Page 25 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

She tried to pull back to get a better look at him, but for whatever reason his arms tightened on her, preventing her retreat. “Wouldn’t you care what people think?” she asked with curiosity.

“No,” he replied firmly. “Whether people like me or not is up to them.”

“What about what they think of your wife?” she persisted.

He pondered this a moment as he’d never given it any thought. “The same principle applies,” he shrugged. He thought her shoulders slumped a moment.

“Oh,” she said, sounding a little sad.

“Linnet, go to sleep,” he said firmly.

“Very well, Husband.”

It took him far longer to go off to sleep than it did her.

IX

When Linnet woke the next morning, she found the bed empty and realized Mason must have already left to start his sweep of their lands and boundaries. She lay for a moment, wondering if he’d had to prize her off him before he could rise and devoutly hoping that he hadn’t! She’d woken a few times in the past couple of weeks and found herself wrapped around him. Usually however, he rose before her. Rising swiftly, she called for Gertrude and made haste to dress and make her way to the great hall for a hurried breakfast. She had much she wanted to do today! Cuthbert came immediately to her side as she spooned jam onto her bread.

“Oh Cuthbert, would you mind sending word to your grandmother to come up to the castle? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Aye milady,” he agreed. “Would you be wanting her to come up this morning?”

“When she is able,” she agreed. “We were going to try a new skin remedy for my freckles.”

Once she had broken her fast, she hurried along to her tower to fetch her writing things so that she could invite the neighboring ladies over now that she was emerged from her convalescence. Climbing all the steps to the top left her out of breath, but not fit to drop. She placed her hand against her chest to feel its steady beat. Although it was pounding, it did not skip or reel as if it was about to give out. She made her way thoughtfully to her trunk and, retrieving the key from its new place on her chatelaine, she opened the lid and looked down at her collection of inks, reed pens, and parchments. There were two high piles of vellum sheets. The left pile was entirely illustrated with intricate borders, gothic lettering, and tiny miniature pictures of the hero Sir Maurency and his heroic deeds. On every tenth page, there was even a smattering of gold leaf from the precious, dwindling supply her father had left her. The second pile was blank sheets yet to be used. The topmost one showed the page she was currently working on. She had already written out the words of the story in precise black lettering and painstakingly outlined the illustrations which were now waiting to be filled in with colored inks. She lifted the page and looked critically at the figure of the knight. She had thought when she drew him that he embodied every knightly virtue. Now she thought he looked a bit insipid somehow. She frowned. He would need to be reworked before she added in the inks. With a shrug, she bundled the supplies she needed into a woven work bag and then resecured the trunk. Swinging the bag over her shoulder, she made her way thoughtfully back down the winding steps and then hurried across to the courtyard and the main part of the castle. Dragging herself from her thoughts, she noticed that she was still drawing curious looks from those hustling and bustling around the castle and she sent smiles and nods to those she passed. Of course, it would take a while for them to become used to seeing her out and about, and as Cuthbert had warned her, half of them thought she had two heads! As Mason was absent, she donned a light linen veil as was seemly for a married woman and a red velvet gown with semifitted sleeves. It was a dress she hadn’t worn much in the past as, to be honest, she had mostly worn semidresses when confined to her tower as an invalid. It seemed pointless to be fully laced and dressed when she was not allowed out of doors and was only visited by ladies. Feeling every stone underfoot for the last month, she realized her fabric shoes were probably not going to be robust enough for general wear and tear, and that she would need some stouter footwear. She added it mentally to her list of outstanding tasks and hurried to her sitting room to write out some invitations to the ladies to come and pay a social call on her at their liberty. When she reached the solar, she found someone had lit a small fire as, despite the sun shining in a blue sky, there was still a nip in the air. After setting her inks and pens out on the writing desk, she cut the parchment with her penknife and started ruling out the lines for her script. Later, Cuthbert sidled in with some fruit cordial on a tray. He set it down for her and then peered over her shoulder at her writing.

“Who’s Lady Sybilla?” he asked with interest.

“The widow who lives on the estate at our north border,” she answered.

He poured her a glass of the cordial and then placed a peeled apple at her elbow. “Granny’s coming over presently. She says she has a new remedy for you. Not hare’s blood this time.”

“Thank goodness,” she shuddered. She had felt bad refusing Mother Ames’s suggested treatment last time, but that really was too unpleasant to contemplate!

“Why do you wear a veil today when my master will not like it?” asked Cuthbert.

She gave him a sidelong look. “Your master is not here today, Cuthbert,” she told him drily. “And I am a married lady and should have my head covered.”

He seemed to mull this over a moment as she took a gulp of cordial and then returned to writing out invitations. The ladies of the Lascombe family were next.

“Will you illustrate the invitations to the neighbors?” he asked, absently eating a slice of apple.

“I don’t think so . . . ” she hesitated. “Unless . . . I did a small border of vines down the one side?” she cocked her head to look at the small rectangle, which now that Cuthbert mentioned it, did seem a little bare. She hesitated. “Perhaps I will just add a little decoration.”

“Granny said that Sir Mason rode past her cottage this morning with Sir Oswald.” Cuthbert dropped down onto the rug in front of the fire.

“Did he speak with her?” asked Linnet as she unscrewed her bottle of green ink.

“I shouldn’t think so. She doesn’t pay rent,” he shrugged.

Linnet nodded, Mother Ames had been assured her cottage rent free due to her status as village wise woman. Linnet’s late father had been a great believer in her remedies and treatments. She busied herself drawing a twirling vine down the side of the Jauncey invitation card and inked in some graceful green leaves. “Have some more apple, Cuthbert. And maybe this would be a good opportunity for you to practice your letters.”

Cuthbert groaned. She had taught him his letters herself, but he was frankly an indifferent scholar. “Lady Millicent said it was pointless teaching the likes of me,” he reminded her darkly.

“My aunt is no longer mistress of this house,” she pointed out firmly. “And I happen to think they will stand you in very good stead.”

He rolled his eyes. “Aye milady,” he sighed, pulling out a chair next to hers and appropriating a sheet of parchment. As Cuthbert scratched his quill over the page beside her, covering it with an assortment of blots and scrubbings out, she finished all three invitations and placed them on the window seat to dry.