by Shay Savage
“Do you like it?” Branford leaned off to one side so he could look at me straight on.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. His returning smile was nearly enough to knock me from atop the horse.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “It’s one of my favorite places.”
“I’ve never seen any place like this.”
Branford swung from the saddle and landed with a thump on the ground. He reached up and brought me down gently to the soft greenery below my feet. I half stepped to one side, afraid of crushing the delicate flowers under my feet.
“Are you hungry?” Branford asked. He pulled the basket from the back of the saddle and then retrieved the blanket that lay across the stallion’s flanks. Branford laid the blanket out on the ground, and though I worried we would crush the flowers beneath us, Branford promised me they would be as good as new the next time we came to this place. He tossed the reins across the saddle, smacked the animal on the rump, and Romero meandered off to stand by a tree and nibble at the clover beneath it.
We sat and Branford opened the basket. I quickly went through the food packaged inside, preparing anything that needed to be prepared and organizing the breads, fruits, meats, and cheeses I found there. I poured Branford wine from a flask, and he lay down on his side and propped himself up on one elbow as he told me about finding the little meadow years ago while hunting with his dogs. Now he brought Romero up here because it was good exercise for the horse, and it gave Branford time to think. When I asked him what he thought about, he just shrugged and said “many things.”
“It’s a good place to clear my head without all the demands of the castle and people swarming around me,” he said. “My thoughts here are my own and not influenced by others. Camden has told me many times about the importance of making the right decisions though I’ve certainly failed in that respect a few times. There are many who try to force their will on me, offer their council, or push me to take one side or another. This is my place to get away from all of that. A place where I can make decisions on my own.”
Branford rolled to his back and then sat up with his knees bent. He turned his head and looked at me through the lashes of his half closed eyes.
“I’ve never brought anyone here before,” he said. “As far as I know, no one else has ever been here. At least, not that I’ve ever seen.”
“Why did you bring me here?”
“I thought you might like it.” Branford shrugged and started pulling clover leaves by their roots from the dirt. “I find it relaxing, and I thought that…well, with everything you have endured since meeting me, I thought you might like some peace.”
He took a swig of wine and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It is peaceful here,” I said. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“Don’t tell anyone about this place,” he said. His eyes held a twinge of anger and a lot of mistrust.
“Of course not,” I replied. I reached over and touched his forearm. He glanced down at my hand and then back to my face. “I wouldn’t.”
He nodded and even smiled after a few moments had passed. He placed his hand over mine and then brought it up to his lips, gently kissing each of my knuckles in turn. I felt the heat rise up my neck though it had nothing to do with the sun shining down upon us. He clasped my hand between both of his and held it in his lap for a while before releasing me long enough to pack up the uneaten food back into the basket. Branford set the basket off to the side and out of our way. He leaned his arms over his knees and yanked a few more tufts of clover leaves out of the ground. He reached out and pulled one of the flowers by the end of its stem and tucked it behind my ear. He smiled at me as I grabbed up a few other flowers and twisted their stems together until they formed a necklace. Branford took it from my hands and examined it before placing it over my head.
“You are so different from every woman I have ever known,” he said suddenly.
My stomach lurched, and I wondered what I was doing wrong. It occurred to me that he might think making a flower necklace to be quite childish. I hadn’t made such a thing since I was young, and Princess Whitney would have me make them for her and place them on her head like a crown. When I didn’t make it the right length, it would fall from her head, and she would have me punished. I shook my head at the memory and looked back at Branford. He was several years older than me, and I thought he might not like such a playful display.
“Don’t look like that,” Branford said, his tone chastising. “I mean it as a compliment. I’ve never enjoyed the company of princesses for very long. Once I had…spent some time with them, I was never interested in being in their company again.”
I knew what he meant when he said “spent some time,” and I wondered just how much time he had spent and with how many. Did I really want to know such a thing? I did not, but when I considered I would travel with him to tournaments, I thought maybe I should know. What if I met with someone else—someone like Lady Kimberly—and I didn’t know if Branford was “acquainted” with her or not? I could be put into a position where I would embarrass him again, and I didn’t want that to happen.
“How many, um…I mean, how many women…or who…” I stammered, blushed, and wondered if there was any way to get the words back into my mouth.
“How many women have I bedded?”
“Yes,” I whispered. I suddenly did not want the answer, potential embarrassment or not.
“Nine,” he said bluntly.
“Nine?” I gasped.
“Are you shocked it is that high or that low?”
“Low,” I said without thinking and then covered my mouth with my hand. Branford laughed, but there wasn’t any humor in the sound. “Are they all in the court here?”
“No.” Branford’s eyes grew dark, and he shifted on the blanket where he sat. “You already know at least one who does not live in Silverhelm.”
“Oh, yes.” I had forgotten about Princess Whitney.
Branford let out a long, slow breath and rubbed his fingers into his eyes for a moment.
“Kimberly and Nelle are the only women in Silverhelm I have…indulged,” Branford said, “and I never took either of them to my own bed. You are the only woman who has ever been there. All of the others I have met and entertained either before or after tournaments in other kingdoms around the realm.”
“Were they all princesses?” I asked. I felt my curiosity was approaching morbidity, but I wanted to know even though I didn’t want to know.
“All but one, yes.”
“Who was she? Where was she from?”
“The daughter of a duke,” Branford said, his words clipped. “Up north somewhere—Seacrest, maybe? Her name was Bridgett, if you must know. Really, Alexandra, what difference does it make?”
“If I’m going to travel with you, I would rather not have any surprises.”
Branford stared at me a moment, and his eyes darkened. I felt my shoulders tighten, and I hoped I had not offended him. He looked away from me and off into the trees near where Romero grazed.
“You make a valid point,” Branford finally conceded. “Would it be all right if I just warn you before we get to a particular kingdom? My guess is most of them have been married off by now anyway.”
“How could they be?” I asked.
“How could they be what?”
“Married,” I said. “If you…well…if they are not virgins…”
“Oh, Alexandra.” Branford sighed. He reached over and took my hand and then brought it to his lips. He kissed my fingers and then held my hand in both of his. “Most men are not virgins on their wedding night, and just who do you think is cavorting with them? Yes, if it’s found out a woman isn’t a virgin, then the husband could annul the marriage because any children could have their heritage questioned. It’s also a wonderful excuse not to marry someone you didn’t want to marry in the first place, but it happens all the time. Usually it requires nothing more than an adjustment to the dowry and a wa
iting period.”
For what seemed to be the tenth time that day, I was shocked. Always, I remembered hearing that a girl was practically useless as a wife if she had already been bedded. How many times had the nobles in Edgar’s kingdom told us as much? Edith and Shelly were always told they had to do their very best at their work, for if they did not, there wasn’t a man in the kingdom who would have them. Hadley and I were also informed that we would be given to a man if we did not do exactly as we were told, and therefore we would be ruined for any potential suitor.
But now, to hear Branford say that it was not only acceptable for nobles but common? I had no idea what to even think. So many of the things he said simply did not seem to fit everything I had always been told.
“But everyone always said…”
“They say that to try to keep commoner women from being bedded too soon,” Branford said. “If she was to be with child, and there was no husband to care for her, she would end up either the responsibility of the castle or begging in the streets. For nobles, it’s simply an embarrassment.”
Branford shifted slightly and looked off into the trees again, still pulling at bits of clover on the ground. He appeared to be deep in thought, so I stayed quiet and listened to the sounds of the chirping birds and the light breeze through the trees until he spoke again.
“I have one night to make up for,” Branford said softly. He reached out, and his fingers trailed down the sleeve of my dress until he touched the skin on the back of my hand.
“What do you mean?”
“I promised you three nights until I made you my wife in the final sense of the word,” he said, clarifying. “That should be tonight, but since I am a cad and an idiot, I messed up one of them. If I could make up for it now…well, I could stay on schedule.”
“Now?” I repeated. I was suddenly quite aware of the openness of the meadow. I felt very exposed as I looked around, as if someone might have appeared from the woods since I last looked up.
“We don’t have to, Alexandra,” Branford said. He traced over the edge of my jaw. “I have to admit I’m pressing because I want to know if I have even begun to make up for my behavior toward you. I never know what’s happening in your head, and it drives me near to insanity.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“What do I mean? For the love of God, Alexandra, you will be the death of me.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. I dropped my gaze to the ground. “I’m not sure what you want me to do.”
Branford sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head. He rubbed his eyelids with his fingers then swallowed hard and looked straight at me. He pulled both of my hands into his and shifted so he was facing me straight on instead of sitting beside me.
“Please,” Branford whispered. “Will you lie down with me? Right here on the blanket? I want to see your skin in the sunlight, and I want to touch you again. I want you to touch me again. Please, Alexandra.”
I looked at my hands clasped in Branford’s grip, up to the horse at the edge of the meadow, and then to the trees around us. Of course, there was no one there. Though I felt like I was being watched, I knew it was only my own uneasiness. Branford was asking me to shed my clothing for him—out here, in the open, where someone could certainly stumble upon us, however unlikely. I remembered what he said about wanting me in the garden at the castle and even on the throne. My skin began to tingle, and that strange, throbbing feeling made its presence known at the apex of my thighs, reminding me of the incredible, blissful feelings he had brought forth with his fingers on my flesh. In my mind, I heard a small, previously unheard voice peep out and say “outside be damned.” I wanted to feel like that again.
And that is when I first knew how much I wanted his touch.
Chapter 14—Slowly Explore
“Please.” Branford’s warm breath danced over my lips. “Please, let me touch you.”
“Yes,” I finally responded when my head cleared. His kisses were leaving me without enough breath to speak even when his lips moved from my mouth to the hollow of my throat.
He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me close to his body. I had to rise up on my knees, my skirts trapped beneath my legs as he pulled me to meet him eye to eye. He kissed at my throat, down the skin at the base of my ear, and across my jaw.
I closed my eyes to the bright sunlight and let my hands coil into his hair, holding his lips to my skin and trying not to think about how he was pulling at the ties of my dress and how I would soon be exposed to him. Opening my eyes, I marveled at how the light caught the strands of his hair, shining like bright shards of gleaming metal. I fanned out my fingers, twirling a lock of the sparkling hair in my hand.
“I desire you so much,” he mumbled into the skin at the base of my neck. “I have never…never wanted a woman this badly.”
His words both thrilled and terrified me, for there was a part of me that was glad to have him say such things—to know he wanted me as a husband was supposed to want his wife—but there was still another that remembered how a man’s lust could overcome him. He may do something he would not have done had he been in his right mind.
Still, my skin tingled beneath his touch, and I told myself he would not hurt me—Branford had promised he wouldn’t—as he began to unbutton his jacket. He only got through the first couple of buttons before he was kissing me again while his hands trailed down my sides. They came around to my stomach and then made their way back up to the ties of my bodice. I offered no protest while he undressed me. As he exposed my skin, Branford stopped for a moment and turned to me sharply.
“You are mine,” Branford said sternly as his hands captured my face. His eyes bore into me, his look so intense I could not speak at first. He looked angry, frightened, and elated all at once. “Only mine—ever.”
“Yours,” I finally said quietly, and his lips crashed back to mine. With an open mouth, he claimed first my lips, then my tongue, then my chin and my throat. I kept my grip on his hair as he worked at the ties of my dress. He was having trouble with the laces and growled at the knots as he pulled at them. When they loosened, he dropped his head to my chest, and I could feel his warm breath as he kissed at the top of my breasts.
“So beautiful.” His words touched my bare skin just before he tilted his head to look up at me with half-closed eyes. “I want to see you…all of you.”
I could only nod dumbly as his hands pushed slowly, softly, and the sleeves of the dress fell away from my arms, leaving me bare from my head to my waist. I could hear my husband’s rapid breaths as his dark eyes—somehow untouched by the afternoon light—gazed from my shoulders to my breasts, his mouth open just enough to drag his tongue over his bottom lip. He released my arms and leaned back on his heels, unbuttoning the rest of his jacket and tossing it off to the side, near my riding cloak. His gaze met mine again, and he kept it focused on me as he loosened the waist of his pants and pulled his shirt up over his head.
Even when I had my hands on his chest and his back to wash him, it had been by the dim light of the fire and candles—never in the sunshine. Now I could see him quite clearly, and those wonderful lines decorated his chest and stomach with the outline of each and every muscle. Indeed, his skin was so beautiful, so radiant, he seemed to shimmer in the sun’s beams.
I heard Branford’s slight chuckle and realized I was staring at him with my mouth open. I closed it quickly, feeling the heat in my cheeks as Branford took my hands in his and placed my palms on his bare skin.
“Touch me, Alexandra,” he said. “Do not hold back. Touch me any way you wish.”
I nodded, my lower lip firmly snared by my teeth, and ran the palms of my hands from his chest up to his shoulders. His skin was smooth, with just a few wisps of dark hair in the center of his chest and down around his stomach. I ran my fingers along the curve of his upper arms, and the large muscle there flexed as I stroked it. I reached his forearms and hands and then lay my palms flat against his stomach. The lines of m
uscles there tightened as I touched them, and I shivered.
“Tell me if you are cold,” Branford said. “The sun is warm, but I want to know if you are chilled.”
“I’m not cold,” I assured him, though I wondered if I should have been. The sun was high and its light was warm, but it was still early in the spring.
“Tell me if you get cold,” Branford said, emphasizing his words. I glanced at his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at my face. He watched his own hands as they ran up my arms and then down again.
“I will.”
Branford’s response was only a hum. He traced a single finger over the tip of my breast, smiling slightly as it contracted at his touch, then leaned back and swiftly removed his boots and belt.
“Lie back,” he said softly. He brought his lips to my forehead and kissed me once as his hands put light pressure on my shoulders. I closed my eyes and bent to his will, dropping my head to the blanket as Branford’s fingers slowly moved from my shoulder, across my collarbone, and to my breast. Again, a single fingertip traced around the nipple slowly, and I could feel it harden even more under his touch.
“Do you like that?” Branford whispered, his words breathy. “Do you know how lovely it is when your body responds to me this way?”
I whimpered, unable to offer him a lucid reply. He did not seem to mind, for his mouth was turned up in a smile when I opened my eyes to look at him. He moved his hand to my other breast, giving it the same attention until both nipples pointed toward the cloudless sky. As my breaths began to come faster, my chest rose and appeared to offer my breasts to him. Branford seemed to agree and leaned over me to take one of them in his mouth, sucking gently as his palm slowly lifted and massaged the other.
“You feel so good in my hands,” Branford said, running his lips over my nipple as he spoke. His open palms ran down my sides, and in his fingers, he gathered the skirts at my waist. “I want more of you, my wife.”
