“My sisters?”
“I will choose husbands for them.”
Her stomach cramped painfully. Adele despised the thought of marriage, and Gwyneth needed a man who could see past her beauty to the caring woman that lay beneath.
“What of the land?” she asked.
“I am claiming the land as payment for wrongs occurred. The king has already granted me the port in the contract for this marriage.”
Her father would never agree to that. He had powerful contacts everywhere and hated the king with a loathing passion. Even from a dungeon, he would rally men, and then all of them would die in the aftermath. “But the land is my brother’s inheritance.”
“Then he should pay more attention to the happenings on it.”
“He is…occupied.” She could not tell him of Nathan’s semi-exile into Italy. Of the issues he had with her father or how much she resented that he was able to leave—because he was a man—while she had to stay here, locked in her chamber. Still, she would not abandon him. “Mayhap if he were to make recompense? He is a good man and would no doubt swear fealty to you as overlord.”
Montgomery straightened, walked to her and laid his hand on her shoulder. His eyes were merciless, as blue and stormy as the sea. “I tire of your delays. Deal or no?”
She ran her finger along the edge of the desk. “And if I say ‘nay’?”
“You won’t.”
Anger flashed inside her. “I might.”
He smirked. “Then I can call the priest and insist he witness the consummation. The union won’t be as agreeable as a truce just between the two of us. But it will be as effective.”
The blackheart. He knew she would not leave her family or the castlefolk to their folly, fools that they were.
“You said that was not the bargain you wished to make.”
He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I could easily change my mind. I do not think you would find my touch as gruesome as you pretend, even without a bargain for your sisters’ lives. Asides, as you have stated, we are already properly wed so it would not be considered force.”
She hated him. Loathed him. “Just because I do not fight you physically, does not mean my consent is not forced.”
He shrugged, an appalling arrogant gesture.
Her mind raced for a way to even the battlefield, to bargain for better terms of surrender.
For one, she needed Montgomery slightly off balance. All during this negotiation, his gaze had roved over her plain kirtle in the same way she herself scrutinized a blank canvas to see what lay within it.
She had no particular qualms about losing her virginity—she’d long thought that being a maiden was a hindrance to her artwork.
She stared at him for a moment, at his tall, warrior form, trying to take it all in. Shadows and light shifted across his body.
“Why do you want me and not my sister?” The question jumped awkwardly from her lips as if it were a one-legged frog. Still…she wanted to know. Every man wanted Gwyneth. None wanted her.
He cocked his head to one side, his perfect jawline forming a sharp line against the backdrop of the swinging bed curtains. “Who is to say that I do not want you both?”
The bastard!
“Did you not just say that I could take whom I wanted as a willing bed partner instead of you?” he asked.
Humiliation clogged her throat. “So, I am to sacrifice myself—fulfill your every whim, but you are still free to make a sham of our marriage?”
“If you are holding your bargain of fulfilling my every desire, then there will be no sham of marriage.”
She huffed. “That’s disgusting.”
At once, he stepped toward her and ran his thumb along her collarbone.
Shivering, she turned away, but he caught her chin within his fingers and turned her face up to his.
“Do not pretend there is no heat between us. Brenna, you need not fear that I will humiliate you by taking both you and your sister to my bed. You are interesting, she is not.”
Brenna blinked, stunned. A shot of desire streaked through her betraying body. Interesting? Her, the scarred one? She pressed her lips together, unsure what to make of this development or how to play it to her advantage. She had no experience in seducing men to her will.
Without giving herself a chance to think it through, she pulled the string on her blouse and let it gape down so that the deep curves of her breasts and the soft pink skin of her areola showed.
Montgomery took in a sharp breath.
She smiled, glad his arrogance was not as much a stronghold as she had first thought. The flow of power turned slightly her direction.
“You surprise me, my lady.”
Gazing fully into his eyes, she pulled the string down lower until the fabric hung just under her nipple. “Afore I agree to your devil’s bargain, I insist you treat my sisters with fairness and allow them to remain unmarried.”
Montgomery’s eyes darkened. “’Tis enough that they are allowed to live.”
“They do not want husbands.”
“’Tis a noblewoman’s place to marry.”
“I’ll not have you send my sisters to be wives to ogres.”
“I will give them a choice of several men, but they will marry. Deal or no?”
Brenna rushed the rest of her words, not wanting to lose courage. “I want my father kept out of London and you must give my brother audience and a chance to make recompense for the harm done to you. That you will take the land only as overlord, not dismiss us altogether.”
Her indignation seethed; her family did not deserve the bargain she had made for them. But she could not leave them to suffer.
She held her breath as Montgomery’s brows slammed together and his gaze moved from her breast to her face. She had already asked for a lot in granting favor with her sisters. Asking for her father to stay out of London and her family to remain in possession of the land was an impossible boon.
“And,” she continued recklessly onward, “I would like my paints unlocked.”
Montgomery’s fingers tightened on her shoulder.
Her heart slammed into her ribcage as he deliberated for what seemed like hours.
Embarrassed that she was playing the part of a tawdry whore, she lifted her blouse back over her breast and gave him a glower. She knew the effect was ruined by the chains, but didn’t care.
Gripping both of her shoulders, he lifted her to her feet and turned her around slowly. Warmth radiated from his skin.
Her heart dropped. Victory had been so close. “What are you doing?”
“Inspecting my prize.”
“You did that already!” she huffed.
“Nay. Afore I was checking for weapons. You have sweetened your pot, and I would like to sweeten mine as well.”
She clenched her jaw, unsure what to do or say.
“So your negotiation,” he said, continuing to turn her around in a tight circle, “is that I remain as overlord only rather than owner, treat your sisters with kindness, not send your father to London, and agree to parley with your brother.”
“Y–yea.” Her cheeks heated and she felt hot. Very hot. His scent teased her nostrils—something about it reminded her of ocean adventures and salt spray, but that made no sense at all. “And to paint,” she added. She waited for him to agree to the new terms.
A moment stretched. Then another.
“If I allow you to paint, my pot needs to be sweetened indeed. Painting will take time from your wifely duties.”
If she could kick him, she would. Frustration burned inside her, and she longed to move, to fidget, to ask him what the bloody hell he was doing. But such action would reverse the subtle power that had flowed in her direction.
“And in return,” he continued, “you will vow to ne’er lift a hand to injure me or any of my men. In addition, you will cater to my every whim, allow me complete reign over your body and serve me with a kind and properly submissive spirit. And you will bear heirs for me.”
“Yea, my lord,” she said.
“You do not ask that the chains be taken off?”
Was he tempting her to push him? This game he played confused her. She licked her lips, weighing her words. “I would very much like the chains to be taken off, but I will not ask for small favors when large ones hang in the balance. I’ll wear them gracefully so long as it pleases you for me to do so. But I hope you will consider removing them in the future.”
Her answer seemed to gratify him, but he made no comment on it. “Will you ask that I be gentle?”
She looked him over, from his short raven hair to his tall black boots. Standing there in front of her bed, he looked like some ancient king, ready to conquer. Her earlier fear that he would not fit inside her returned in full force.
“I have seen the size of your manhood, and I do not believe that it will fit with gentleness.”
At that, he actually blinked. And then he grinned. A twinkle formed in his eyes.
He ran his finger around the area of skin where her veil connected with her forehead. His touch was whispery soft.
“If you give yourself to me, I can assure pleasure for both of us.”
She scoffed, the sound coming out like a strangled laugh. Pleasure? For both of them? What pleasure could her enemy offer her?
“You are a handsome man, and I assume you have some skill as a lover. If you intended to brutalize me, we would not be having this discussion at all. But pleasure?”
He quirked a brow and ran his fingertip slowly up and down her arm. The calluses on his fingers hinted at how enticing his touch would be on other areas.
Heat pooled into her woman’s core. Bloody betraying body!
“Trust me,” he whispered.
Trust him? Ludicrous! His condescending mannerism made her want to hurl a rotten egg at him.
The moment lengthened between them, and she realized he was deathly serious. The arrogant dunderhead.
It was the same as it had been when her neck was stretched over the chopper’s block, and she just wanted to hurry the seconds along.
She gritted her teeth. Painting had always been her pleasure. It had always been enough, and he had taken that from her. “While you can command my compliance, you cannot command me to have pleasure.” She felt stronger just saying that. She wanted to keep something for herself. “Do not speak of pleasure when we both know my willing compliance is all you desire. I tire of your delays. Deal or no?” she asked, turning his own words back on him.
Instead of answering, he turned her until she stood with her back against his chest. Snaking an arm around her waist, he pulled her upward onto her tiptoes.
She gasped as she became slightly off balance, held in place only by the strength of his massive arms. “Wh–what are you doing?” she asked, then wanted to slap herself for stuttering. Mentally, she reached inside herself for her earlier bravado. But she felt off-kilter.
He leaned forward until his lips touched the crest of her ear. “If we do come to an acceptable bargain, I won’t harm you. In this you can trust me.”
She shivered as his breath caressed her cheek. Regardless of the evil between them, there was something heady about being so close to such an attractive warrior.
“Will you allow us to keep the land?” she asked, trying to steer the conversation to less treacherous topics. To pretend he did not entice her, that his voice wasn’t as enchanting as a warm summer day. She hated herself for the lapse in judgment.
Slowly, he slid his free hand up her spine until it rested betwixt her shoulder blades. She quivered, fragile as a broken limb after a storm.
“And if I do, will you agree to comply with whatever I ask of you without question?”
“I–I agree,” she said slowly, shuddering at the finality of the words and for the horrid betraying shiver of lust that spread through her.
“Bend forward,” he commanded, pressing firmly on her upper back.
“What are you doing?”
“Testing your sincerity. Let me take your weight on my arm.”
She did so, feeling herself pitch forward toward the floor and be suspended on his arm like a rag doll. What an awkward, disconcerting position! In all her paintings, nowhere in her imagination had she ever conjured a scene such as this.
Breathless and slightly dizzy, she stared at the floor planks. The patterns in the wood swirled before her eyes.
He scrunched her skirt up over her hips. Ne’er in her life had she felt so vulnerable and helpless. Or so disconcerted. Or hot. The whirl of emotions made it hard to think.
Should she fight? Remain still? Just as he promised, he wasn’t hurting her, just holding her.
The hand between her shoulders trailed once again down her spine, made tight circles on both sides of her upper back then caressed over her bottom and down one of her legs. Tightness tingled in the area betwixt her thighs as if her body had no qualms whatsoever about the graceless and unartful pose it was in.
Her cheeks prickled with embarrassment as she realized he was staring at her buttocks. She could only imagine what she must look like from this position.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she waited, knowing this was merely a test of wills.
She would win. Like a strong warrior queen, she would clench her jaw and bear whatever he planned, she vowed silently.
Separating her buttocks slightly, he ran his finger down the sensitive crease where her thighs joined her bottom. The movement was slow and gentle, teasing.
More dizziness. More heat. Wetness formed within her woman’s core. The world seemed to lose focus save for the feel of his fingers drawing close but not quite touching the sensitive area just to one side of his hand.
What a horrid, terrible sensation. If he knew in any way that she felt even the slightest desire, he would crush her in a way that would leave her devastated. She vowed to not react.
He made another slow burning line with his finger, and she gasped, devastated to realize there was no way to merely tolerate his caress. She was floating, tethered to the earth by his touch. For a daft moment, she just wanted to hang suspended in his arms forever.
The thought sent a terrifying knot through her body, jolting her back to the present. She had assumed he was interested in simple compliance from her, no matter how grudgingly it was given. But now she understood better: he intended to break her spirit and master her as one would a pet.
Humiliating! Disgusting!
She opened her mouth to tell him their bargain was off.
“I agree to your terms,” he said. “The land will remain in your family’s name until the Martinmas Tournament where your brother will be given opportunity to make recompense. Your father will remain with my brother rather than be taken to London, and your sisters will have some say in choosing a husband.”
Choking back her words, she clenched her teeth. If she could reach her brother, they could put the issue aright. Then somehow, she would find a way to escape from this marriage. She could not stay here and allow herself to be vanquished by this man.
She would have to be very careful to only grant him leave of her body but keep her soul intact.
Chapter Ten
Her smooth rounded bottom tempted James to untie his brais and plunge into her even knowing she wasn’t ready. Her position of being draped over his arm, open and available for his every desire stretched the limits of his control. He wanted to take her, to bury himself inside her. To not even take the time to remove her chains or soothe her humiliation of wearing them while he swived her.
He held her for a second longer, enjoying the feel of her stomach pressed against his forearm. Her little whimpers of vulnerability ignited a dark urge.
The woman addled his brain. How could he be so bloody stupid as to allow her family to remain in possession of
the land!
The desire to swive her, to possess her, coursed through his mind. She’s yours. Take her. She’s a wife to tup, not a mistress to seduce. She’s already given her consent.
She was trembling, partly in fear, he knew. But there were other levels of complexity to this woman. And not all her quivers came from fear. He would deal with her pleasure later, for now he would take what was his. All the trickery that she’d done left little room for mercy where she was concerned.
It was on the edge of his tongue to tell her to hike her skirt and get on her knees with her arse facing him. He yanked her upright, the dark thought sending a quiver of terror through him. Passions of that sort would tear down the tightly controlled life he’d spent years carefully building.
The chains clanked. The short cap she was wearing fell aside. It tumbled to the floor planks. Red-blond curls sprang loose and frizzed around the top of her scalp.
Gasping, she hurriedly covered her hair with her hands and lunged for the covering. Her bonds toppled her off balance, and she stumbled to the floor, falling onto her buttocks as she scrambled for the covering.
“What the hell?” He stomped the linen cap with his boot, preventing her from snatching it so he could get a good look at her uncovered head.
Not attempting to rise, she trembled and covered her head with her hands.
Dear Christ. Her hair was horrid. Unruly. Uneven. It looked as though someone had taken a battle-axe to it.
“What the devil happened to your hair?” he bellowed. Had he been given a plague victim to wed? Was that why the sisters had switched places?
Cowering on the floor with her arms and hands covering as much of her hair as she could manage, she turned wide-eyed to him. She looked terrified, as though afraid he would beat her or take back the compromise she’d fought for.
“Are you ill?”
“Nay.”
“Have you been ill?”
“Nay.”
“The plague?”
“Nay.”
“Smallpox?”
“Nay!”
He loomed over her, wanting to intimidate the truth out of her. “I swear, Brenna, if I catch you lying again and I’ve been given a plague-infested wife—”
The Pleasures of Sin Page 11