Page 51 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

“Get on it at once. We need large quantities of ale, wine, and roast meats.” Inspiration struck and his frown cleared. “Order everything the Lady Linnet accounted for in her ledger for the marriage feast.”

“Everything, sir?” gasped Robards. “But we won’t scarcely have enough salted meats in stock to cover such an event . . . ”

“Order it in,” answered Mason coolly. “The coffers are spilling over with the taxes the people have paid. Let’s give them a feast day to remember.”

“But, sir!” objected Robards, hurrying along beside him as Mason started to leave the room. “What of the entertainment for all these people?”

“Send someone to the nearest city,” shrugged Mason. “Commission tumblers, jesters, and musicians. As many as you can find.”

“Tumblers?” echoed Robards, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Why, I would scarcely know where to start!”

“Try the alehouses,” suggested Mason drily. “Send someone who has some experience of the town. Not some farm boy fresh from the field.”

Robards had whipped a small book from his pocket and started to make notes. He nodded rapidly. “I will, of course, check my every order, every step of the way with you . . . ”

“Pray don’t!” Mason interrupted him sharply. “I am leaving this in your capable hands Robards. I have given you the budget and your instructions. “

Robards flushed. “But sir . . . ”

“I believe you have already proven yourself trustworthy. Don’t make me reconsider.”

“Yes sir!”

Mason halted. “Three weeks hence,” he said thoughtfully. “From today.”

“Three weeks?” uttered Robards faintly. “But Sir! I’m not sure ’tis possible!”

“Nonsense. Get those striped tents out of storage.” He turned on his heel and started across the courtyard.

Now the decision was made, Mason found himself remarkably sanguine about the whole affair. It seemed a simple way to achieve his aims with the minimum of effort on his behalf. True, there would be a whole day of parading before the castle’s retainers, but that could be borne. And then things would seem more established before he returned to court to take up his duties as Wymer’s newest general. The whole neighborhood, the whole county, would know whose wife Linnet was, he thought with satisfaction. His step faltered a moment when he caught the direction of his own thoughts. Then he shrugged it off. After all, he was possessive of his sword, he tended to it himself. He’d never owned much, and what he had, he had guarded jealously. But that had never included women, an annoying voice in his head pointed out, shattering his assurance. He frowned. But Linnet was his wife. And that meant Linnet was an extension of his property. Yes, that made sense. He relaxed, he was in control. There was nothing to worry about. Coming out of his reverie, he found Cuthbert escorting a stranger towards the castle, talking to him nineteen to the dozen, as if he were an old friend. He heard Linnet’s name mentioned a handful of times, shooting his calm all to hell! Who the devil is that?

“Cuthbert!” he shouted. They both halted in their tracks and swung back to look at him. Cuthbert was gesturing and no doubt explaining who he was as Mason strode towards them.

“Mr. Postner is here to see my lady,” said Cuthbert.

“Sir Mason,” the other man bowed. He was dressed rather fussily in a mustard-colored tunic and matching hose.

Mason glared at him. “And you are?”

“Postner. The tailor.”

Mason’s brow cleared. “I see.” She had mentioned a tailor. He cleared his throat. “You may proceed.” They had only taken two steps before he called them back. “Not the bedchamber,” he said abruptly.

Mr. Postner’s jaw dropped.

“Lady Linnet said to take him to the solar,” piped up Cuthbert helpfully.

“The solar,” repeated Mason. “Right.” He nodded. “Proceed.”

Postner was looking at him rather nervously. “My lord?”

“She needs an occasion dress. For a feast,” Mason suddenly remembered. “In three weeks’ time.”

“Three weeks?”

“Make it blue.”

Postner swallowed. “Lady Linnet said she already had the materials to be used for her wardrobe.”