The Pleasures of Sin. Jessica TrappЧитать онлайн книгу.
orders of the king and against the order of God by attacking her lord and master with the intention of murder. As The King’s Enforcer, I now sentence her to a public whipping and beheading.”
Oh, God.
Brenna squeezed her eyes shut, awaiting the feel of the whip. She wouldn’t beg, she vowed. She wouldn’t.
Around her she heard the sounds of the shifting crowd, of their approval of the punishment.
And then the whip cracked across her back and all thoughts left her brain. A line of white-hot agony laced across her skin.
Black spots formed in front of her eyes. Thrice more the whip sang through the air, landing with perfect accuracy across her shoulders. She screamed; feeling tears begin to leak from her eyes, and knew five more lashes would follow.
Sweat beaded on her upper lip. She pulled to one side, fighting the rope and dreading the next stroke. Gritting her teeth, she vowed to not scream again. She would not give him any more satisfaction.
With a soft pop, she heard the whip being flung to the ground.
Startled, she looked back, blinking the tears out of her eyes.
He paced to her, knelt and forced her neck down on the chopping block. She didn’t fight, but looked at him with questioning eyes. Why had he stopped?
“I take no joy in another’s pain. This was to keep order only and my point has been well-proven.”
His face was blurry through the veil of her tears, but, even so, she could see that his anger was gone. His eyes still looked hard, but the red mote no longer shone. In a flash, she knew he still planned to kill her, but the public whipping and humiliation was over.
“Gramercy.” Her voice sounded like a croak, her mouth dry as dirt.
He looked genuinely taken aback that she’d thanked him, and she felt her face heat. She wasn’t thinking straight. If her hands had been free she would have covered her mouth with her palm.
Turning, he picked up an axe, running his fingers over the smooth wooden handle as if afraid that if he did not hurry he would lose his will to kill her altogether.
“My lord—” she started, trying frantically to think of something that would stave off the deathblow.
“Lady of Windrose, do you have any last words?” He raised the axe.
A gurgling sound came from her throat. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came forth.
Her heart beat like a drummer’s frenzy. The seconds seemed to drag on, each one a year in length. The wood felt cool and hard against her cheek; four dark rings and endless others of lighter colors looped on the wood. Tans and blacks and browns all faded one into another as she stared at them, her eyes going blurry.
“Would you tell my sisters that I am sorry?” she finally managed to choke out, then squeezed her eyes closed and awaited the blow. Odd disjointed thoughts scattered through her brain. Would she die right away or would her head live for a few moments, severed from her body? Would her blood paint the earth in crimson? Would her miniatures be discovered? Perhaps this was her punishment for painting such things. For only wanting to enter the convent to follow her own selfish ambitions, not religious conviction.
“James!” A voice cried out from the crowd. “Halt! You cannot slay her.”
The axe stayed high in the air, right over her neck. “Leave be, brother. This is not your concern.”
Brenna opened her eyes to see a large man pacing toward them. He was similar in height and size to Montgomery, but his hair hung freely about his shoulders, wild rather than sharply contained like her husband’s. She could not see his face. He drew near Montgomery and stopped. “She is not to blame.”
Montgomery glanced down at his chest. Red stains marred his hose and little splotches of blood fell from his torso to the ground. Damning evidence of her handiwork.
“You are here to bring peace to the region and to oversee the port. ’Twill cause discord among the castlefolk if you slay her.”
“And if I do not then I’ll not be able to sleep another night with my eyes closed.”
“Then throw her in the dungeon, make her a slave or send her to a nunnery.”
A convent! Hope soared in her heart.
“Stand back, brother. My duty is clear and this is the only way for peace.”
Her hope crushed, she winced as the axe lifted even higher.
“Your position as The Enforcer has addled your brain. Use her as an asset, a pawn.”
Brenna twisted her head as far as she could so she could to see Montgomery’s face, to see if he was softening any. She wracked her brain to think of something to say that would tip the argument in her direction.
“Prithee, my lord,” she said. “Give me my life and I will fight you no longer.” Her pride kicked her for breaking her vow to beg. But she could be no help to her family dead. Mayhap she could poison him later. They said deceit and poison were women’s weapons, but ’twas men who made it thus. What choice did a woman have in this world of men’s power and men’s wars?
Montgomery stood there, axe poised. “Offal is worth more than your word.”
She swallowed, holding her breath. No words came to her to fight his claim. Pressing her forehead into the wooden block, she closed her eyes and began to pray again despite her fury towards God for making her a woman. She would not beg Montgomery again.
Slowly, he lowered the axe until its blade rested just on the nape of her neck. The sharp, cold metal chilled her to the marrow.
Moments ticked by.
Apprehension rose higher and higher, banding her stomach, squeezing off her breath. She opened one eye, angry he drew out the moment, that he stood there so calmly while she trembled on her knees. Pressure built inside her seeming to fill all her being until she felt she would burst. The fear, the terror overwhelmed her. If she must be a woman, why could she not be a fainting one?
“Zwounds! Just get it over with, man!” she cried out when she could take no more.
The axe twisted, raking to one side and nipping her skin. Her taught nerves registered it as strongly as a deathblow and her whole body convulsed. A stinging line burned her neck.
Another wave of terror went through her that it might please him to saw her head off slowly rather than lop it off all at once. The edges of her vision blackened and the voices of the castlefolk faded. Her head swam.
Mayhap she was the fainting sort of woman after all.
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