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The Pleasures of Sin. Jessica TrappЧитать онлайн книгу.

The Pleasures of Sin - Jessica Trapp


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eyes. Determined eyes.

      And she knew. Knew beyond a doubt, she was a condemned woman. He may not have turned the knife directly on her, but he planned to execute her all the same.

      As was his right as The Enforcer.

      Panic radiated through her limbs. For a fleeting instant, she recalled her sister’s warning that he had murdered his first wife.

      Glancing at the door, the window, the garderobe, she searched frantically for a means of escape. Her chest constricted so tightly she could barely breathe. Cornered. Trapped. Nowhere to run.

      “The battle is lost,” he said as if reading her mind. He stepped toward her, his jaw hard.

      Not allowing herself to think, she lunged, attempting to race past him, to go somewhere, anywhere besides here. He grabbed her arm in an easy twist as if he had expected such a move and hauled her upright until her nose nearly touched his.

      “You will have three lashes for every defiance you give me between here and the woodchopper’s block.” A tight tic pulsed in his jaw as if he was just holding himself back from striking her. As if he feared that once he started beating her, he would not stop. “I can have the skin stripped from your flesh and leave you to die from the wounds or have your execution done with one stroke to your neck.”

      Her knees began to shake. In her mind, the cold metal of the axe was already biting into her neck. With a bravado she did not feel, she squared her shoulders. “I’m not sorry for what I’ve done.”

      “Three lashes.”

      She lifted her chin, her ire rising. “Do what you will with me, I won’t cow down to you.”

      His hand on her arm tightened into a biting grip. “If you care naught for your own flesh, I can have the skin stripped from your sisters’ bones as well.”

      Hot, angry tears pricked the backs of her eyes. Before she could compose an answer, Brenna found herself pulled upward and slung over Montgomery’s shoulder. The room spun, her paintings forming blurs of colors. His scent, which had enticed her only moments earlier, terrified her now.

      “Put me down!”

      “Nay.”

      She beat on his back with her fist.

      “Six lashes.”

      She stilled, his shoulder pushing into her stomach. There was no sense in acting the fool. She would face death with dignity.

      He paced to the door, opened it and began his march down the hallway. If the wound she had inflicted bothered him, his movement did not indicate it.

      About halfway down the steps leading into the bailey, one of his men met them.

      She cringed, embarrassed at being held in such an undignified position.

      “My lord?” The man was a tall, thick-limbed brute with a crooked, ugly nose and deep frown line betwixt his brows. He took in the bloody red slice across Montgomery’s chest, silently nodded and moved to follow them outside. As if he too understood what would happen.

      Flashes of light flickered before her eyes; she bounced against Montgomery’s shoulder as he strode down the steps into the courtyard. The bright sunlight stung her eyes, making them water. Hanging her head down, she allowed the pearled veil to cover her face and peeked through the folds.

      Slowly, he set her down. Her legs trembled so much only his grip on her shoulders held her upright as her toes sank into the cool, wet earth. Her gaze darted to the castle’s gate. Could she make it? Lose him in the woods?

      “Run and I’ll burn the keep to the ground,” he said, following the direction of her gaze.

      She shuddered.

      A crowd gathered, soldiers and servants rounding on them. They stared at the two of them, and Brenna felt her underarms sting with terror.

      Montgomery stood tall and firm, allowing the castlefolk to gawk at the open wound and the blood oozing down his bare chest. So this is what facing death felt like? A cold, icy feeling that won’t let your knees stop shaking no matter how hot the sun gets.

      Squeezing her eyes shut, she determined not to cry. Not to plead. Time seemed to slow so that the people moved like sluggish snails.

      “Move. Walk forward.”

      Toward the side of the bailey, a tall woodstack leaned against the outer wall of the castle. Logs scattered haphazardly on the ground and a heavy block that the woodcutters used to split logs was nearby. Two axes leaned against the pile, their sharp crescent blades gleaming in the sun. Ogier, the head woodchopper, took pride in having a sharp shiny blade.

      Brenna trembled, thinking of all the times she’d seen the men pop open a log. Breathe. Breathe. But she couldn’t breathe. At least not deeply. Her breath came in short, panicked gulps as if her body was trying to inhale life itself.

      What was left of it.

      Montgomery’s hand between her shoulder blades pushed her forward. Her feet tangled and she had to make several quick steps to keep from pitching forward.

      Angry, she whirled around. “You needn’t push me like a pig to slaughter!”

      “Nine lashes.”

      She clamped her mouth shut, fury swirling inside her like a storm.

      With a hard hand on her shoulder, he forced her to her knees before the woodchopper’s block and motioned to one of his men. Her knees ground into the earth, further dirtying the wedding gown. Buttons popped and the points of the sleeves dragged in the mud.

      She squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them a man was nailing a spike into the block a dagger’s length from her face. Every thunk of the hammer reverberated through her skull.

      Bile rose in her throat. Clenching her jaw, she refused to give into panic.

      The crowd grew larger, murmuring in hushed voices. To one side she saw Jennet, the laundress, holding her basket of linens. Brenna closed her eyes against the sight, and covered her ears with her hands.

      She shivered as she felt strong male hands on her arms. One hand and then the other was brought in front of her to the spike and tied there. The ropes swirled around her wrists in symmetrical loops like some beautiful exotic snake. They cut deeply, biting into her tender flesh.

      The crowd’s voices strengthened into a roar. She wiggled to escape, to put her hands back over her ears, but her efforts were puny. The rough hemp scratched her skin as she pulled against the rope.

      Breathe. Breathe. She couldn’t seem to get enough air. The block pushed against her chest, the hewn wood smashing her lungs.

      Behind her she felt Montgomery’s presence. His anger. His largeness. Fury radiated off his body like heat from the hearth.

      Anxiety rose higher and higher inside her, choking her like steel bands around her chest. Our Father Who art in heaven—

      She bit her lip to keep from begging for mercy.

      Hallowed be Thy name—

      Beyond Montgomery, she felt the eyes from the crowd. Gooseflesh popped up on her arms and legs.

      Thy will be done—

      She stopped the prayer, suddenly angry with God that he’d made her a woman. If only she were a man, able to fight, able to choose her own destiny. She didn’t want God’s will if it included being female.

      And then she heard a rip and air rushed across the skin of her back. She gasped.

      Glancing backward, she saw Montgomery standing legs apart holding a whip. He wore only hose, boots, and a belt. Blood ran down his chest, dripping on the ground. Resolve gleamed in his eyes.

      Terrified, she pulled against the rope binding her to the block. She tried to scramble off her knees and onto her feet. Why, why, why had they crossed him? They knew his reputation,


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