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, his station as The Enforcer.
What a daft plan it had been to try to stab him.
The crowd drew in a collective breath as Montgomery unfurled the whip and silenced them with a wave of his hand.
“This woman has committed acts of treason. She has gone against the 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
