Page 89 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

“You wanted it. We’re having it.”

“With the tents?” she persisted. “And the entertainers.”

“Musicians, tumblers, acrobats, jesters. The lot.”

She stared down at him. “You did all that? For me?”

“Well, I only really gave the word, Linnet. Robards is doing all the actual hard work.”

A tear splashed off his face. “Linnet,” he groaned. “Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” she sobbed. “Because I’m h-happy! Because you made all my dreams come true!

“Shhhhhh, he said, pulling her face back down to rest on his chest, his hands stroking gently up her back. “Go to sleep. You’re overtired.”

She sighed, turned her face, and kissed his neck. “You know, you really are as good as Maurency.”

He tensed again slightly. “There she is,” he mused. “The woman I love, glibly throwing around another man’s name as I’m on the brink of sleep.”

She gave a soft snore and he smiled.

Epilogue

2 weeks later, Cadwallader Castle, The Summerlands, Karadok

Linnet hung onto Mason’s arm as the acrobats all dressed in black and yellow formed their pyramid. She gasped along with the rest of the crowd as the uppermost fellow teetered and pulled expressions of terror on his rubbery face.

“Mason . . . ” she started, tugging on his sleeve.

“He’s not going to fall, my love,” he sighed, patting her hand.

“But he looks awfully precarious,” she pointed out. “The poor man doesn’t seem to have the slightest head for heights.”

Mason rolled his eyes. “Just wait.”

“I really think we’re going to have to intervene.”

Suddenly the accompanying musician ceased beating on his small drum and the acrobat promptly righted himself, drew three yellow balls from his baggy, silk trews, and started juggling whilst whistling a nonchalant tune.

“You see, he’s fine,” said Mason indulgently.

The audience erupted into gales of laughter and Linnet let out a sigh of relief.

“Now this is the best tent yet,” said Cuthbert with satisfaction as he tucked into another sticky piece of marchpane.

Linnet looked around for his grandmother. “Where’s Mother Ames?” she asked. “She was here a minute ago.”

“She’s in the ale tent with Mrs. Wickers,” shrugged Cuthbert. Everyone had pronounced Mrs. Wickers’s specially made commemorative Cadwallader honey ale excellent.

“Oh, is she helping out?” asked Linnet. “It was very busy in there.”

“Not her. She’s playing cards with the fool,” said Cuthbert. “He’s quite skilled at cards,” he said. “You wouldn’t think he would be, would you?”

“Funny that,” commented Mason drily. “But I wouldn’t recommend any of the locals to play cards with this lot. I suspect your grandmother will be alright though.”

“Oh, she’ll be alright,” agreed Cuthbert. “When I last saw her she’d won his bells and his floppy hat.”

Mason, who had spent all morning avoiding being hit with the fool’s inflated bladder on a stick, looked heartened by this news.