Her Bastard Bridegroom: A Medieval Romance Page 6

  “Good morning,” she said smiling at her brother-in-law. He hastened to seat himself again, asking politely after her health.

  “I am very well, thank you sir. I trust you slept well?”

  “Extremely, thank you. You are very hospitable your ladyship.”

  “We are sister and brother now,” she reminded him. “I hope you will call me Linnet.”

  He looked a bit taken aback by this and shot a look at Mason, but smiled nonetheless. “You are very kind Linnet. Indeed, I hope you will call me Oswald.”

  She smiled and nodded “Of course,” and he returned to his dish of pickled herrings. Mason she noticed was eating salted cod.

  “This pandemain is very good,” commented Oswald gesturing to the white loaf on the table. “You do not partake of it, Linnet?” He looked curious.

  “Um, no,” she said lowering her butter knife. “For I prefer darker bread made with oats and rye.”

  “Linnet has very unusual tastes for a fine lady,” cut in Mason dryly. “She prefers vegetable soup to roast meat.”

  “You mean low tastes,” she replied sweetly. “But indeed I much prefer this to wheat bread. It is much more flavorsome with lentils, acorns and chestnuts added to the dough.”

  Mason gave a grudging laugh.

  Oswald merely looked surprised. “I have heard that some vegetables can be poisonous,” he said with concern.

  Linnet shrugged. “None that our kitchen has ever served me,” she countered taking a sip of milk.

  “What is that on your head, wife?” asked Mason conversationally. He pointed with his knife to the linen rectangular veil covering her hair.

  Her hand flew up to touch it. “Why, tis only my head veil, husband.” She responded with alacrity.

  “You look like you’re about to take holy orders,” he said. “Take it off.”

  “But… tis only seemly that I should wear it in company,” Linnet found herself squeaking.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “But…” her words trailed off. Her gaze darted to Oswald who was looking at Mason with surprise.

  “To sit in company with my head uncovered, ‘twould not be proper…” she argued uncertainly.

  “Did you not just say that Oswald is now your brother?” asked Mason, raising an eyebrow at her challengingly.

  “Well… yes,” she agreed lamely. With a sigh of defeat she reached up to remove it. “I thought if I wore it without a wimple you would not object.”

  “You thought wrong,” he responded, lowering his tankard of ale. There was a gleam in his eye and it occurred to her that Mason Vawdrey was in favor of confrontation at the breakfast table. What a strange man he was! She laid the veil down on the bench and smoothed her hand over her hair, flicking it over her shoulders.

  Mason's eyes followed her closely. “It appears that the Jevons’ removed themselves with some ten staff last night,” he said.

  “Five of them would have been my aunt’s ladies in waiting,” Linnet responded after a moment’s hesitation.

  “And the other five?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “The steward?”

  He shook his head. “I have seen Robards this morning. He remained behind. I believe the man is honest. What was your impression?”

  Linnet looked up expecting his gaze to be on his brother, but found it trained instead upon herself.

  “I .. I never met him before yesterday,” she admitted with a stammer.

  “And?”

  “He seemed honest though somewhat uneasy,” she said slowly.

  Mason nodded in agreement.

  “I believe my uncle would have taken his groomsmen who look after his horses,” she said feeling encouraged. “And his chamberlain who saw to his wardrobe. He was quite vain you know. I don’t believe he had a squire presently. He hasn’t had one for a few years. ”

  A smile tugged at Mason’s lips. “His outfit yesterday was certainly very colorful.”

  Oswald agreed with a wince. “Green and red, so few men could carry off that combination.”

  Linnet gurgled with laughter. “Certainly not my poor uncle.”

  “I think your poor uncle was robbing you blind,” cut in Mason bluntly.

  The smile wiped off Linnet’s face and she drew in a sharp breath.

  “Mason,” protested his brother.

  “We shall see,” he responded with a shrug of his massive shoulders. He nodded towards one of the long tables in the hall where a pile of parchments and strong boxes had been put together. Looking up she saw Robards and two male servants enter the hall carrying more coffers.

  “The inventory?” choked out Linnet hoarsely. She felt slightly sick. “Can I help?”

  Mason shook his head. “’Twill take at least a week. It’s quite an undertaking.

  “Please?” she entreated on impulse. “If I’m sat around unoccupied …” She broke off her words. "I'll simply fall prey to fears the coffers are empty..."

  Mason sat back in his chair.

  “Mason is quite right, Linnet,” said Oswald. “It would be far better if you would just sit comfortably and do some needlepoint instead of dragging yourself needlessly about the castle …”

  “You can help,” said her husband dragging back his chair.

  “Truly?” Linnet dropped her toast in her haste to join him. To her surprise he waited at the end of the table and extended his hand to her. She hurried to take it and soon found her hand tucked in the crook of his arm.

  “Has she even broken her fast?” asked Oswald with a plaintive sigh as he followed behind them.

  “Indeed, I have eaten my fill,” Linnet assured him over her shoulder as she hurried to keep up with Mason’s long strides. He did not moderate his pace to accommodate her in any way she noticed without rancor.

  He led her straight out of the Great Hall and down three flights of stone stairs to a dim, massive cellar. Oswald called out several warnings to her to mind her step, but Mason’s grip on her arm, and even at times her waist held her quite secure despite the encroaching gloom.

  “Where are we? It’s huge down here!” exclaimed Linnet. There were already lighted torches in the sconces and she guessed this must be where the already retrieved strong-boxes must have come from.

  “This undercroft lies directly under the Great Hall,” Mason told her. This is where most of your worldly goods are held.

  She peered about at the numerous locked trunks and chests.

  “This part alone will take at least three days,” said Oswald with a sigh.

  Linnet groped about her waist for her chatelaine and lifted up the bunch of keys. “I suppose we should get started,” she said squaring her shoulders.

  Both brothers turned to look at her with some surprise. It occurred to her that they had thought she would take one look at the amount of work involved and cry off.

  “You are sure -?” started Oswald hesitantly but Mason just gave a short laugh.

  “Let her make a start,” he said with a shrug. He cast a quick appraising look at her. “We’ll see how long her resolve lasts.”

  Linnet felt herself flush at being spoke of as if she was not even there! She cleared her throat. “Would it not make more sense to have a table and parchment brought down here, rather than bidding the servants carry it all above stairs?” she asked.

  “Are you suggesting you would be willing to sit down here in the dark and damp,” asked Mason with faint scorn.

  “Certainly husband,” she said. “If parchment and light were brought down and an abacus I would very happily, I assure you.”

  “With the rats and spiders?” he asked, eyebrows raising in challenge.

  “Even with them,” she agreed firmly. “I am not as a-feared of them as they are of me, poor creatures.”

  He gave a short nod even as his brother protested.

  “Very well,” he looked over his shoulder at a hovering servant. “Paper, ink and a table for Lady Linnet. Also,” he added thoughtfully. “A warm cloak.”


  “Where are you going?” asked Linnet as Mason started back up the steps. Her voice sounded more panicky than she would have liked. His voice came back strong and even.

  “To ask Robards about the hidden casemate room under the ramparts. I am sure it is another strong-room.”

  “Do not be afraid, I shall remain with you,” said Oswald but she noticed the slight shiver he gave.

  “That is very kind Oswald, but I believe you would be better served accompanying my husband to access the strong room.”

  He shot her a grateful look. “Is there anything else I can send down for you?”

  She shook her head with a smile. Then added “My page?” Cuthbert’s childish prattle would brighten up the cavernous room and he would enjoy clambering over the trunks trying out the keys until he found the right one. It would appeal to his sense of adventure.

  It turned out she was right, Cuthbert took to the enterprise with enthusiasm, slipping and sliding over the piles of boxes while Linnet wrote long, laborious lists and counting out piles of different coin. She started with gold florins, moved onto silver groats and then pounds schillings and pence. By the time these had been duly counted and recorded they had spent three whole days in the undercroft.

  On the fourth day Linnet descended down to the undercroft and turned her attentions to the large chests stuff full of fabric. Whole lengths of taffeta, velvet and damask silk where contained therein. She marveled over the beautiful jewel-tones and imagined the Jevons must have stowed them away for future gowns and capes to furnish their fancy wardrobes. Not that Linnet did not have gowns a-plenty of her own but she was surprised at the stash they had hoarded away. She had seen none of these costly fabrics listed in any inventory in her household book. Her heart sank a little at the thought of any other discrepancies they might discover.

  On the fifth day, she inventoried all the silver plate, on the seventh, the gold plate and on the eighth day the castle's brass.

  “But we have not yet found the Cadwallader jewels,” lamented Cuthbert in his high childish voice. Linnet had just locked shut the last of the trunks. She looked up. “Perhaps they are in the casemate room Master Vawdrey mentioned. Besides,” she said pointing to the large hessian sacks and wooden barrels piled high on the other side of the room. “We still have a few more day's work counting up the grain sacks and salted meats and fish.”

  Mason’s voice surprised them from the stair. “I will send Robards down to look at those household items later this week. They are not locked and do not require your keys.” He appeared at her side. “You have been coming down here for days now. Any longer below stairs and you will forget what the sun even looks like.” He reached a hand down to her and she took it, straightening up.

  “Ouch,” she grimaced finding herself stiff all over.

  He frowned, chafing her hands. “You’re freezing,” he said. “In truth, I did not expect you to last even one day, let alone almost a week."

  “I’m not that cold,” she protested.

  “You’ve a strong will for a weak, reclusive invalid,” he said dryly.

  She felt surprisingly warmed by his words.

  “Let’s get you upstairs,” Mason said sweeping her up into his arms without more ado.

  “I can walk husband,” she gasped as he started up the stairs.

  “This is quicker.” And indeed she believed him. He was fairly bounding up the stairs and she marveled at the strength of his arms even though she knew there was not much to her. Touching the tip of her nose she shivered. Her fingers felt stiff as well as she clasped her cold hands. The cold had crept up on her gradually until it had seeped into her bones. A couple of minutes later she found herself lowered onto a bench next to a window through which the sun streamed into the Great Hall. She only briefly thought of her complexion before settling into the sunny spot with a relieved sigh. “Oh that sun feels nice.”

  “I shall go and fetch you a caudle my lady,” said Cuthbert, puffing out his chest. “I will go to the kitchen myself.” He deposited the pile of lists she had made on the table beside her.

  “Thank you Cuthbert.”

  “A caudle?” asked Mason who had dropped down on the bench beside her.

  “Tis like a posset made from egg yolks, almonds and ginger,” she told him. “There is wine in it too,” she hesitated, biting the side of her mouth. “Mayhap I should not have it before supper?”

  “Sounds like exactly what you need,” he murmured, levelling a direct look at her. He frowned suddenly. “I should have sent someone to check on you sooner.”

  “All was perfectly well,” she protested. “Indeed Cuthbert and I have inventoried all of the trunks and chests down there. If you do not want us to do the grain and meats then I can start on those strong-boxes shortly,” she said gesturing to the boxes littering the far end of the table.

  He shrugged. “As you wish. I would have thought you’d had enough exertion for today.”

  “Have you finished your inventory of the strong-rooms and vault?” she asked, her eyes trained on the fireplace, her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.

  “Aye,” he responded grudgingly. “Oswald has compiled a list of what was contained therein.”

  “Was there – was everything as it should be?” she asked moistening her lips.

  “Let’s discuss it later. After we have compared our lists with your books.”

  Linnet’s spirits sank. His expression was grim and after his words the other day she had vague and horrible suspicions about the Jevons' and their treatment of her estate.

  Cuthbert chose that moment to re-enter the hall with a large steaming cup for her to drink down in one go as he instructed firmly.

  Linnet took as large sips as she could manage of the tasty beverage.

  “The kitchen’s buzzing,” said Cuthbert with satisfaction. “They’ve been falling over themselves to get a glimpse of you all week milady.” He turned a puzzled look upon her. “Only fancy, half of them thought you a hunchback with a squint and a limp.”

  Linnet coughed, lowering her drink. “Indeed?” she asked with watering eyes.

  “And Cook says Gertrude said you are finely made with all the right limbs and only speckled ‘tis all with lice in your hair.”

  Her face fell “Lice?” she squeaked. “Whatever possessed Gertrude to say such a thing?” she asked in bewilderment. She felt hurt. It was bad enough the servants were talking of hump backs and speckles let alone spreading false rumors about her cleanliness.

  It was Mason’s turn to splutter now. It had sounded suspiciously like a laugh for a moment. “Do you think she might have said ‘licentious’ hair, Cuthbert?” he asked gravely.

  Cuthbert’s eyes wrinkled up. “Possibly,” he admitted. “What does it mean?”

  “It means red, Cuthbert,” lied Linnet swiftly.

  His frown cleared. “Oh. Yes, that’s probably what she said alright.” He beamed at them both oblivious both to Linnet’s discomfiture and Mason’s amusement.

  Mason reached over to run a hand slowly through her loose hair making her jump.

  “Cobwebs?” she asked nervously.

  He shook his head continuing to thread his fingers through the silky length. If she didn't know any better she would almost think he liked it!

  Remembering how she had played with his hair that morning while he slept, she felt herself blush faintly. Or maybe that was just the fact he was touching her so casually when she wasn’t accustomed to such treatment.

  A dry cough bought them both out of the moment. The steward Cecil Robards was stood before them holding two leather satchels. His bearing was tense, his expression tight.

  “Sir Mason, my lady. These two sacks need to be added to the inventory.”

  Linnet sat up as Mason’s dark brows snapped together. Cecil placed them stiffly on the table before them. Linnet reached to open the first bag as Mason merely turned to her. To her surprise she recognized the contents. It was her mother’s jewelry. Golden ne
cklaces set with rubies and pearls and silver linked belts decorated with sapphires.

  “The Cadwallader jewels!” breathed Cuthbert reverently.

  “Where were they?” asked Mason sharply.

  “I thought it expedient to retrieve them from the .. um… the garderobe of Sir and Lady Jevons before they had finished packing the other night.”

  “They kept them in their latrine?”

  Linnet snatched her hand back hastily.

  “Indeed they did, sir. Many people do. It’s quite a common hiding place,” he added apologetically at Linnet’s disgusted expression.

  “I don’t believe I will wear them to supper after all,” she said in a weak attempt at humor. Cuthbert gurgled with appreciation but Robards still looked ill at ease, staring at his feet.

  “Thank you Robards,” she said. “My husband and I were discussing your honest service the other day. We do appreciate that you have remained with us.”

  Robards face suffused with color as he stammered his thanks and she almost missed Mason’s look of displeasure it was so fleeting.

  “I would like you to look over my wife’s household accounts Robards,” he said coolly. “Paying particular attention to the staff listed therein.”

  Linnet stiffened at the idea of relinquishing her precious accounts to her steward. It was hard not to take it as a personal slight. She stared down at the table-top a moment to compose herself. When she looked up she addressed her page.

  “Cuthbert, would you be so kind as to fetch my accounts book forth?”

  “From the tower, milady?” asked Cuthbert reaching out his hand for the key to her chest.

  “No, from the bedchamber in the master suite,” she correctly softly.

  He gave a small bow and skittered off in his yellow and blue hose, his golden bobbed hair glowing. As he exited the room, Oswald entered carrying a stack of papers. No doubt his inventory from the strong-room, she thought. Linnet steeled herself for an ordeal. Something told her that what was left of the afternoon was not going to be a pleasant one.