Hill Street.
Still... A tear fell down her cheek. Her last line of security had just disappeared from her side. At least he’d be safe.
She turned. Jameson’s eyes bore deep into her skull. What was going on deep in the recesses of his insanity-ridden head?
He lunged. He grabbed her arm, nearly pulling her off her feet.
“Bloody hell, Johnny.”
“Come now, Anne,” Jameson grunted. “I shalt place thee in a quiet space where thou may recover thy health, and thy proper behavior, and so that I may too recover from the most hurtful shame thou did place upon my head.”
Chapter 12
She stumbled behind him.
He cared little. All patience, all love he had lavishly laid upon her despite her many faults and indiscretions, quickly emptied from his heart. There was no good in loving her if he could not control her. So, now, he would focus on controlling her.
She gasped for air. She tried to slow her step. But he yanked on her arm. It was time to teach the lass her place. It was time that she leaned to bend to his will.
“Johnny, please!”
The sound of that low, base born name from her once sweet and breathless voice sent shockwaves of anger through him. He walked faster. The steepness of Hill Street would not slow him down.
Only when they reached their destination did Jameson slow. “Ne’er have I felt me such deep shame.” He threw Anne against the wood wall and opened the door few people knew about. “I had hoped me the shame of the dunke wouldst wash clean thy behavior. I wouldst thought thee better than to repeat thine indiscretions. But to find thee so blatantly in the arms of a lowly beggar, one who doth wear thy ring… My mind doth bleed at the most gruesome memory.” He shoved Anne inside and pulled her up the stairs.
The bedroom was hot. The air was thick and heavy. The room had been kept closed to keep peasants and nobles from carousing here in secret, in this bedroom that Jameson built for Anne so that she might take some rest during festival.
Now it would become her prison.
He pushed her towards the bed. “Here thou shalt remain, my Lady, until I choose to release thee. Methinks half a day in quiet solitude should see thee learned of proper respect towards thy betrothed, and the Lord High Sheriff of this Shire besides. Be assured, my Lady, thou shalt learn thy place.” He turned to leave her with those thoughts.
Away from the distractions of the festival, they should set in quickly.
“Johnny, please…”
He turned on her. “And I know not this crude name Johnny. Methinks thine indiscretions have travelled beyond the realm of my thinking. I wouldst have thee in the stocks like the wanton whore thou art. Thy Johnny shalt find his place within anon.”
“My Lord High Sheriff, I beg of thee…” Tears contorted Anne’s face. Her breathing came in painfully short gasps.
At least she remembered to address him properly.
But his temper could not be so easily erased. He stalked towards her. She backed away from him until she landed with a thud on the edge of the canopied bed. “E’er have I set me my mind upon thy happiness. E’er have I given thee a long leash, if only to keep thee by my side. Have I not given enough? Have I not satisfied thine every wish that hath spilt from thy red head since I took thee in as a child?”
Would Anne never learn her place? How much fear would he have to instill in her before she did? He quaked at the thought of beating her, as many men did to control their wives and betrotheds.
If it came to it, however…
Anne stood. She took a shaky breath.
“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” She gasped, but unending determination hardened her face. “You’re not Jameson Kent. You’re not the Sheriff, and it’s not 1586. It’s 2012. You’re real name is Johnny, and we’re actors in a festival. We’re actors, Johnny, and you love
Still... A tear fell down her cheek. Her last line of security had just disappeared from her side. At least he’d be safe.
She turned. Jameson’s eyes bore deep into her skull. What was going on deep in the recesses of his insanity-ridden head?
He lunged. He grabbed her arm, nearly pulling her off her feet.
“Bloody hell, Johnny.”
“Come now, Anne,” Jameson grunted. “I shalt place thee in a quiet space where thou may recover thy health, and thy proper behavior, and so that I may too recover from the most hurtful shame thou did place upon my head.”
Chapter 12
She stumbled behind him.
He cared little. All patience, all love he had lavishly laid upon her despite her many faults and indiscretions, quickly emptied from his heart. There was no good in loving her if he could not control her. So, now, he would focus on controlling her.
She gasped for air. She tried to slow her step. But he yanked on her arm. It was time to teach the lass her place. It was time that she leaned to bend to his will.
“Johnny, please!”
The sound of that low, base born name from her once sweet and breathless voice sent shockwaves of anger through him. He walked faster. The steepness of Hill Street would not slow him down.
Only when they reached their destination did Jameson slow. “Ne’er have I felt me such deep shame.” He threw Anne against the wood wall and opened the door few people knew about. “I had hoped me the shame of the dunke wouldst wash clean thy behavior. I wouldst thought thee better than to repeat thine indiscretions. But to find thee so blatantly in the arms of a lowly beggar, one who doth wear thy ring… My mind doth bleed at the most gruesome memory.” He shoved Anne inside and pulled her up the stairs.
The bedroom was hot. The air was thick and heavy. The room had been kept closed to keep peasants and nobles from carousing here in secret, in this bedroom that Jameson built for Anne so that she might take some rest during festival.
Now it would become her prison.
He pushed her towards the bed. “Here thou shalt remain, my Lady, until I choose to release thee. Methinks half a day in quiet solitude should see thee learned of proper respect towards thy betrothed, and the Lord High Sheriff of this Shire besides. Be assured, my Lady, thou shalt learn thy place.” He turned to leave her with those thoughts.
Away from the distractions of the festival, they should set in quickly.
“Johnny, please…”
He turned on her. “And I know not this crude name Johnny. Methinks thine indiscretions have travelled beyond the realm of my thinking. I wouldst have thee in the stocks like the wanton whore thou art. Thy Johnny shalt find his place within anon.”
“My Lord High Sheriff, I beg of thee…” Tears contorted Anne’s face. Her breathing came in painfully short gasps.
At least she remembered to address him properly.
But his temper could not be so easily erased. He stalked towards her. She backed away from him until she landed with a thud on the edge of the canopied bed. “E’er have I set me my mind upon thy happiness. E’er have I given thee a long leash, if only to keep thee by my side. Have I not given enough? Have I not satisfied thine every wish that hath spilt from thy red head since I took thee in as a child?”
Would Anne never learn her place? How much fear would he have to instill in her before she did? He quaked at the thought of beating her, as many men did to control their wives and betrotheds.
If it came to it, however…
Anne stood. She took a shaky breath.
“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t.” She gasped, but unending determination hardened her face. “You’re not Jameson Kent. You’re not the Sheriff, and it’s not 1586. It’s 2012. You’re real name is Johnny, and we’re actors in a festival. We’re actors, Johnny, and you love
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