Her Bastard Bridegroom Page 21

  Macon groaned, releasing his grip on her head and rubbing his thumb down her throat gently until she swallowed again and he groaned even louder. "Linnet..."

  Yes, this was right, she thought. He was spending his seed. She remembered how he licked and suckled her through the aftershocks of her own bliss and settled more comfortably between his legs to do the same. Encircling his shaft with one hand, she gently squeezed his ballocks with her other. With a muffled curse, his hands lifted away from her completely to brace against the headboard as he continued to rock his hips into her as she took everything he had.

  Linnet stayed where she was until he lay still and limp. It was as she was tucking the sheets in about his waist that she heard his gentle snore and realized he had dropped off to sleep again. Hiding a smile, she slipped from the bed and quickly washed in the cold water in the basin. Half a cup of red wine was on the chest of drawers so she had a few sips of that and slipped back into her nightgown. She thought briefly about joining him back in the bed but what if he woke again? It would probably be easier for his hangover on the morrow if he slept soundly now until morning. She slipped out from the room into the Vawdrey's sitting area by the fire and waited for Oswald to emerge from his room to take her back to Lady Doverdale's quarters.

  XXVII

  Mason woke suddenly in the early hours, disoriented and looking for Linnet. Then he remembered he was at Caer-Lyonnes and awaiting an audience with the King. He leant up on his elbow reaching for water to drink. His mouth felt dry. He remembered drinking heavily but not going to bed. And then apparently .. he'd had an extremely erotic dream about his wife. An extremely vivid dream. His cock still felt pretty happy about it. He looked down at his bed-sheets with misgiving, but instead of a tangled mess they were neat and tidy. Then he noticed something else. A bit of red material. He pulled the end and held aloft a length of thin red ribbon. He knew that ribbon. Linnet used it to keep his signet ring on her finger. He flung back the covers and ran his hand over the sheets until he found it. His ring. The cracked black stone with the Vawdrey panther carved on it. He stared at it. She had been here! And she had lost her wedding ring. He slipped it onto his finger distractedly before rising from the bed. And it hadn’t been a dream after all. Pulling on a robe he walked through to the sitting room where Oswald was sat pouring over some documents.

  Mason cleared his throat.

  "Feeling better?" his brother asked glancing up and turning a page.

  "Linnet was here," said Mason flatly, ignoring the question.

  Oswald gave a small smile. "Was she?"

  Mason frowned at him. "You know she was, you smug bastard." He flung himself down into a chair. "What are you looking at?"

  "Linnet's version of the Sir Maurency tales." He looked up again. "Did you read them to the end?"

  "I read as much as I could stomach."

  "Which means no," said his brother dryly. "I think you should take a look at the last five pages."

  "Why?"

  "Maurency seems to be undergoing a remarkable and somewhat undesirable transformation."

  "What?"

  "He's changed hair color, put on some muscle and now seems to be cracking skulls rather than saying his prayers."

  Mason rose and rounded the table.

  "In short, it looks like Linnet's ideal hero might be turning into you."

  Mason's eyebrows shot up as he studied the illustration. "That's not Maurency," he objected.

  "On the contrary, look at his shield and insignia."

  Mason pursed his lips. "Very well, that is Maurency," he conceded taking the page with him back over to the fire. "He looks improved, but I still don't like him."

  "He's you, you fool," responded Oswald scathingly. "Congratulations. You've turned the most chivalrous knight of yore into the Despoiler of Demoyne. Maybe Linnet could write up your tales." When Mason didn't respond he looked across. "Good grief, are you blushing?"

  "Of course not," Mason scoffed. He just felt a little warm, that was all.

  "You look confused."

  "Be quiet Oswald."

  His brother laughed.

  Mason lapsed into brooding silence. "I can't wait a month for all this to be resolved,” he said heavily.

  "I agree," said Oswald. "I think we need to speak to Roland."

  Mason steepled his fingers under his chin. "How do we lure him out."

  Oswald gave a short crack of laughter. "If I know Roland," he said. "And I do, rather well unfortunately, he'll be getting heartily sick of the Jevons' by now. He's got the Vawdrey lack of patience. The idea of having to be one of Sir Jevons' cronies for another four weeks will fill his black little heart with horror."

  "Yes, but..." Mason broke off with a scowl. "What of when he finally meets Linnet?"

  "What of it?" asked Oswald. "He'll find out she's not some frail little invalid to be bossed about and shut in a tower for the rest of her days."

  Mason glowered. "That better be all he realizes."

  Oswald grinned. "Believe me, he'll only need to take one look at your face and he'll realize how things lie."

  Mason grunted. "You think he'll come to us?"

  "Not to you, no. You're not in the least approachable. To me...? Maybe."

  “I want my wife back, Oswald.”

  His brother got up and crossed the room. “I know,” he said and gripped Mason’s shoulder. “I think I can get us into the royal levée tomorrow morning. Lord Schaeffer once invited me to join the King’s privy council. I could get us admitted.”

  “Why didn’t you join?” asked Mason with curiosity. Suddenly it occurred to him how well a diplomatic career would suit his older brother.

  “Oh I intend to. In good time. What use is a private counsellor to the King who’s never seen the battlefield?”

  Mason blinked in surprise. He was pretty sure the King had plenty of advisors who never set foot out of the palace! And he’d had no idea of his brother’s political ambitions. He wondered briefly if their father was even aware.

  “Besides, I wasn’t about to let you ride off to war on your own. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. Now you’ve got Linnet I can stop worrying about you.”

  “Worrying about me?” repeated Mason blankly.

  “Of course,” shrugged Oswald. “What else are big brothers for?”

  XXVIII

  Linnet was not best pleased to hear she was to attend the queen’s levée the following morning. She knew next to nothing about Queen Armenal who was the King’s second wife and from a rather obscure western isle. She had only been married to Wymer for nine months following the tragic death of his first wife Queen Eleanor in childbirth. According to popular rumor she could be difficult and she was an arch manipulator.

  “Is this my royal presentation?” she asked Lady Doverdale with misgiving. She pushed away the butter dish and frowned at her toasted bread. She felt a quiver of alarm that was stealing her appetite. She also felt a little sick.

  “Queen Armenal has the King’s ear when it suits her,” replied Lady Doverdale in measured tones. “I secured this introduction as a particular favor to you, Linnet.” Her tone was reproachful. “It was not easy.”

  “And I appreciate that, Lady Doverdale,” Linnet assured her hastily. “Tis only that I feel ill prepared to meet the queen…”

  Lady Doverdale shrugged. “Then prepare yourself,” she said simply. “You may not get another chance.”

  Directly after breakfast Linnet changed from her practical orange wool dress into her jonquil yellow which was made of silk with long lacing along the sleeves. Sadly she did not think the color suited her as well, but it was definitely better suited for meeting a queen. Staring into the glass while Gertie braided her hair with matching ribbon, she thought she had never looked plainer. Her freckles stood out almost obscuring her every feature. Gertie pinned a light gauzy veil high at the back of her head and draped it artfully so it fell like a waterfall.

  “I seen the ladies wearing it like this at court,
milady,” she said smugly at Linnet’s surprised face. “Maybe even the master would like it this way?”

  “Nothing escapes the servant’s hall, does it?” asked Linnet with a small smile. Even Mason’s dislike of veils.

  “Not much,” agreed Gertie briskly.

  Glancing down Linnet cried out.

  “What is it milady?” asked Gertie in alarm.

  “My wedding ring,” said Linnet twisting around in her chair. “I’ve lost it!”

  They stared at each other in dismay.

  “Oh miss,” said Gertie, crossing her fingers and closing her eyes to ward off bad luck.

  It was hard not to take it as an ill-omen. Nerves overtook her completely and dashing to the adjoining garde-robe, Linnet was violently sick.

  XXIX

  It was crowded in the King’s levée which was held in the gallery off his private chambers. Luckily for Masons sake, among the officials and diplomats mingled a few liege lords who had lately risen to prominence through battle like himself. They greeted him warily as though expecting him there to war-monger or urge further campaigns on the king’s behalf. More than one reminded him the kingdom was now at peace, much to Mason’s irritation.

  “You need to stop glaring at everyone,” hinted Oswald. “They think you’re spoiling for a fight.”

  Mason glowered, his eyes scanning once again for the King. “Where is he?”

  “Patience,” murmured Oswald. “Let us make pleasant conversation a while.” He tugged his brother toward Lord Schaeffer who was stroking his grey moustaches and speaking in low tones to another nobleman.

  “Lord Schaeffer, well met!” Oswald hailed him. “I believe you are acquainted with my brother, Sir Mason Vawdrey.”

  Lord Schaeffer’s eyes bugged a little. “Oh – er – yes, of course, of course,” he blustered. “Didn’t realize you’d bring your – er – brother,” he added lamely.

  Mason nodded his head in his closest approximation of a courtly bow. “Your servant,” he muttered insincerely.

  Lord Schaeffer turned reluctantly to his companion who had cold, shrewd eyes, despite his frivolous silver robes. “This is Viscount Bardulf of the Western isles. He is part of the queen’s retinue.”

  “Good day,” drawled Viscount Bardulf. “Of course, we’ve met before.” He flicked an invisible fleck from his puffed silk sleeve.

  Mason shot him a startled look. “I doubt it.”

  “At Demoyne,” explained Bardulf looking amused. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Sir Mason. Even when you’re not covered in mud. And blood,” he added thoughtfully.

  “You were at Demoyne?” asked Lord Schaeffer sounding astonished.

  Mason couldn’t blame him. It was hard to imagine this polished courtier in a siege situation.

  “Oh yes. I was in the first wave,” smirked Bardulf. He drew a finger delicately over his throat.

  Assassin, thought Mason. “Ah,” he said. That made more sense.

  Schaeffer who had not seen the discreet gesture continued to look disbelieving. “Wouldn’t have thought that was your sort of thing at all, dear sir.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t,” shuddered Bardulf dramatically. “Walking round, with the fear one might be stabbed in the back at any time.”

  “So different to life at court,” answered Oswald blandly.

  Bardulf laughed. “As you say.”

  Lord Schaeffer who clearly could not see the joke, cleared his throat, looking round a little wildly as if for an escape.

  “And how is the investigation going into my brother’s matter?” asked Oswald swiftly changing the subject.

  Lord Schaeffer cleared his throat. “Slowly but steadily,” he replied cautiously. “These things take time,” He shook his head. “They can’t be rushed, my boy.”

  “Au contraire!” disagreed Viscount Bardulf unexpectedly. “Everyone here at court has been sifting the evidence most thoroughly!”

  Lord Schaeffer’s eyes popped. “What?”

  “But yes!” He looked across at Mason. “We have been jumping to conclusions all over the place!”

  Lord Shaeffer pursed his lips in disapproval. “Idle gossip!” he snorted. “Is not evidence!”

  Viscount Bardulf ignored him, leaning into the Vawdrey brothers. “Are you aware,” he asked in low voice. “That the Queen holds her levée at the same time as the King?”

  “No, I was not,” admitted Mason with a frown.

  “And afterward, the attendants at both levées – they mingle in the throne room for refreshment.”

  “Are you saying,” interpreted Oswald politely. “That someone we know is attending the Queen’s levée this morning?”

  Bardulf’s lips quirked into a smile. “But yes! The celebrité of the hour herself!”

  “Linnet,” muttered Mason on an exhale.

  XXX

  Linnet had shivered in her thin silk dress all morning. The Queen’s levée was held in a large square room thronged with large draughty windows. One of the windows had an external staircase leading down a formal garden which Linnet would have liked to have explored but a footman stood with a tray of drinks barring access to it. Plus, she probably would have frozen out of doors. It seemed colder here though the sky was blue. She had felt the queen’s gaze on her at several points but other than approaching the dais to curtsey when her name was announced, she had not been summoned into the royal presence.

  Lady Doverdale was talking to another elderly matron and Lady Martindale could only stammer one or two word answers to any conversation Linnet tried to instigate. She gave up on that and turned instead to gaze at the queen in her shimmery green gown embellished all over with silver leaves. Linnet was not really sure if Queen Armenal actually was beautiful, or if it was just that she held herself and displayed herself with the confidence of a beautiful woman. She had never seen anyone with so much self-assurance. It seemed to drip from her every gesture. She was tall and dark with olive skin and looked to be between twenty-five years and thirty years old though she could be older. It was hard to determine. Sophisticated. That was the word, to describe the queen, Linnet decided. She was the most sophisticated woman she had ever seen. At that moment the queen looked up and their gazes met. The queen smiled and Linnet flushed. Then she turned to one of the footman and the next moment Linnet found him hurrying across the crowded room toward her.

  “Lady Linnet,” said the footman. “Queen Armenal would like for you to accompany her into the throne room for refreshment.”

  Linnet curtseyed toward the dais. “I would be most happy.”

  “Please follow me.”

  Linnet glanced toward Lady Martindale. “Please inform Lady Doverdale that I am waiting on the queen.”

  Lady Martindale squeaked into her handkerchief which Linnet guessed was an assent.

  On legs that slightly shook she approached the dais and was only halfway there when the crowd parted before her and the queen swept forward and took her arm.

  “Let us walk together, Lady Linnet,” she said in a lilting voice with the merest trace of an accent. “I hear you are very fond of walking, so we will take the long way around to the throne room. That is agreeable to you, yes?”

  “Of course your majesty.” The queen had a train of some twelve fluttering beauties in jewel colored dresses following in her wake. They rustled and giggled behind her. The queen ignored them.

  “Me, I am very pleased to meet you,” said the queen opening her brown-eyes very wide. “I am curious to meet the woman brave enough to tame the Vawdrey bastard.” In the background someone tittered lightly but Linnet did not turn her head to see who. Instead she kept her eyes on the queen, inclining her head politely. Mason showed no shame about his illegitimacy so she did not see why she should either. She could sense this dark eyed queen was watching her closely despite her languid pose. “You must not mind these silly whores,” the queen continued. “When I am established in my proper court, my ladies in waiting will be of a different caliber altogether. These wome
n,” she said dispassionately gazing over her shoulder. “Were all chosen for me, by men.”

  Linnet tried not to show how taken aback she was, but she had a feeling it showed anyway.

  “Can I be frank?” asked the queen turning back to her.

  Linnet felt her heart sink slightly. “Please do, your highness” she forced herself to say.

  “These Vawdreys, they are terrifying are they not? When first I saw them, I thought they must be northerners.”

  “They are certainly dark, your majesty,” said Linnet, struggling how to answer her. “And tall.”

  “If it were not for the war, I do not think they would have risen to prominence, me,” commented the queen. “Baron Vawdrey does not have the temperament or manners to be a courtier and Sir Mason is the most like him of his offspring, even though he is from the wrong side of the bed. Yes? Only Oswald he fits in at court. He will rise to prominence I think that one. Yes, I will watch him closely. He is the wolf in the clothing of the sheep. Very clever. You have heard of their reputations, have you not?”

  Linnet thought fleetingly of Sir Chilton’s unguarded words in the tavern. She only knew that Mason had a reputation. Little else. And was Oswald really so cunning? She had always thought him smart, but... “Do you mean at war, Queen Armenal? I had heard that my husband won his fame in the King’s northern campaigns.”

  “Oh they are fierce in battle these Vawdreys!” tutted the queen. “Sir Mason acted as general for the King at the siege of Demoyne. He took the city in three weeks when they predicted three months.”

  Linnet’s eyebrows rose. “I had heard something to that effect, your majesty,” she admitted. Though according to Sir Chilton it had taken a mere three days! Such was the nature of rumour! They had reached the throne room now, but Queen Armenal did not release her arm. The footmen opened the door and they sailed through the doors into the already busy room. Linnet blinked. More people! Her gaze came to a startled halt on a tall dark figure stood to the right of the room. Mason! Her heart thudded. She felt suddenly flushed and breathless at the sight of him. Queen Armenal headed unerringly toward the canopy at the head of the room. Sure enough, Linnet found herself heading up the red carpeted steps until the King and Queen’s thrones sat before her. The queen gestured to a row of cushioned seats sat on a lower dais for attendants. The ladies in waiting were already plumping themselves down on the twelve matching chairs. Armenal was arranging herself on her throne, but noticing Linnet hovering she gazed at her ladies coldly. “One of you must give up your chair as I wish to speak to the Lady Linnet.”