The Pleasures of Sin (21 page)

Brenna awoke more content and happy than she had in years, mayhap even her whole life. Enjoying the delicious soreness in her body, she stretched her arms and legs.

And realized that for the first time in weeks, she was not chained to the bed and forced to lie there until her lord and master arrived to see her dressed and fettered.

Lord. Master. Those words took on a different meaning in light of last night’s passion and the sharing of words between them.

James had mastered her body in a way that she’d never thought possible. He’d been tender. He’d been fierce. She blushed remembering the wanton way she responded to him, and her heart broke thinking of the baby he’d lost.

Mayhap she could give him another baby.

She rubbed her temples. Where had that thought come from? Shaking her head, she padded over to the washbasin and splashed cold water on her face. The man was making her daft.

It was only a matter of time before he discovered something that led him to the fact that she was the painter of
The King’s Mistresses
, or until her father showed up, or any number of things that would prove this truce between them was only an illusion.

But it hadn’t felt like an illusion last night. There had been warmth and a measure of care between them.

He still loved his wife. He said he could not love again because he had no heart left.
A streak of jealousy shot through her. Had he ever shared passion with his wife the way he had with her?

She dressed quickly, still amazed Montgomery did not show up and snap the manacles around her arms as he had done every morning. She stretched her arms up and out and down, reveling in the feeling of freedom.

Montgomery was wrong.
No matter his words, they
had
shared something special last night. He had felt it too or he would not have left her unbound this morning. Something had changed in their relationship—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

She made her way to her painting desk and sat on the stool. Being unfettered, able to move in freedom, felt marvelous. She stretched again, just because she could.

Would he leave her thus?

The urge to paint while unbound overtook her. She reached for her mortar and pestle to begin making the tempera.

And saw the key.

It was in the middle of her cluttered painting desk atop a stack of parchment.

She picked it up, fondling the cool metal between her thumb and forefinger. Being free was one thing. Being given the key was another.

Warmth flowed through her. If their relationship was always as it had been yester eve, their marriage would be tolerable.

Nay. Not tolerable. Wonderful!

She gazed out of the window into the bailey.

Below, her husband directed the repair of an outbuilding used to house hay for the winter. He’d spent gold making updates and changes to the castle. His own gold. He’d showed more concern for the keep than her father had.

Sunlight glinted off his dark hair. It had grown somewhat longer these past weeks and was not so stiff and orderly as it had been. It looked a little unkempt and reminded her of what they had done together in the bed. The reflection sent heat into her woman’s core.

She watched him, enjoying the way the line of his back moved as he walked in his precise no-nonsense manner. He directed the workers with such ease of command.

He smiled at the men from time to time, and it seemed obvious that they were not working hard out of fear, but because of a genuine desire to please him.

As she had wanted to last night.

That wayward thought brought a rush of blood to her cheeks. She
had
wanted to please him last night. She’d been so far gone with lust, she would have done anything he wanted just to experience the rush of fulfillment.

But she should not want him thus. She wanted to go to Italy, be free of the duty of a keep. And she definitely did not want children. Right?

Turning away from the sight of her husband and the perplexing feelings he brought up, she mixed the tempera in a mortar with some leftover eggs from yesterday. They were still fresh enough for use, but she would have to head to the chicken yard later for more.

Once the colors were ready, she positioned her parchment to paint.

Her fingers itched to capture the joy of last night’s coupling, but she did not dare work on another miniature for Brother Giffard in broad daylight when James could interrupt at any moment.

Free from the burden of trying to formulate something to sell, she relaxed her mind and allowed herself to paint whatever her imagination brought forth.

A man appeared on the parchment—strong, sturdy. He held a broadsword in one hand and had a fierce look on his face. The scene was passionate, compelling. At the bottom, shards of glass littered the floor along with a broken vase.

She stopped.

Another broken vase.

Bloody hell.

Swiping at the vase with a rag, she smeared the paint on the parchment. Why had this odd thing appeared twice in her artwork? The vase had only started showing up after she began coupling with Montgomery. Were they some warning against her passion? An omen for some future disaster?

Unease prickled her neck and she could not shake the premonition that it meant something important.

Irritated that her blissful mood was broken, she shoved her paintbrushes into a jar of spike lavender oil.

The door swung open. Adele limped inside, followed by Panthos and Duncan. St. Paul was missing from her entourage; perhaps he was mousing as cats were wont to do.

“Adele!” A leap of joy burst in Brenna’s heart and she raced across the room to hug her sister. It had been weeks. “I feared he would ne’er let me speak with you again!”

Smiling, Adele hugged her back. “Are you well?”

Brenna blew out a breath, not knowing how to answer. Her sister’s presence brought back the guilt of enjoying her husband’s touch in full force. “Montgomery is not odious, if that is what you are asking.”

“He raped you.”

“He—” Their relationship was too complex to explain. Brenna patted her sister’s arm. “I am well. But, I have missed you terribly. Is Gwyneth all right?”

“Montgomery has set a wedding date for her. And for me as well.”

“A wedding date!”

“Aye.”

Concern burrowed into Brenna’s mind. “He will give you a choice of husbands,” she said confidently. Thus far, he had been fair in his dealings.

“The husbands have already been chosen. Neither Gwyneth nor I had any say in the matter.”

“But he—” Brenna’s throat clogged. Promised. She would speak with him. Surely her sister misunderstood.

Adele closed the door and glanced around. “Are you alone?”

“Yea.”

“Nathan has sent word.” Adele’s voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. “He is coming with a full force of men to siege the castle.”

A sinking sensation pitted in Brenna’s stomach. “Siege,” she repeated numbly.

“Aye. There is passage arranged for the three of us on a ship leaving two weeks hence. We will head straight for Italy.”

Italy.

Her dream.

Adele swept her hand toward the painting desk. “You will finally be able to study art on the continent as you have always desired. Why the odd look on your face, sister?”

Memories of the way James had felt betwixt her legs, slowly sliding in and out of her queynt, flooded her mind. She coughed to cover her reaction. “What will happen to Montgomery?”

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.