he noticed uneasily was watching him with interest.

  "If she wasn't so whey-faced I'd think you were smitten with the wench," snorted his father.

  "Her face is fine," answered Mason shortly. "Watch your mouth."

  His father's bushy eyebrows shot up and he choked on his mouthful of fish.

  "I mean it," said Mason warningly. "I'll not have her insulted in my hearing."

  "Oh aye," said his father waving a hand. "Quite the considerate husband, aren't you?"

  Mason shrugged his shoulders. "I'll tan her hide if she's put herself in harm's way," he growled, seizing a knife and starting on his morning meal. At least his brother was with her. As if guessing his thoughts, his father slammed down his drink, leant back in his seat and belched.

  "If Oswald wasn't so cautious he'd have seized the opportunity to wed the wench," he grumbled. "She's a fine dowry if nothing else."

  Mason narrowed his eyes at his father's disgruntled face.

  "He's always been over-cautious," continued Baron Vawdrey bitterly. "I blame his mother. She was an insipid milk-sop."

  "Oswald's not a grasping bastard like me," he answered in gruff defense of his half-brother. For some reason he felt rattled at the idea his father thought Oswald a more suitable husband for Linnet. He tried to push the irrelevant thought from his mind.

  "No, he isn't," agreed his father with a regretful sigh. He wiped his moustache with the back of his hand. "More's the pity. You need to breed your sons like you would a horse. The mare has to have spirit. Your mother was a bold-faced piece."

  Mason shrugged again. He had no interest in his long-dead mother. His memories of her weren't anything to treasure. "Linnet's not a milk-sop," he found
himself saying instead. "She's smart. She's no coward."

  His father snorted. "I hope you're right. Else you'll be giving me a freckled grandson with a weak-heart."

  Mason noticed wryly his father now accepted she'd bear him a son. "Nothing wrong with her heart," he said buttering a piece of bread. "I told you, the Jevons' lied."

  "So you say," started his father pushing his plate away, but even as he opened his mouth to further the argument Mason turned his head, holding up his hand for silence as he heard the light, determined tread in the hallway. He recognized that step. Sure enough, mere seconds Linnet sailed into the great hall with Oswald and Cuthbert trailing in her wake. "Your color is certainly a lot better," she was saying over her shoulder at Oswald. Neither of them seemed to have noticed him and his father sat at the head table.

  “That curious brew she gave me does seem to have had a beneficial effect,” admitted Oswald in a plaintive tone. "But it tasted absolutely vile, mind you."

  Mason stood up, a scowl on his face. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded in an angrier voice than he'd intended. He felt a bitter clenching in his gut that he wasn't sure was from over-imbibing the night before or something else entirely.

  They turned as a crowd and Linnet had the nerve to smile at him distractedly. "Good morning, husband. I trust you slept in ..." she broke off her words as if only just noticing his thunderous frown. "What is it? I had some errands to run and Oswald kindly accompanied me..."

  "So I see," he cut in angrily. "Doing what, may I ask?"

  "Linnet wanted to-"

  "I didn't ask you," he interrupted his brother rudely and turned back to his wife. "Well?" He held his hand out to her imperiously and she rounded the table with a faint pucker between her brows. She took his hand and let him draw her down onto the bench beside him. He took a fortifying swig of his drink and then turned back to her. "I'm waiting," he said, his voice only lowering slightly.

  She sent a quick look over at her father-in-law and then started unfastening her cloak. "I wanted to call on Mother Ames, and then on the former ale-wife that my aunt dismissed," she said brightly as she bustled about folding the garment onto the bench beside her.