a deep crevice forming betwixt his brows. “Beg me to kiss you, captive wife,” he said, his voice husky and compelling.
Caught in his spell, she opened her mouth to obey, then gasped, suddenly understanding. ’Twas not desire for her that had caught his interest, but the need to conquer, to cow her, to bend her to his will.
The demon! She glowered at him. However this day ended, ne’er would she be a witless slave for him to command. “I’ll beg you for naught, barbarian. Now or ever.”
The interest in his eyes burned into a blue inferno. His lips touched hers, hot and soft—neither cold nor stone as she had expected. His breath was sweet, clean as if he’d been chewing mint leaves, and the masculine musk of his skin was heady as fine wine.
Her stomach flipped. She stiffened, wanting to pull away. The act was done. The bargain sealed.
His lips lingered on hers.
She tried to step back, but his arms around her shoulders and lower back prevented her from moving from the cage of his embrace.
“Open your lips for me, captive wife,” he murmured against her mouth. “I want to taste what is mine.”
Her breath quickened, and heat flooded her cheeks. Ne’er had a man wanted to kiss her.
The sensation was as intoxicating as a well-made brushstroke after a series of mishaps while she was painting.
Her father growled, and shame spun through her, hot and prickly. His rage bore into her back.
She pressed her lips closed.
“Ah,” her husband said, pulling slightly away, “not as compliant as I was led to believe then. Mayhap we should go straight to the wedding chamber and see to your taming. You respond well enough to my kisses.”
Of all the vile things to say! She nearly choked at his words, then drew back her hand and slapped him. The sound cracked across the sanctuary’s air. “I’m no pet to be tamed, knave.”
Her father snorted.
Montgomery pressed his palm to his cheek. The gleam in his eyes turned from amused captor to merciless conqueror.
Her heart caught in her throat. No wonder children ran from his pathway. Whirling, she lifted the hem of her skirt to flee.
Like a flash of lightning, his hand lashed out and grasped her wrist. He spun, dragging her in his wake down the chapel’s aisle.
A few of his warriors guffawed.
Damnation! He was going to kill her! No husband of worth would take such insolence from his wife.
And this man was a conqueror.
“I—uh—that is—I did not mean—” she began, trying to buy herself time. She needed to appease him so she could get him alone to use the dagger.
“Silence, wife. I will deal with you in our chamber. By the time I am finished, you will wish you had agreed to amuse me by begging for kisses.” Armor clanking, he paced toward the church’s exit. “Soon, you will beg for much, much more.”
Wincing, she dug her toes into the carpet to slow his pace. Unlike her own simple kirtle, the voluptuous houpelande entangled her legs and hindered her movement. He kept walking and she stumbled forward. Her headdress wobbled and the pins smarted against her scalp as they strained to hold the enormous contraption on her head.
He slowed just before she fell to her knees.
“Bastard,” she muttered, righting herself.
“What was that?” he asked. His tone was mild, but a feral gleam shone in his cobalt eyes.
She licked her lips, trying to reconcile the soft warmth of his kiss with the harsh, severe man before her. She hadn’t intended to slap him, but ’twas too late for regrets. She opened her mouth to repeat the curse, but thought better of it.
“Naught,” she bit out.
Scowling, he pulled her forward until she bumped against his torso. He was as solid as the boards she painted. With his free hand, he ran his thumb up her collarbone, then curled his palm around the back of her neck.
Her heart threatened to beat its way out of her chest, and she nearly made a desperate attempt for her dagger. But, nay. She was not so addle-headed to give away her one tiny advantage whilst he wore armor and was surrounded by his men.
She twisted aside, wanting to run. She knew he would follow, but mayhap if she could get him alone, she could salvage some element of surprise and use l’occhio del diavolo.
“Cease struggling, captive, ere I turn you o’er my knee here in the chapel.”
One of his men laughed.
“Nay! Do not manhandle my daughter!” Her father lurched to his feet, throwing off the men who guarded him. He stepped forward, defiant despite the ropes. His short beard and gray hair looked disheveled, and his nose twitched as if he’d smelled rotten eggs. He wore a simple tunic and hose in colors that would have blended with the forest. Dirt crusted his knees.
“My patience is thin with you too, old man.” Montgomery paced forward, and Brenna’s heart sank into her stomach.
At that moment, Gwyneth stood up, wailing in a loud cry. “Please, sir, I beg of you, do not hurt her.” She raced forward and threw her arms around Brenna, breaking Montgomery’s hold and nearly toppling her off-balance. Her wimple slid aside and her long blond hair came unwound and spilled around them.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. Brenna felt as if she was enclosed in a spider’s web. She struggled to unwrap herself from her sister’s tentacles so she could breathe.
“I’ll kill you for this!” her father threatened, fighting against his wrist bonds.
Montgomery went into a fighting crouch. He still wore armor whilst her father was bound, unarmed, unprotected, and not nearly as large as his opponent.
“Do not be daft, Papa!” Freeing herself from her sister, she snagged hold of her husband’s armored forearm.
The guards contained her father.
Montgomery whirled, and their gazes locked.
Gulping, Brenna gathered her courage. Gwyneth may have been wrong about his looks, but, verily, he was a savage. “Please leave my family be. I’ll go with you. Punish me as you will.”
With his thumb, he touched the soft place at the front of her neck. The dress was much lower cut than her own clothes, and his fingers looked frightening against her bare skin.
He stared down at her, and she squirmed under the intensity of his gaze. “And you will submit willingly to whatever punishment I design?”
She blinked, her heart pounding faster. What would he require of her? She’d affronted his honor in front of his men. If he beat her, she would be lucky to survive.
His thumb did not hurt her neck, but she could feel every motion either of them made. Feel her heartbeat. Feel herself swallow.
