Page 53 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

A fair-haired lad of about seventeen stood next to Rolfe cleared his throat. “Will we be doing a display for her ladyship?” he asked, turning bright red.

“A display?” echoed Mason.

“Presenting arms,” stammered the lad. “She might like to see it . . . ” he tailed off as Rolfe elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

Mason glanced at Sir Lang’s pained expression. “She probably would,” he agreed. “Perhaps you could think of a simple presentation to run through, Lang?”

Sir Lang perked up. “Just a short formation?” he suggested, looking gratified. “Yes, we could probably put something together.” There was an excited murmur from the men. “Of course, we’re not at full strength, but, when the men return from the North, perhaps we could run through it again for her ladyship?”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” agreed Mason swiftly. “Until then, I have an additional duty I will need from you men. To act as a guard to her ladyship when she leaves the castle.”

Now this announcement caused a definite stir.

“We had heard that her ladyship had started going out and about,” said Sir Lang.

“A personal guard?” piped up Rolfe, his hand shooting in the air. “I volunteer!”

“You can do it in rotation between the five of you,” said Mason drily. “I will have her page run down to the guardroom whenever she goes abroad.” He paused. “I mean on our own castle grounds as well as off the estate.”

The men accepted this without the blink of an eye, although Sir Lang stroked his short grey beard and looked troubled. “Of course, milord,” he answered. “We will be ready and waiting for duty.”

It seemed, Mason thought, expedient to inform Linnet of this new condition for her leaving the castle immediately. Who knew when she would next take it in her head to visit a tavern or some neighboring crone? He thought grimly as he made his way to the solar. The wench was proving headstrong despite her pretty ways. He could hear voices drifting along the corridor. Linnet was exclaiming over something, sounding pleased. He felt his tension trickling away in spite of himself. He was annoyed with her, he chided himself. She had openly defied him at breakfast in front of his father and older brother. It occurred to him that, instead of being annoyed with her, he had spent all morning thinking about her welfare. Ironic that he was proving a far better husband than she was a wife! He had arrived at the solar now and found himself surrounded entirely by swathes of fabrics stretched out over the chairs and tables. Cuthbert was unravelling a length of golden silk. Postner the tailor was cross-legged on the floor, sketching something out on a piece of parchment. Linnet stood on a low stool draped in blue velvet that was spangled with gold stars. She looked up when he entered the room and broke into a dazzling smile.

“Oh, Mason,” she said and took a step towards him, forgetting entirely she was wrapped in fabric and stood on a footstool.

For a moment, his heart stood still. Then he moved. By the time she had let out a squeak, he had already caught her in his arms. She blinked up at him through her blonde eyelashes and laughed. He couldn’t bring himself to join in. He stared at her. Something was wrong with him.

The smile dropped off her face. “What is it?” she asked, sounding alarmed. He shook his head. “Tell me,” she said.

He just held her tighter. “You need to be more careful,” he managed to force out brusquely.

“Lady Vawdrey!” exclaimed Postner, sounding alarmed. “Are you well?”

She turned her head to reassure the tailor, but Mason forestalled her. “My wife is easily distracted, Postner. You will oblige me by letting her stand on the floorboards as the gods intended.”

The tailor looked a little pale. “Yes, Sir Mason,” he said hastily.

Linnet’s hand stroked his forearm. “I’m well, truly,” she told him softly. “You rescued me. Again.” She smiled.

Is that what she thought he was? Her rescuer?

“This is exactly what—” He bit off his angry words and turned to Postner. “Have you finished measuring my wife, tailor?”

“Er, yes, Sir Mason.”

“Good.” He stood up, Linnet still in his arms.

“Wait!” gasped the tailor. “We have not yet determined which fabrics her ladyship . . . ”

“Yes, you have,” Mason corrected him as he started towards the door.

“Whatever you think, Mr. Postner, I am sure will be fine,” Linnet called over his shoulder. “Pray take as many of the fabrics with you as you think necessary for the garments we discussed.”

“Yes, your ladyship,” agreed Postner, sounding somewhat mollified.

Mason thought he heard the fellow mutter something under his breath, but ignored it as he swept out of the room.

“Cuthbert, you must help Mr. Postner carry the bolts of cloth down to his wagon,” Linnet instructed her page as Mason bore her off down the corridor.