Page 90 of Her Baseborn Bridegroom

Cecil Robards appeared briefly in the tent entrance looking harassed. He scanned the crowd and then hurried over.

“Has anyone seen the lute player, my lord, my lady?” he asked distractedly. “The musicians were supposed to start in the red tent directly and only half of them are assembled!”

“I’m afraid not,” said Linnet. “Oh dear, I don’t think Robards is enjoying himself,” she said guiltily as he beat a hasty retreat.

“We’ll give him a holiday when it’s all over,” said Mason.

“That’s a good idea,” Linnet beamed at him.

He slipped an arm about her waist and kissed her cheek.

“Feeling alright?” he murmured. Linnet’s morning sickness had not abated one bit in the two weeks that had passed, but mercifully, after she’d been up and about for an hour or so, it passed.

She nodded and leant into him, wrapping her arms about his waist. “Mother Ames suggested I try some of the gingerbread. Apparently it’s very good for queasiness.”

Mason looked over at the trays of sweetmeats and candied fruits uncertainly. “Do you want me to fetch you some?”

She shook her head. “I feel fine now.”

“Good,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

“I sent Oswald off to give Enid a tour of the grounds,” said Linnet with self-satisfaction. “Did they not make a handsome pair?” She cast a sidelong look at her husband.

“I didn’t notice,” he replied aggravatingly. “Stop plotting. You’ve enough to occupy yourself madam wife, without adding matchmaking to your list.”

Linnet opened her mouth to protest but was cut off.

“Cuddling,” said a loud voice with disgust. “I might have known it!”

Linnet had to turn her head as Mason made not even the smallest effort to release her. It was her father-in-law, with a tankard of ale.

“Good brew this,” he commented. “Pleasant aftertaste.”

“We’re so glad you approve, Father,” said Linnet warmly. “I shall pass your comments on to Mrs. Wickers.”

“Aye, you do that. Or maybe I’ll tell her myself,” he added thoughtfully.

“Oh, there’s Roland,” said Linnet as her youngest brother-in-law sauntered past the tent, escorting a dark young woman on his arm.

“Who’s that he’s with?” asked Baron Vawdrey in astonishment.

“Oh that?” asked Linnet so casually that Mason’s head turned to look at her in sudden suspicion. “That’s just our neighbor, Lord Lascombe’s eldest daughter Iris. Pretty isn’t she? And she plays the harp beautifully.”

“And just when did you find time to introduce them?” asked Mason. “I’ve barely taken my eyes off you all morning.”

Linnet patted him reassuringly on the arm. “There’s always time to introduce friends and neighbors,” she said. “Besides, you were distracted giving Sir Lang the news about the King’s wedding present to us.”

King Wymer had promised to send a special order discharging the forty-eight Cadwallader soldiers back home directly and they were expected any day now.

“Wouldn’t it be perfect if they showed up today and were able to join in the festivities?” sighed Linnet.

“Robards would probably expire on the spot,” observed Mason drily. The castle steward’s hair had grown even thinner in the last three weeks since they had been at court. “He’ll be heartily glad when today is over with!”

“Shall we move on to the next tent?” asked Linnet. “We still haven’t seen the ballad singers.”

Mason nodded. Baron Vawdrey had already wandered off in search of Mrs. Wickers, and Cuthbert was loth to leave the acrobats so they left him, now crunching his way through a handful of sugared almonds.

“If he gets a stomach ache,” said Mason, “I expect his grandmother can cure it.”