Adele wrinkled her nose and waved her hand to dismiss the question. “Nathan’s missive indicated ’twas imperative we get on that ship. Likely there will be a fierce battle. Will Montgomery put you in shackles again or have you won his trust?”
Picking up the key, Brenna rubbed it between her fingers, feeling the rough edges. “I–I–I do not think I will have to wear the bonds again.”
“Good. You have done well. There was some indication that Papa was with Nathan, but that was unclear.”
A knock sounded and both Brenna and her sister jumped.
“Mistress?”
’Twas Damien.
“My lord has asked that I escort you to the bailey.”
Unease snaked up her spine. A siege. A battle. Husbands for Adele and Gwyneth. Life was winding into a tight mess of confusion.
Talking with her sister had slid away the dazzling, rainbow vision she’d had of Montgomery this morn and, even without the chains, she felt the collar heavy about her throat.
“I shall be out anon,” she called to Damien. Biting her lip, she slipped the key into her bodice. She would speak to her husband about the marriage of her sisters, see if she could untangle some of the knots.
“Later we will make plans.” Adele turned toward the door, clapping her hands for Panthos and Duncan to follow.
Brenna rehearsed words in her mind, trying to formulate the right way to speak to Montgomery about the plight of her sisters as she watched him across the bailey.
The sleeves of his tunic were rolled two crisp turns, revealing his beautiful thick forearms. Brenna felt herself go a little weak-kneed just looking at him. Silly, foolish girl.
He was directing the workmen, pointing at a pile of wood and marking something on a scroll with a quill. The sun blazed against a clear blue sky, but the air felt stifling. Spring was sliding into summer.
Servants and workmen scurried around the grass. Hammers rang. Dogs barked.
Montgomery’s eyes blazed an uncanny blue as he turned toward her. Confusion rumbled in Brenna’s stomach as lust shot through her quim.
The intensity of his gaze, the fierce possession that gleamed in his eyes spoke to a secret part of her feminine soul. She was his and she wanted to be.
But their relationship was doomed. Her brother would attack. She would be leaving for Italy, her beloved dream. She approached him, her slippers sinking into the soft earth.
Smiling, Montgomery slid an arm around her waist and kissed her fully on the lips. His generous mouth felt so right and so wrong at the same time. Even knowing their relationship was cursed, she lusted for him. Again. Now.
“You have not thanked me for removing your bonds,” he murmured in her ear, nibbling slightly on her neck.
She quirked a brow. Part of her wanted to rail at him for wanting thanks for something that never should have been. But she could not afford to be trussed back up with escape so close at hand. “I–I thank you, my lord.”
He kissed her again. “And you are welcome. But if you ever conspire escape or think of not holding to our bargain, you will be placed back in them. Perhaps for life.”
His words sobered her. Dread formed in her stomach. “You promised to give Gwyneth and Adele a choice of husbands,” she said without preamble, as if the thought would burn a hole in her tongue if not released. Silently, she prayed Adele had been mistaken, but her heart felt heavy in her chest.
He set her slightly away, a dark unsearchable look coming over his perfect features. The boyish smile disappeared and only the hardened leader remained. “It was not possible.”
Anger curled inside her, a deep agonizing hurt that she had believed his promise and had started to think their marriage had a chance of becoming real. “That was not our bargain!”
“Our bargain did not include your father’s escape either, so some changes must be compensated for.”
“We already discussed that!”
“Peace, Brenna. The king wished to see your sisters properly wed, so properly wed they will be.”
“’Tis unfair!”
He straightened, his precise, perfectly ordered persona slamming into place. “I am your husband and you will abide by my rule.”
She glared at him, frustrated helplessness coming over her. Men’s war. Always women were pawns in men’s war. Ne’er were they free to live, to travel, to paint, to make their own way as men were.
He grazed his knuckles across her cheek. Shivers ran through her in spite of her anger and frustration.
“Your sisters will be cared for. You must trust my judgment.”
“Trust your judgment?” She wanted to slap him.
“Aye, as you did last night.”
“That was—” Turning her face aside, she gazed out at the castle lawn. The grass was brown and worn with bare patches of dirt showing through: trampled because of the busy activity around the keep. Trampled as her heart had been. The lawn was brown and worn with bare patches of dirt showing through. “—Different.”
“Different? How so?” Even though she was not looking at him, she felt his gaze boring into her, hot, intense, as if he could brand her with his eyes.
“We were—” Heat prickled her cheeks. He’d bound her in an open position to the bedpost and cut off her gown with a knife. She hadn’t just trusted him. She’d enjoyed it. She’d been a full, contributing member to the passion between them. “Devil take it! That was about copulation! This is about my sisters’ lives,” she hissed.
“My captive wife”—he lifted her face back to his so she was forced to gaze into his glowing eyes—“if I won’t harm you, why would I harm those you love? The king insisted hasty unions—there was no time for courtship. If I did not choose, Edward would have. I know the men who will marry your sisters. They are good men.”
A part of her wanted to trust him and she hated that part of herself. Silly, foolish girl. “It’s not right,” she said.
“Gwyneth is not in a state of mind to choose wisely. ’Tis better for her that I make the choice.”
“Men ever think they know what is best for women.”
“The man chosen for Adele is a woodsman who loves animals.”
“She has no wish to marry at all.”
“She will accept it, just as you accepted me.” Curling his fingers around the nape of Brenna’s neck, he drew her close and kissed her again as if to prove the surety of his words.
She stiffened herself to resist, but his lips crashed on hers, stealing all her resolve. She melted against him, caught up in his spell as helpless as she had been last night.
Stupid, wanton ninny.
Guilt coursed through her. How could she have so little care for her family?
When he released her, it was on the edge of her tongue to tell him of the siege. Mayhap if she did, peace could be accomplished by talking instead of fighting.
But if he broke this promise, what would keep him from breaking the other one toward her brother?
Glancing down at the key tucked into her bodice, she reminded herself that it had only been hours since she’d been free to walk about unfettered. He was not a man who parleyed with his enemies, real or conceived.
If she told him of the plan, she would for certes find herself locked up again and her sisters as well.
And, even then, she knew she would be unable to resist the sweet, insistent call of his body.
Perhaps she could talk to Nathan herself, get him to see the futility of the siege.
A workman interrupted them, drawing her husband aside to ask his opinion about repairs to the cistern.
“I have a surprise for you,” Montgomery said to Brenna when he was finished talking with the man.
“A surprise?” Her heart sank. The last “surprise” he’d given her involved four manacles and a collar.
“Why so pale, my captive wife?” He handed his quill and scroll off to a man in a feathered hat, placed her hand in the crook of his arm.
“I do not like surprises,” she said.
/>
He led her across the bailey and out the castle’s gate. “You will like this one.”
Chapter Twenty-One
By the time they reached the town, the afternoon sun painted the land in brilliant colors. Brenna’s dread dissipated a little more with each pace down the cobbled road. Her husband’s steps were as orderly and precise as ever, but there seemed to be an ease in his stride that bespoke good tidings.
In her heart she knew she should bring the conversation back to the issues with her family so she could perhaps glean some insight on what to do. But she was reluctant to break this peace, and guiltily she enjoyed this new game they played.
“A hint of where we are heading,” she pleaded with a laugh, slightly frustrated with his mysterious glances and complete refusal to discuss the surprise.
“Nay. Trust me.” His shoulders were relaxed beneath his perfectly cared-for tunic. ’Twas clear that he had something mischievous on his mind and anticipation, even a little excitement, grew inside her.
Exasperated at his lack of answer, she blew out a breath. She had asked six times already.
He answered with looks that waffled from stern to boyish, but he would not tell her their destination.
They turned down one cobblestone path, then an alleyway, then through a tavern. It seemed he was deliberately trying to confuse her sense of direction.
Frustrating, vexing man.
He grinned as if thoroughly amused with himself. His cute overlapping teeth showed, as did the dimple on his chin. His eyes sparkled, blue and gleaming, reminding her of the ocean. A woman could become lost at sea in his gaze.
She should pinch herself, wake up from this foolish time spent, from the games they played that made her think they might have a life together.
She would be leaving in a fortnight. There could be naught but war between them.
“Best it be a grand surprise for all this trouble,” she said with mock fierceness.
“You will like it.” He led her down yet another side street. “Now stop hounding me, captive wife,” he continued, “or I’ll place the scold’s bridle on you and lead you there that way.” His tone was light and the threat without heat.
She laughed, feeling free as a child. She had completely lost her bearings and was forced to follow helplessly along after him. “I’m going to ruin my new dress!” she admonished.
“All the better so I can cut it off of you later.” He tugged her further down the cobbled street.
She did not want to fall into the trap of enjoying his presence, and yet, she already had. His teasing manner seemed to melt places in her heart that had long been frozen. Brenna wondered about the ease that had come between them. It was dangerous. More dangerous than the tension had been.
They went through a row of shrubs and then around a building and over a fence.
“You are lost,” she accused as they headed down another alleyway and finally came to a dead end at a stone wall that reached above her head.
“Of course not. I never get lost.”
“Never lost?” She smirked at the wall. The stones were old and worn with moss growing in their midst. A rotted apple core covered with ants lay at the base and a few weeds grew from cracks in the cobblestone.
James ran his fingers along the chinks between the rocks as if looking for something. She enjoyed the flex of his buttocks, the way the muscles of his thighs tightened against his hose.
“I have an innate sense of direction,” he bragged. “Always had. Probably why I love to sail so much, to feel the wind on my face.”
A vision of him, barefoot with the wind rippling through his tunic cut into her brain. His hose would be torn, ragged from days at sea and his clothing would be wrinkled with wear. Such a far cry from the precise stiffness in the man before her now. How did someone so in love with sailing, so passionate in bed, come to adopt such a rigid persona? Did it have to do with his baby and the silver locket he wore?
It struck her that there was so much she did not know about this man she was married to. “You love to sail?”
Turning, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “My brother gave me a ship. Even now, I itch to return to the sea.”
“Oh.” She cocked her head to one side, unsure why his announcement flabbergasted her. She knew he was a privateer and had his own ship. But, except for rare glances she caught when he was betwixt her legs, his head thrown back in passion, he always seemed so ordered. Precise. Exacting.
Life at sea did not suit that sort of controlled existence. Waves rolled, ships pitched; the ocean could not be ironed with the same meticulousness as the maids bestowed on his tunics.
Would he be freer out on the open water? Would he smile more—show off that pirate’s grin of his?
“Why do you like to travel?” she asked, curious to know more.
He helped her over the wall and they found themselves in the midst of a garden. “Because I am free to just be alive, to adventure and explore.”
Her heart quickened at that admission. They were not so different from each other as she had thought. “’Tis the same reason I paint,” she admitted, glancing around at the various clipped shrubs. “Where are we?”
Peonies, marigolds, lilies, and cowslip were planted in lush beds. Their brilliant colors reminded her of her artist palette. Rosemary grew in spiny scrubs, their pale blue flowers delicate as a veil. Trees crowded the sky so she had no idea where she was in relation with the rest of the town.
“Just a short walk from here,” he said, not really answering her question. He took her hand and led her to a worn path. “I told you I knew where I was.”
“So you did,” she said, unsure if he was bluffing or no. His steps seemed confident.
They walked for a moment and Brenna admired the chirping of birds and the buzz of bees. The rich aroma of earth and leaves scented the air. It seemed that all of nature was alive here. Flowers and trees were as carefully tended as the bristles on her paintbrushes. The lawn was clipped into a lush, green carpet and every scrub was neatly trimmed.
She did not know such a place existed in the town.
She paused, admiring a bed of foxglove. “’Tis wondrous. Is this garden the surprise?”
Squeezing her hand, he kissed her temple. “Nay, but nearby. You will see soon enough.”
Curiosity beckoned her, waving through her mind in intense curves, and she followed her husband, content now to allow him to lead her wherever he wished. Just as she had when she was chained to the bedpost with her legs spread apart.
“Tell me of your travels. Of the ship and the ocean.”
He smiled, the look in his eyes becoming hazy and far away. “The wind bites your skin, stinging with the spray from the salt. The ship rocks, soothing you to peace and lulling you to sleep at night.”
“It sounds like a fairy’s world,” Brenna said, enthralled. Despite her intense dreams of reaching Italy, she had never traveled further than London. “I would like to go to Italy,” she said dreamily, then caught herself. He must not know of her desires to be in Italy.
“Ah. Italy. Italy smells of wondrous spices—garlic, scallions, onions, and other savory treats. ’Tis a special place with loud, unique people and a bustling supply of artists.” He plucked a flower and gave it to her then ducked around a low row of hedges and stared up at the backside of a building. “Here we are.”
The cathedral. Or rather the outbuildings and administrative offices of it.
“’Tis the sanctuary.” Astonished, she gazed upward at the turrets. She’d never guessed they were on church property, yet it all made sense now—the beautiful lawn, the peaceful gardens. They had come from some odd direction and she had been so spellbound by their day together, she’d been a little lost.
“What are we doing here?”
“Shh.” Pushing open the side door, James led her inside. The wide expanse of the eating hall loomed out, open and overwhelming in its proportions. The room was quiet and empty of people. Trestle tables stacked
along the walls awaiting the next meal.
She stepped inside, then stopped, her jaw falling slack.
The walls held two of her paintings—the largest pieces of her collection. One depicted the Virgin Mary holding Baby Jesus and the other was a rendition of Saint Peter walking on water, the other disciples watching from the boat.
Stunned, Brenna stared at the portraits. Her breath caught in her throat and she could not speak. Looking at her artwork here was almost like seeing them for the first time. As if the pieces belonged to a stranger rather than being painted by her own hand.
She had tried so many times to have her work displayed, but Bishop Humphrey had always thwarted her plans.
“How?” she mouthed, when she had finally caught her breath.
James smiled, running a finger down her shoulder. “You are pleased?”
She cleared her throat. Pleased? She could scarcely believe her eyes. ’Twas as if she had stepped through some mystical doorway and her dream had come true. “I am astonished.”
The lazy trace of his finger flowed from her shoulder to her wrist. He took her hand, bringing her knuckles to his lips. “My lady, there is no reason you cannot both paint and be a wife. You are a fabulous artist and deserve to have your work displayed in a place of esteem. Methinks that over time, the church will see fit to move your paintings from the eating hall to the cathedral itself.”
She threw her arms around him and kissed him wildly, recklessly, heedless that they were on church property and their families would soon be going to battle. Ne’er in her life had someone honored her artwork in such a manner. Her heart soared.
Laughing, he embraced her fully, meeting her kiss. “The nunnery does not suit you at all, my lady.”
For a moment, only the two of them existed and she gave herself over to complete abandon. Giddiness bubbled in her heart and she wanted to dance up and down like an overexcited child.
He wrapped his arms around her until her body was bent slightly backward and she felt she would tip over.
The Pleasures of Sin Page 21