Free The Pleasures of Sin by Jessica Trapp Page A

Flames burst around it. Duncan leapt onto the window seat as if to get away from the crazed humans.
    Brenna hurried behind her dressing screen to find clothing for her journey. “Come with me. We will beg for shelter at a convent and pray Montgomery won’t burn it down looking for us.”
    “But Gwyneth will be married off to one of the king’s cohorts, and Father will be dragged through the streets and tortured if they take him to London. I know what Papa did to you was wrong—but he is still our sire. Montgomery is your husband; even with yesterday’s events, he may still hear your plea.”
    Panthos barked once as if to agree with Adele.
    A welling of dread clogged Brenna’s throat at the word husband. “Not a husband in truth.” She poked her head around the screen and scrutinized the sheets, searching for any sign of blood. “I am still a virgin. At least, I think I am. I need to get far, far away, have the marriage annulled and pray he never finds me.”
    With a pensive look in her eyes, Adele glided to the seat in the embrasure. Panthos followed and settled at his mistress’s feet, flopping his large furry head on his paws.
    Brenna scurried behind the dressing screen and peered at her wild red hair in the looking glass.
    Someone had placed a sleeping cap on her head—Gwyneth? Adele?—but the curls had already begun to spring this way and that. Wearing the cap was a habit she’d let slide some when her hair had been freshly shorn, but she’d need it again soon to protect her locks. Her skin looked sallow and freckled.
    “Ugh.” Even if she wasn’t dead, she looked like death. In this state, the convent nuns would think she was a harlot, hung over from a night of swiving randy men.
    She hurriedly splashed water on her face, rubbed her teeth with a hazel wood stick trying to make the best of things. She needed to look respectable enough to not be mistaken for a whore or someone with the plague if she expected to find shelter along the way.
    Picking her kirtle from her trunk, she inspected it. Three paint smears marred the faded blue bodice and the embroidery hung unraveled around the square-cut neckline. The sleeves had once been long, pointed, and graceful, but she’d cut them off and sewed them so they fit tightly around her arms and would not interfere with painting. The lack of embellishment made the dress look sad and out of fashion. But it would have to do.
    Surely she could convince the nuns that she was simply a noblewoman down on her luck. She would explain her family’s lands had been taken by cruel men and offer her talents as an artist to restore the convent’s books and statues. A resident painter would be an asset.
    Adele fingered her cane. “Montgomery intends to marry Gwyneth off. He says her beauty will cause discord.”
    “I cannot save Gwyneth.” Nor anyone here. With one last glance at the looking glass, Brenna hurried from behind the dressing screen. “Gwyneth should count herself fortunate that Montgomery is only marrying her off and not having her whipped and beheaded. I’ll have no part in provoking him further.” She retrieved a wimple, secured it on her head and snatched her pack. “We must leave post haste. Come with me, Adele.”
    Challenging him with the knife had been daftness incarnate. She might rant to God about the unfairness of being born a woman, but ranting did not change the fact that it was so. Her safety lay in running.
    Her father had shown an unholy disregard for their lives and the lives of the castlefolk by annoying Montgomery in the attack. She would no longer be a part of his schemes. Hurrying to the exit, she reached for the door.
    The door flung open afore she could touch it. The terrier set off a shrill yapping, but Adele shushed him quickly.
    Brenna yelped as Montgomery appeared in the doorframe. ’Twas as if speaking of escape had conjured their jailer from the pits of hell. He wore black hose and a black tunic and was larger even than she had