Page 38 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

Mason drew in a breath and then extended his arm to Linnet. “We will continue this after supper,” he said coolly. She took his arm, her eyes wary. “I did not realize Sir Chilton would be with us until they arrived in the carriage,” she told him in a low urgent voice as they walked along the corridor. He could hear Oswald and Cuthbert’s steps behind them but did not bother to moderate his tone.

“But you suspected I would not be pleased,” he pointed out coldly.

“Well, not really. Not straight away,” her imploring gaze dropped a moment. “At least, I did suspect a little,” she admitted “but only because you said I was not to visit Jauncey Hall yesterday. But this was not the same thing as visiting his home,” she pointed out defensively.

“It is the same principle however.”

They had reached the great hall by now.

“Enid was there the entire time. And Cuthbert. And Lawton,” she murmured as he drew out her chair and saw her seated.

“But I was not there,” he pointed out angrily. “And I do not expect my wife to go haring off into the countryside with other men.”

The silence was almost deafening. Linnet turned so pale all he could see was her freckles. Someone coughed. Cuthbert fidgeted behind Linnet’s seat. Probably dying to point out that they had gone into town not into the countryside, thought Mason irritably. Impudent little pup. He shot a warning look at the page and turned impatiently to beckon for the food to be brought in by the hesitant servers.

“You are both very new to marriage,” ventured Oswald in a soothing voice which immediately made Mason seethe. “Doubtless both of you will take some time to establish . . . ”

“I find it remarkable that you have aught to say on the matter, Brother,” Mason cut him short. “As you have never taken a wife to my knowledge.”

“Aye, that is true enough,” his brother conceded with a wince.

“I am very sorry husband,” said Linnet wretchedly. “I did not realize my actions would displease you so.”

Mason’s jaw clenched. Displeased wasn’t really the word and he was coldly furious at his own reaction. It made no sense. Unless . . . it was because she had not yet upheld her part of their bargain? Yes, that could be it. “Mayhap when you have given me a couple of sons, I will be less restrictive,” he gritted out, slamming his fist down on the table. “But until then, you will be on a short rein, wife.”

Oswald choked on his meat.

“A couple of sons?” echoed Linnet, looking thunderstruck.

“Isn’t that what you promised me?” He narrowed his eyes at her in challenge.

She stared. “Um . . . just the one,” she mumbled. “I thought.”

“You can give me two at the very least,” he snapped in reply. “If not three. Now we know that naught ails you.” He took a deep draught of ale, then lowered his tankard to find Oswald gazing at him in astonishment. “More ale,” he shouted.

He suddenly had a good mind to get well and truly sotted. Unfortunately, none of his usual drinking partners were around. Oswald was frugal as a parson and imbibed just as cautiously. Getting drunk in his own company held little appeal. Instead he eyed Linnet’s scarlet-cheeked face speculatively. Perhaps there were other ways he could seek oblivion, between his wayward wife’s thighs. Her slight body was an unexpected source of pleasure and he was enjoying teaching her to please him. He wondered how soon he could whisk her to their bedchamber after the meal. As if aware of the turn of his thoughts, Linnet’s gaze dropped down to her plate and she bit her lip.

He drew in a sharp breath. “What’s that on your head, Linnet?” he asked silkily.

Her hand flew to her head covering. “Why ’tis only because I went into town,” she stammered guiltily. “I thought . . . ”

“Did you?” He drained his tankard again and rapped it against the table to be filled. His mouth twisted into a sneer. “It seems to me, Wife, that you gave precious little thought to my feelings this day.”

A nervous-looking servant refilled his drink with a hand that shook. Mason eyed the growing puddle of ale on the table but made no comment as the poor wretch retreated from the table on wobbly legs. Instead his gaze snapped back to true culprit. His wife.

“And how did you find the fare at the inn, Linnet? Was it sufficiently common for your tastes?”

His brother spluttered at his rudeness but she didn’t flinch.

“They served their pottage in a pie,” she said loudly. “It was not as good as our kitchen serves.” She sent a brave smile to the knock-kneed servant, who was approaching to refill his cup once more. “And how was your day?” she ventured, squaring her shoulders.

She was surprisingly resilient this little wife of his, Mason acknowledged as he pushed away his half-eaten plate. He had no stomach for food this evening. Not when his muscles clenched and roiled with tension. What the fuck was wrong with him? He felt wrong footed. Out of sorts.

“Come over here,” he said softly. “And I’ll tell you.” Her eyes grew wide and he realized they were the exact shade of peridot. He dragged his chair back from the table a few inches and slapped his thigh. “Come, sit here.”

“She’s not a tavern wench, Mason,” his brother warned him in a low voice.

“She’s mine and I’ll treat her how I damn well like,” he hissed back. “And she’s not as sheltered as she once was, are you Linnet?”