by Shay Savage
My eyes were sore, and I remembered exactly how I had fallen asleep—amidst tears and sobs in the arms of my new husband. He must think me incredibly weak, or at the very least, ungrateful for what he had done—taken me as his wife. Lying in his arms, I found myself feeling unworthy, small, and frightened. I supposed I should have taken comfort that he did not hurt me as he surely could have done and as was his right. But though I felt comforted by him, lying in his arms as I slept, I could not find comfort in him because I was still unsure of his true nature and his motives.
Moving cautiously, I slipped out from under his arm, crawled to the other side of the bed, and dropped over the edge to the cool floor. I was careful not to wake him as his arm slid off my back and landed on the sheets. I shivered with the cold and made my way to the chamber pot, then to the fire, which smoldered with an orange glow. Choosing two logs based on their weight and density, I placed them over the coals and blew gently until flames burst forth, warming the air around me. They were heavy and should last for some time. I glanced over to the window and saw no signs of daybreak, so I made my way slowly back to the bed.
After crawling underneath the blanket, I lay on my back on the far side of the bed, which was cool to the touch. I shivered slightly and stared at the ceiling of the room. My mind felt empty—in a daze, I suspected. I did feel grateful for Branford’s apparent kindness but still quite concerned that he would reconsider his decision due to my apparent inability to give him a proper wedding night. Were we even truly married yet? Though my well-being had always been in the control of others, I had never felt so unsure of myself. I shivered again.
“You’re cold.” I heard Branford’s soft voice from the other side of the bed. “Come back here.”
I closed my eyes tightly for a moment before cautiously rolling to face him. Branford reached out and grabbed my upper arms, pulling me back into a similar position I had found myself in upon awakening. He ran his hand up my back and stroked from the top of my head down to the ends of my hair.
“That’s better,” he stated, then sighed. I turned my head to glance up at him, only to find him already asleep again. Resting my head against his shoulder, I closed my eyes for what seemed like only a moment, but when I opened them again, daylight shone through the window.
Branford’s hand was moving up and down my back again, softly running over my hair and shoulders. My hand lay flat against his chest, and I could feel his steady heartbeat under my palm. I tilted my gaze to meet that of my husband.
“I must admit,” Branford murmured, “this has been a most pleasant way to awaken. I think I will quickly become accustomed to having you in my bed.”
The heat rose to my face, and I looked away quickly.
“You rebuilt the fire during the night,” Branford stated. I answered with a nod. “I do not often awake in the night and usually find myself in a cold room come morning. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my…Branford.”
He chuckled.
“It would be lovely to stay here for the day,” he said, “but I’m afraid we have to prepare ourselves.”
“For what?” I asked.
“The journey home,” he said. “A carriage is waiting to take us to Silverhelm. I want to be there before nightfall.”
Branford dressed while I made his morning tea and prepared bathing water for him. He was near the bed, clasping a scabbard and sword around his waist. He stood there for some time before coming to the wash basin. As he began to wash his hands, I noticed a fresh wound on the palm of his left hand.
“My lord, what happened?” I gasped. I reached into the water and looked at the slight cut. I took one of the cloths and gently washed it clean.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Don’t concern yourself.”
“I can prepare a dressing for it,” I offered. “It will heal faster if it’s kept covered.”
“Will it, now?”
“Yes, my lord.” Branford raised his wet hand up and tapped his finger under my chin, causing me to look up into his scowling eyes. “I mean, Branford.”
He smiled and allowed me to clean the cut on his hand though he refused the dressing, claiming it was too small of a cut to bother.
When I went to the changing screen, I found clothing left out for me. A beautiful, if relatively simple, traveling dress and cloak had been hung on a large metal hook on the wall. It was not overly extravagant, for which I was glad. I wasn’t sure if I could put on an extravagant outfit without assistance and was used to dressing others in such trappings, not myself. What would I do if I ended up needing to wear such clothing and had no one to assist me? As Branford’s wife, would I be required to wear such things? Would there be others to help me dress myself? Thankfully, this dress was easy to put on, and it hung neatly to my feet, which I encased in a pair of soft leather shoes. Branford smiled at me again when I came out from around the screen, took my hand, and led me out the door.
“I can have someone sent to retrieve your things from King Edgar’s castle,” Branford said. “I don’t relish the idea of heading back there any time soon.”
“There are very few things to retrieve,” I admitted. “I will need my clothing, I suppose.”
“I will provide you with everything you need, my wife,” Branford informed me, his words nearly a chastisement. “If there are things you want though, I will send for them.”
I considered my small living area and the things contained within. There were only a very few things belonging to my mother that had been brought with me when I was orphaned and none of them valuable. There was a carved wooden bowl I quite liked but little else.
“I don’t think there is anything worth the trouble, my…Branford.” I felt my face flush yet again.
“Alexandra,” Branford said. He stopped and turned me to look at him. “If there is something you want from there, tell me. I will get it for you.”
“It sounds so…silly,” I said with a shrug.
“Not if you want it.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Tell me!” Branford demanded. I startled and looked down at the ground.
“There is a…a bowl,” I mumbled. “I think it was my mother’s. I don’t really remember her, but it was given to me, and I was told it was hers.”
“What happened to your parents?” Branford asked. His voice was calm and quiet again.
“No one seems to know exactly,” I told him. “There was a sickness at the time, and many people were dying. It is assumed my parents died from the sickness. I was brought to Saint Anthony’s Abbey as a young girl.”
“You came from that village just outside of Wynton, did you not?”
“I did,” I said with a nod. “The Village of the Eagle.”
“Nearly the entire population was wiped out one summer,” Branford nodded. “I was just a child—perhaps eight years at the time, but I remember how they had to burn the whole village down. Even though the lands were Hadebrand’s, Edgar offered no help. Had the village still been in Sterling hands…”
Branford’s voice trailed off.
“How old were you?” he asked after a moment.
“They said I was around two years,” I told him. “I don’t know for sure.”
“I’m surprised you were not raised by the nuns at the abbey. That would be more common for an orphan.”
“Princess Whitney was in need of a playmate,” I told him. “We were of similar age.”
“And you spent all your life in King Edgar’s care?”
“Yes. Princess Whitney chose me from the abbey, so I became her playmate when she was young and her handmaid as she came of age.”
“I’m surprised I had not encountered you before if you have been with her for so long.”
“I never traveled with the Princess,” I said, shaking my head.
“And this was my first trip to Hadebrand in many, many years,” Branford told me. “I suppose that would explain it.”
We entered the courtyard and saw S
ir Parnell standing beside a carriage, speaking to the driver. I saw Sir Branford’s dapple gray stallion tied to the back of the carriage along with another which was likely Sir Parnell’s steed. Branford took my hand and helped me aboard. Within minutes we were bouncing down the road to the north and the next kingdom. We rode for some time in relative silence, Branford and Sir Parnell speaking of mundane things such as the care of their horses and past tournaments. Sir Parnell again mentioned the impending ire of his fiancée, Lady Ida of Sterling, regarding the wedding.
“She’s never going to forgive you, Branford,” he said. “Even if you do allow her to hostess another reception, you will never live it down.”
“She’ll survive, Parnell,” Branford replied. “Once she has her initial fit over the whole thing, she will probably be relieved I didn’t come home with Whitney.”
“They were never friendly.”
“You put it mildly.”
“Regardless, I will plan on maintaining a position that does not place my body in between you and your sister,” Sir Parnell said. “Perhaps you should have me dropped off in Wynton, which should be a safe distance.”
Branford laughed and called up to the driver to halt for a break. He brought out a basket of meats, cheeses, and bread from the back of the carriage, which I prepared while Branford and Sir Parnell stretched their legs and watered their horses. The sky had darkened, and before we were moving again, rain had begun to drop from the sky. Within a minute, we were back inside the carriage, slightly damp, and heading down the bumpy road again. I was surprised at how tired I was from just sitting in the carriage all day and couldn’t help it when a yawn escaped me. Perhaps it was the weather pulling the sleep from me.
“Are you tired, my wife?” Branford asked. I considered insisting that I was not, but the look in his eye told me he already knew the truth.
“Somewhat, my lord,” I admitted.
“Why don’t you rest, then? It will be many hours before we reach Silverhelm. You will want to be well-rested when you meet my family.”
The idea of meeting his family was not something I wished to dwell upon. It was inevitable, and I was more nervous that I cared to admit. Perhaps sleep would keep me from worrying over something I could not change. I looked at the small bench where we sat and wondered just how I would manage to rest in the carriage.
“Put your head here,” Branford said, pulling one of the cushions from the back of the bench and placing it over his lap. “It will be more comfortable for you.”
Blushing slightly, I nodded and lay my head tentatively on his leg with the cushion from the carriage bench between my cheek and his thigh. I felt his hand on my shoulder, closed my eyes, and found myself drifting off quickly but not completely. The sound of the rain on the roof was soothing, even hypnotic, but also just distracting enough to keep me from complete slumber. I lay quite still, not wanting to cause Branford any discomfort, and Branford and Sir Parnell must have assumed I had fallen asleep.
“So, how was your wedding night?” Parnell chuckled. “Did your virgin bride live up to your expectations?”
“That is hardly an appropriate conversation,” Branford answered curtly.
“Appropriate?” Parnell laughed out loud this time though there was no humor in the sound, and Branford shushed him. I felt him glide his fingers over the top of my head through my hair. “Nothing about your little plan here is ‘appropriate,’ Branford.”
“It’s necessary. Appropriateness doesn’t matter.”
“You are avoiding the question.”
I heard Branford sigh, and he continued to work his fingers through strands of my hair. I nearly held my breath, wondering what he would tell his cousin. Would he declare me inadequate or perhaps not speak the truth? The conversation lulled a moment before he responded.
“I didn’t touch her,” he said bluntly.
“Are you joking?” Parnell asked.
“Not in the slightest.”
“Sir Branford Sterling, deflowerer of a dozen princesses, doesn’t open his bride on their wedding night? I’m not sure if people would believe me if I told them. Did you hit the wine too hard, or was she just not to your liking? If she wasn’t, you can have the marriage discounted. Go back and apologize. Pick Whitney as your bride, and put an end to all this nonsense.”
I swallowed to halt the panic inside me.
“No,” Branford responded. “It’s not nonsense, and I wouldn’t marry Whitney unless my only other option was you for a wife. And really, Parnell—it’s not been a dozen.”
“What? Only ten?”
“Hardly, and I’m not going to continue this conversation with you.”
“Well, why didn’t you take her? She is your wife, as ridiculous as that is.”
“Parnell, I’m only going to say this to you once.” Branford’s voice turned cold. “Regardless of your feelings regarding my marriage, Alexandra is my wife now, and you’ll not speak of her with any disrespect. I will not have you refer to my marriage as ridiculous. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sire,” Sir Parnell responded, the tone in his voice switching quickly from jovial friend and cousin to properly chastised servant. “Forgive me.”
I felt Branford’s hand through my hair again, nearly lulling me into true unconsciousness. The carriage bounced through a rough section of the road, then continued on as the driver called out to the horses. The rain lessened, and the pattering sound on top of the carriage became softer.
“Something has changed, has it not?” Parnell said quietly.
“Perhaps.”
“What is it, Branford?”
There was a significant pause before Branford responded.
“Parnell,” he said, “when I came up with this plan, I thought I was considering everything. Edgar would be angered but impotent to react since he brought it on himself. Whitney would be insulted, and between both those reactions, one of the next blows would lead to war. At the same time, it gets Camden off my back about finding a wife. Sunniva holds her tongue about wanting grandchildren, and I get it all—the kingdom expanded when we invade, the crown, an heir, and nothing else changes. At home, I have someone who can take care of me and my needs. I didn’t have any intention of being faithful, so it’s not as if my life away from home would change with the introduction of a wife.”
“I thought I had gone through all possibilities,” Branford said, continuing. “The woman who would be the catalyst was always nameless and faceless. It didn’t matter who she was as long as she wasn’t Whitney. I decided on one of her handmaids while I was out on the field because they sat close to Whitney, and it would be more…visually dramatic. I could walk up right in front of her and turn away at the last second. It would also anger her intensely, which is exactly what I wanted. There must have been a half dozen of them, and I didn’t care which. They would all be skilled in matters of the home, which keeps me from having to employ any servants whose loyalties are questionable. I only picked Alexandra because she looked at me early on, when I was first declared victorious, and she blushed when her eyes met mine. The color on her cheeks was simply lovely, and she has beautiful eyes.”
“Now your bride is no longer nameless and faceless,” Parnell said.
“No, she is not,” Branford replied. “When I took her up to my room, I had every intention of bedding her. I had been staring at her in that dress all evening, and I was ready to see what was underneath it.”
“And was she lacking?” Parnell asked. “You can still annul since you haven’t consummated the union.”
“She’s a commoner, Parnell.” His voice turned hard and callous. “I could open the doors of this carriage in the middle of a busy marketplace, take her in front of a dozen witnesses, declare her a lousy fuck, and still have the marriage annulled. I don’t intend to do that.”
“So what changed your course?”
“I don’t remember exactly what she said,” Branford answered. “It was her tone, not her words, that made me look at her—r
eally see her. She had her eyes closed, but it was apparent that she was…was…” Branford paused and let out a long sigh. “Parnell, she was terrified. I thought she had been trembling with anticipation, but she was afraid of me, not just nervous; I would have expected that. Honestly, she looked frightened enough I had to ask if she was a virgin. It wouldn’t be unheard of for a servant girl to be raped, and she clearly thought I was going to hurt her.”
“So what did you do?”
“I stopped, obviously,” Branford said, his tone suddenly dark. “I’m not a rapist, and that’s what it would have been.”
“You can’t rape your wife. She is yours for the taking.”
“Yes”—Branford’s voice was a snarl—“but making it permissible in the eyes of the Church doesn’t change the violence of the act, does it? Regardless, I told her we would wait until she was ready, and she still cried half the night.”
“Cried? Whatever for?”
“I don’t really know,” Branford admitted. “Like I said, this is the part of the plan I didn’t consider. This woman…”—Branford let out a low chuckle—“Woman. Look at her, Parnell. How old does she look?”
It was tempting to open my eyes to see his expression, but I continued my façade of slumber. After a few moments, when Parnell hadn’t responded, Branford spoke again.
“Just sixteen years, hardly a woman at all. She’s a young girl who knows nothing of life outside of tending to that overbearing princess.”
“And now that the wife has a name and a face, what do you intend to do?”
“I don’t know,” Branford said. “I don’t know how this changes things. I only know it does. I don’t want her to be afraid, especially not of me. I assumed I would leave her to Sunniva at home, but now I am reconsidering. I want her to travel with me when I have to leave the kingdom.”
“Take her to the tournaments?” Parnell gasped. “Given your reputation? Why in God’s name would you do such a thing?”
“She may be seen as an enemy of Hadebrand now,” Branford said. “I don’t trust her to be safe if I can’t see where she is, especially not after what happened with Lily. I feel very…protective of her.”
