He stared down at her noting the fluttering pulse in her neck that beat against the tattered neckline of her kirtle. Her clothing was practically rags compared to the finely stitched and trimmed gown her sister wore.
“Your sister offered herself as my concubine,” he whispered. “What is your offer?”
She stiffened so fully, he thought her back might fly apart from the effort. “Rape me if you will, but I’ll not cede the same promise my sister gave.” Her voice shook, but she did not flinch away from him. “My family has brought me much trouble and I had planned to flee afore you arrived. I’ll not become your compliant puppet to save them from themselves.”
He scrutinized her face, noting the stubborn set of her jaw, the fierce frown furrowing her brow. She had wide green eyes with two spots of brown in the left one. They burned with resolve as she gazed back at him. The scar crossing her cheek was thin and somewhat faded. In any event, the red line did not distract from the comeliness of his new bride.
“Tsk. Tsk. Such sisterly love.”
Her eyes flashed. “Do not chide me for lack of sisterly love when you are scarce more than a brute and know nothing about my family.”
Her words pinched his conscience, but he shoved the feelings aside. “Explain to me these issues. ’Tis clear that you are not so esteemed as your sister. Your clothing is plain to the point of near raggedness while your sister wears fine embroidery.”
Brenna lifted her chin as if to show off the scar on her cheek. Did he see hurt in her eyes before haughtiness had covered it up?
“Methinks you are not so immune to your sister’s plight as you pretend or you would not have switched places with her in the first place.”
“As I said, I thought we would not stay married.”
“But we are.”
Her brow furrowed even more. “You cannot keep me bound forever.”
Her insolence goaded him. “But I can,” he said darkly. “I can keep you bound and force you to my will for the rest of your life—serving me night and day in any way that pleases me.”
She swallowed. “I–I’ll find a way free.”
“Your easiest way to freedom is to please me.”
She caught his fingers beneath hers. A calculating gaze formed in her eyes. “And how may I please you, my lord?”
Heat, hot and fast, filled his groin. He knew—knew!—she had not meant the question the way his body took it, but something about her fired an interest he’d thought long dead. She was being smart and cunning, not truly wanting to please him, but his cock did not care.
At once, he determined to have her agree to the same terms Gwyneth had offered. No matter her protestations that she would not agree to such to save her sister, he did not believe she would be so cold.
“It would please me to have you on your knees, naked and begging at my feet with the same question,” he said, allowing the dark goal to turn over in his mind. His member tightened. ’Twould be true and complete abolishment of her pride. He’d seen her anger. Her fervor. To have all that passion as his to command was a very, very heady idea.
“And if I do so, will you release me from these chains and leave my sisters alone?”
“I thought you cared naught for your sisters,” he taunted.
She turned her face aside, but not before he saw the pain on her features. She cared deeply for her family, and it angered her that she did. But, no matter, if there was to be peace between them, it would have to start in private. And her concern for her family would be a sharp weapon indeed.
“Methinks you care deeply for your sisters, both the beautiful one and the uncanny one. And there is your father and the castlefolk to concern yourself with as well. Your dishonesty does not please me. Why was I not told of the switch in brides sooner?”
She huffed. “While you were busy imprisoning my father, attacking my home, nearly beheading me and locking me in chains, there was no time.”
Her wit caught him off guard, and he lifted a brow. For certes, the wench had nerve. She intrigued him in ways her beauteous sister did not and he felt stirring in his loins.
“Come, captive wife,” he said, “we go to the bedchamber to make a bargain.”
Chapter Nine
A streak of cold terror shivered through Brenna at the direness of the situation and the sort of bargain that a demon like Montgomery would propose. For certes, it would involve the taking of her virginity. She had expected that act for hours—but she feared he had more in mind than merely pushing his rod inside her and consummating the marriage. The unholy interest in his eyes when he’d said he wanted her naked and begging at his feet terrified her.
Light flowed through the arrowloops, and dust motes danced in the sunbeams as they walked down the hallway. She gazed back and forth, trying to find a place to run and hide. But, chained as she was, she was well and fully defeated and they both knew it.
She squared her shoulders, determined to submit to her wifely duties with resolute bravery: she would become as still as one of her miniatures—not fight him no matter how he humiliated her. She would think about paint and colors and the smell of gesso, and try to memorize what she could to add to her next set of miniatures. Surely, the act, no matter how heinous, would not take long, and she could treat it as a way to enrich her art.
If she was ever allowed to paint again.
Images of how large his manhood had been in the bathing tub interrupted her vow to stay calm. She’d drawn her own private parts enough to know he would not fit inside her without a great deal of force. Her opening slit was small, tender…and his manroot had been thick. And hard.
Her trepidation intensified as they neared her chamber. What sort of bargain did he want? She could not imagine anything he had not already taken from her. Her home. Her freedom. Her pride. They were all toys crushed in his monstrous hands. He had even locked away her paints and brushes.
At last they reached her chamber. He flung open the door, hauled her inside and turned to stare at her.
She ran her hand across the edge of her wrist bond, feeling as conspicuous as a lone spot of paint against a white cloth. Would he pound into her while she was still chained? That would be the ultimate humiliation.
For an instant, she wished she would faint again.
Anger at her sisters and her father swam through her in a red haze. If they had not defied the king with the wedding, she would not have to mop up their mess with her very life and body. It would serve them right for her to deny Montgomery’s every wish and leave them to their folly.
The door slammed shut, a horrid echoing sound like that of a future of independence being closed.
“You will give your enthusiastic willing consent to fulfill my every whim in bed in exchange for your father and sister’s life,” he said without preamble.
Enthusiastic! His every whim! Did the man expect her to pretend some sort of feeling for him or thrill for what he was forcing on her? She fisted her hands on her hips.
“Just rape me and be done with it!” ’Twas a wonder the bloody beast had not jumped on her already. “I’m already bound. Do your worst.”
He stalked to the bed, leaned a hip against one of the posts and crossed his arms over his chest. “That is not the bargain I wish to make.”
“I do not want to bargain with you at all!”
“But you want out of the bonds. And you want your family and home to be safe.”
She glared at him, furious that he spoke truth and enraged by his smooth control. If he had tossed her straightaway to the bed, she would have had defenses against that. But, this, this disgusting, calculated assault incensed her.
“I want your active support to bring peace to the region.”
“Bah. What do men know of peace? All they think of is war.”
“I’m not thinking of war right now.”
She stared at his overly perfect face, at the thick biceps that bulged against his tunic and the trim hip propped against the mattress. His calm goaded her. If he was
waiting for her to come offer herself, he could damn well wait all night.
“We are married—the church would claim that I belong to you and it would be neither force or rape,” she spat out, angry she bespoke the truth.
“Point taken.” He lifted a brow, and for an instant she feared he would do just that. Mayhap a softer approach would be more prudent.
“Why don’t you take a willing woman to fulfill your needs instead of me?” she said reasonably.
“Because you are my wife, and that is adultery.”
“But I would not mind, I swear it.”
His lips lifted into a small smile, as if he was enjoying their discussion. The blackheart. “Swiving one of them would not consummate our marriage.”
“We could put chicken blood on the bed if you need proof of the consummation.”
He held up a hand. “Peace, Brenna. There will be no chicken blood here. ’Tis the two of us that need to work out our own union. Asides, I want children.”
Children!
“Of all the horrid things.” A lump settled in her throat. The vision of her quiet career as a convent artist crashed to the ground as she imagined herself being pulled this way and that by a passel of brats, her stomach as rounded as Meiriona’s had been.
She looked around her chamber, wanting to focus on the desk, the window, the floor—anything but what might occur on the bed. The consummation alone would have been bad enough. But children?
“I am not a broodmare.”
“Women love children.”
She snarled her lip. “Not this one.” Children were the epitome of duty and concern. The noose of responsibility that would suck her artwork dry. Already Bishop Humphrey had refused to show her paintings at the town’s cathedral hall because of her gender. He had railed at her for doing artwork instead of doing her God-given duty to marry, stay home, and raise a family. She wanted naught to do with having children.
He gave her one long blink. “I need an heir.”
She stared at him, again angry with her family and with herself for not completing the act of slaying him. Of course, she could breed from the first act of consummation—from the taking of her virginity—but she knew that was unlikely. God only knew how many times they would have to copulate in order for her to become pregnant with his brats. “Nay.”
He cocked his head to one side. “What do you understand about the relations between a man and a woman?”
She shrugged, uncertain where this conversation was going now or why he had changed the focus. “The usual things.”
“And what would those usual things be?”
If he thought to intimidate her with frank talk, he was mistaken. Brother Giffard, who she sold her miniatures to, and she had had many such discussions. ’Twas not talking about the act or painting the act that frightened her…but the thought of actually doing the act and then the inevitable results of it that left her shaken to the core.
“A woman opens her legs and the man pushes his manroot inside her,” she said, wanting to meet his crude talk with bluntness of her own.
“I see. So you understand what is expected?”
His enigmatic mannerism crawled under her skin. Why did he have to seem so smug, so sure of his knowledge? She knew as well as he how the act was performed. She had been painting that sort of picture for years. “Of course. I’m not a ninny, you know.”
He thumbed his jaw, as if debating the next question to ask, and she realized her uppityness was not helping the situation. She needed rationality if she was going to take any control of this situation.
“I understand what is expected of me, my lord,” she said with as much calm as she could muster.
His eyes smoldered, like twin blue coals from the pits of hell. “Nay, my lady. I do not think you understand at all. I want a willing and submissive wife.”
“I will not fight you, if that’s what you mean!” She held up her fist and shook the chain. “I could not do so, no matter how much I want to.” If she thought it would do her any good, she’d beat on the door and yell for help, but she knew it would not.
Without moving from his position by the bed, he smiled outright then. A perfect, feral grin.
Only…his smile wasn’t perfect.
Stunned, she blinked: his teeth were dazzling to behold, white, large…but the front two overlapped slightly.
Overlapped!
Not much, just a tiny amount, enough to add warmth to his presence and make him adorable and boyish rather than such a cold beauty.
His smile made him human. It was the first imperfection she’d seen on his otherwise magnificent form. There was no way to iron out his teeth the way he had his servants iron the wrinkles from his tunics. Had she seen his grin on their wedding night, she would have been unable to use the knife altogether. His smile was boyish. Charming. Almost sweet.
Shaking her mind clear, she willed herself back to the present situation. There was nothing sweet about the man. Especially not with his demanding goals of raping her until she was breeding with his brat. She needed to formulate a plan, to turn the tide in her direction.
“My lady,” he continued. “I want so much more than merely the absence of having to force you. I seek a bargain.”
“A bargain?” That sounded horrible. Especially if it involved having his heirs. No matter what other bargains were foisted on her, she would not have babies. Silently, she made a vow to speak to Adele or one of the maids about ways to prevent children until she was able to escape.
“I want to be able to walk around without worrying where the next knife stroke or trickery will come from. The lives of your father and sisters in exchange for your vow that you will ne’er fight me in any way. I seek a quiet, calm marriage”—he lowered his voice—“and all that that entails in the bedchamber.”
She gasped. “Never could I agree to a quiet marriage. Oft my tongue gets the best of me.”
Straightening, he fisted his hands on his hips. “Then you should learn to curb it—for the sake of your family.”
Another threat. She gritted her teeth. “’Tis a devil’s bargain. My family does not deserve my concern.”
He shrugged, and even that seemed precise and calculated. Both terrifying and thrilling in its masculine display. “Concern for our families rarely has anything to do with whether or not they deserve it. ’Twas what your sister offered in exchange for your life—complete submission in my bed.”
A horrifying image of herself in twenty years bit into her imagination…she would still be wearing chains, but now stooped and humpback from the daily bowing to his every whim. Her fingers would be rubbed raw from the grinding daily tasks he set her about—and all to save a sister and father who cared so little for her that they locked her in her room for a year and embroiled her in a desperate plot to kill The King’s Enforcer.
“I–I cannot do it,” she stammered.
He must have caught the look on her face, because his demeanor softened slightly. “I will offer you this, Brenna: I want a wife, not a puppet. You may speak freely so long as you are respectful about any concerns you have about politics, the people, my policies or the running of the castle.”
“How bloody magnanimous,” she muttered sarcastically. She wanted to be free in her own right, able to paint and fight as she willed. Why had God cursed her such to be born a woman?
“But concerning the intimate acts between us, you must allow me free roam of your body and give yourself to me without question.”
For a moment she fought the urge to scream, to rail at God for the unfairness of it all. She was glad Montgomery did not mention children again, because she would have screamed then. But, there were herbs to take so that babies could be prevented without his knowledge. Ne’er would she bear his heir!
“And in exchange for these things you will free me from these cursed chains?”
“Nay.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “But you will allow my family to be free?”
“Nay.”
Breaking away from his nearness, she paced to her bare art desk. The need to sit and hold a paintbrush just so that something would seem normal nearly overwhelmed her. But her paints were locked away and her fingers felt empty and restless.
Silence engulfed the chamber like a heavy cloud.
Exasperated that he did not lead the conversation further or seem to be in any hurry with this damned bargain, she huffed out a breath. “What is my consent buying, sirrah?”
“My good graces. And do not call me that.”
“Your good graces?” She rattled the band around her wrist and glanced out the window into the bailey, noting the various guards stationed around the walls. At the new targets that had been set up for the men to practice with their swords and bows. “You have taken my father captive, forced a marriage upon us, locked away my paint supplies, whipped and enchained me. What good graces do you have?”
“Your father would not be captive, nor your castle be under guard had your family followed the king’s orders. As I have already stated, ’tis within my power to have everyone in your castle not only displaced from their land, but to have them beaten and imprisoned as well.”
Brenna sucked in a breath as she was reminded again of the power The Enforcer controlled. They were all at his complete mercy. Her footing here was as dangerous as taking her illegal paintings to market. The lot she had been dealt was not fair.
But it was not only Gwyneth and her father at risk. But Adele. And Brother Giffard. And the servants at the castle. Like Jennet and those two bitches Genna and Ysanne. And the peasants in the village.
“And if I give my willing consent in your bed, you will not harm the people?”
“Not so long as they give an oath of fealty to me.”
“And my family?”
“The same.”
“You mean to imprison them?” She squirmed on the stool, and tapped the table with her fingertips.
“Nay, only detain. Unless there are further disturbances.”
“Detained?”
“Better the dungeon than the gallows.”
The Pleasures of Sin Page 10