by Shay Savage
“Stupid girl!” Sir Leland yelled. “Look at that mess!”
I closed my eyes briefly and then looked up to find my husband’s gaze focused on my face. As he looked at me, I tried to understand his expression. He seemed hesitant about something, and I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to him or not. Before I could take any action, Branford mumbled under his breath and looked away from me. He ran his hand through his hair and then huffed out a long breath. Branford grabbed his tankard, drained it completely, and then shoved the chair back as he stood. He took one more look at me and then stomped over to the far side of the tavern, where many of the other knights were becoming even louder and more raucous. He walked with purpose to the very table where Sir Leland sat with his group.
I tried not to look directly at them, but I craned my neck and tried to tune out all other sounds but their talking. I had no idea what Branford planned to do or say, and my tension continued to grow as he spoke to the other knight.
“Sir Branford!” Sir Leland called out. “Good to see you here! I thought you might have gone home early.”
Laughter ensued.
“Good eve, Leland,” Branford said. I could hear the sharp edge in his voice. “Congratulations on making it as far as you did. I cannot recall the last time you made it past the first trials.”
More laughter.
They went back and forth in their seemingly good-natured banter for a while until some of the other knights began to engage in other conversation. I glanced to see Branford as he leaned close to Sir Leland.
“I would like to discuss a business transaction with you,” Branford said simply.
“And what would that be?”
“I want to buy your slave girl,” Branford said as my heart began to beat faster.
“She is not for sale,” Sir Leland responded. “Besides, you would not want her.”
“I would not?”
“Nay,” Sir Leland said. I saw him lean closer to Branford, though he did not lower his voice. “She cries every time I stick her. She just does not seem to get used to her place—on her hands and knees, servicing my sword!”
As Sir Leland ended his sentence with a hearty, drunken laugh, I felt my stomach clench, and my eyes closed of their own volition. Ida touched my arm, asking if I was all right, but I could only nod my head and wave her off her concerns, claiming the ale was just not to my liking.
“I am still interested in the purchase,” Branford finally replied.
“You know what?” Sir Leland exclaimed. I glanced at their table from the corner of my eye and watched Sir Leland stand up. Branford followed. “I think what we really need here is a wager!”
“A wager?”
“Of course!” Sir Leland placed his meaty hand on Branford’s shoulder. “I was truly looking forward to hand-to-hand combat with you, Sir Branford. And you knocked yourself out of the running too quickly for that, did you not?”
Branford grumbled in response.
“So how about we fight tomorrow morning, hmm?”
“With your slave as the prize?”
“Exactly!”
“And if, by some small miracle, you should best me with sword?”
“Then I get your horse.”
Sir Leland’s grin rivaled those of lunatic jesters.
“Are you insane?” Branford scoffed and took a step backwards.
“No, I am making a bet,” the other knight said as he stepped closer to my husband. “I will bet you my slave for your horse that I can best you with sword tomorrow morning.”
“Bet one of the finest stallions in Silverhelm for some slave?” Branford said. “Ridiculous!”
Sir Leland’s eyes widened and he laughed, stumbling slightly to one side.
“Take it or leave it!”
I looked to Branford then, and for the first time since he had walked to the other side of the room, he stole a glance at me. I could see it in his eyes as soon as they met mine—he would not risk Romero. Whether he thought he could beat this man or not, he would not take such a chance with his horse.
“I suppose I will leave it, then,” Branford said quietly enough that I could only barely make out his words. He turned from Sir Leland and walked back to our table. He dropped himself down in his seat without looking toward me at all.
“I tried,” he said simply.
“Branford—”
“Not Romero!” His voice raised in volume. “Not for some slave girl.”
“What are you doing, Branford?” Ida asked.
“It is none of your concern, Ida.” He growled as he picked up his mug and drank deeply. His gaze shifted over to me briefly as he mumbled. “I did what I could.”
“Everything all right?” Sir Parnell asked.
“Fine,” Branford said to his cousin suddenly. “Now will you find someone else to harass?”
All those at our table sat silent as Parnell and Branford locked stares. Ida’s eyes were wide, and she looked for a moment like she would say something when we were interrupted from the other side of the hall.
“Oh, all right, Sir Branford!” Sir Leland yelled from across the room. “Your second horse, then.”
Branford turned from Parnell and looked over his shoulder at the knight behind him.
“Vanquish?” Branford asked.
“Is that the white stallion?”
Branford nodded. He looked to me again, and I had to drop my eyes down to my hands. I worried my fingers together, trying not to let the tears building behind my lashes fall to my face.
“Come now,” Sir Leland called out. “What say you?”
“Your slave for my second horse?” Branford asked for clarification.
“Exactly,” the man said with an exaggerated grin. “Well then?”
Branford’s gaze met mine again, and his eyes were dark with anger. I bit into my lip as I tried to decide if I should say anything to him or not. As I looked, I silently begged him to do something for that girl though the idea of a fight terrified me. I heard him breathe heavily out his nose before responding to Sir Leland.
“Then I will see you in the morning,” Branford called over his shoulder. There was more of the sickeningly familiar laughter as Branford accepted the challenge.
My chest relaxed, and I could again draw breath. My husband’s gaze found mine, his expression still strange and indefinable though his underlying ire was still apparent. I could not quite tell if he was angry with me for asking him to help the slave girl or just resigned to the way it had to be done.
The way it had to be done was not at all what I had in mind. I would have thought Branford could simply purchase Janet from her hideous master or order him to sell her. It never occurred to me that he might compete for her in battle. My initial relief that Branford might be able to help the girl twisted into fear for his safety.
“Branford?” Parnell leaned toward us. “Are you competing with him again? The tournament is over.”
“Just a little side bet, Parnell,” Branford mumbled into his ale. “I shall require your assistance.”
“You have nothing to prove,” Parnell said.
Branford looked at me and downed the rest of his drink before speaking.
“Apparently I do.”
*****
In silence, I poured Branford his evening tea.
He had not spoken to me since his discussion and wager with Sir Leland at the inn. He had only looked at me a handful of times, and though I held his arm, he did not even speak when we walked back from the inn to our rooms in Sawyer Castle. I knew my request for him to help the slave girl in some way had led him to agree to this wager, and he was obviously angry to be put in such a position. I didn’t know what I should do.
He took the cup from my hands without a word, and the silence between us was starting to drive me mad. I would have preferred his outward hostility—his tendency to yell and throw things about—than this oppressive silence.
I wanted to speak to him about it. I wanted to understand if hi
s obvious displeasure was directed toward me for my request, at Sir Leland for his actions, or at the situation in general, but I didn’t know how to approach him. As I pondered, I became more certain he was angry with me, and my insides were tight and painful at the thought.
Remembering how he had approached me during those times he had apologized for his own behavior, I dropped down beside him and rose up on my knees. I placed my hands on the top of one of his thighs and looked up into his face. He sat back a bit, and his eyes narrowed in confusion.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am sorry I angered you,” I said quietly as I bent my head forward. “I did not know he would suggest a contest.”
Unable to continue meeting his gaze, I lowered my head. I heard him breathe, long and slow, and felt his breath against the top of my head. Branford touched the end of my chin with his fingertip, and he tilted my head back up.
“I am not angry with you,” Branford said. Though his words should have been comforting, I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes.
“But…you have not spoken to me since we left the inn,” I said quietly. Branford offered me a slight smile, which did not touch his eyes.
“My mind has been preoccupied, I will admit, but it is not preoccupied with anger toward you.” Branford ran his hands through his hair and let out another deep sigh. “It is just that I…I…I truly despise Sir Leland!”
I gripped his thighs as his voice rose in pitch and volume.
“Lowering myself to a contest with an individual of his sort…” He trailed off, his sentence and thought left incomplete.
“I am sorry,” I repeated. Branford ran his hand over my cheek and shook his head at me again.
“You have no need to apologize, Alexandra,” he said. “I should apologize for giving you that impression. Come now. The hour is quite late.”
He stood and took both of my hands in his as he pulled me to my feet and led me to the bed. We quickly changed into our nightclothes, and Branford pulled back the quilt and crawled underneath, patting the bed beside him. He lay back against the pillows, and I moved over closer to him. He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to his chest.
“I did not realize you would fight with him,” I said quietly. “It was not my intent to have you in danger.”
“I am not in danger,” Branford said with a snort. I dropped my head to his shoulder and felt his hand run up my back. His tone softened somewhat. “Truly, my wife. I shall be fine.”
“But this is not the same as other tournament games, is it?”
“Not exactly,” Branford said. “There will be no judges.”
“Which means what?”
“There will be no one there to determine if the rules have been met.”
His simple answer was enough to set me further on edge. Obviously he meant there would be no rules followed, and I knew the level of danger would be greater for him. I did not expect Sir Leland to follow rules if the possibility of ignoring them were an option.
“You did not have to agree to such a thing,” I whispered into the darkness. “I did not mean to ask for you to jeopardize yourself in helping Janet.”
“You did not ask for that,” Branford corrected me. “You asked me if there was any way I could help, and I agreed to try to find a way. The way I chose to help was my decision, not yours.”
“You could be hurt,” I whispered again. I felt Branford’s hand on my cheek and looked up at him.
“I will be fine,” he said, insisting. “I have fought with Sir Leland before and been victorious.”
“But the joust…”
“The joust was a lucky happenstance for him.” Branford growled. “It is not the same as the sword at all.”
This I did realize, for the likelihood of Branford being injured in a sword fight seemed much greater to me. Again, words intended to reassure me had the opposite effect. I wrapped my arm around his middle and pulled myself closer to him.
“Sleep now, Alexandra.” Branford kissed the top of my head. “We must rise early tomorrow, and I need to locate someone to be with you during the contest.”
“I will not be with you?”
“I know how you feel about it. There is no reason for you to have to watch and be uncomfortable.”
I sat up slightly and looked down at him.
“I want to be there,” I said. “If I were not, I would only be worrying about you.”
“You are not required,” Branford repeated. “I do not wish you to be frightened.”
I shook my head emphatically as a new panic arose within me. Seeing him fighting would be horrible, but being elsewhere while he fought because of my own request was simply unthinkable.
“I asked for this,” I finally said. “I will be there with you to see it to its end.”
Branford’s gaze stayed locked with mine until I felt myself begin to squirm under his intense stare. I was sure he was not going to permit me to be there, and I was not planning on backing down from my stance. His eventual answer surprised me.
“If that is your wish,” Branford said as he acquiesced. “You shall be there to witness as well.”
“Who else will watch?” I asked.
“Parnell and Michael will be there.” His voice darkened when he mentioned the young page. “You are not to speak to him. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Branford.” He was being ridiculous, but I was not about to argue with him over it.
“Sir Rylan will also be there to act as middleman.”
“What does that mean?”
“He will hold Vanquish and the slave during the contest so no one can back out of the wager when he has lost. There may be the odd spectator, but those are all the names of consequence.”
Branford kissed the top of my head and gripped me tighter for a moment.
“You need to sleep now,” he said. “It is late. You have had a very distressing day, and we will need to rise shortly after daybreak.”
I nodded and rested my head on the pillow beside him as he shifted and rolled over to face me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close before closing his eyes. As Branford fell into slumber, I realized this was the first time since the night we consummated our marriage that he did not take me before sleep. As I lay my head against his chest, I felt strangely empty, and not just in the literal sense. It was some time before my mind allowed sleep to come to me, and then my sleep was far from restful. I kept waking, wondering and worrying about Branford’s fight in the morning and feeling horribly guilty about forcing him into such a situation. I remembered Parnell telling him he had nothing to prove and Branford’s look as he answered his cousin. He felt he had something to prove to me as if I wanted him to put himself in danger.
I did not. I never wanted him to consider engaging in a contest to help Janet. I only wanted to get her away from the horrible man who treated her so abusively. I looked up into Branford’s sleeping face, so quiet and peaceful. He hardly moved when he slept except to tighten his grip around me or to roll slowly from his back to his side. Even when I reached up to touch him, as I did now, he never stirred. I stroked my fingers over his forehead and jaw, smiling at his beauty.
Remembering we had not taken pleasure with each other the night before, I was also reminded of Branford’s words regarding what he would do if I had no nightdresses. I bit my lip softly as an idea came to me, and I slowly pulled away from my sleeping husband. His arm dropped to the bed as his face tightened in sleep. He did not stir any further, so I carefully stood, removed my nightdress entirely, and then lay down beside him again.
I had never felt so wanton as I brushed my hand over the light hair on his stomach, trailing my fingers lower until they reached the top of his sleep trousers. I knew something was a little different, for usually when I reached for him, I could feel the end of his flesh at the top of his trousers, yet it was not there. I glanced toward his face, but he remained asleep, so I slipped my fingers underneath the cloth and reached farth
er down.
When I discovered his male flesh with my hand, I was surprised at how soft and pliable it was and how easily my fingers could reach around it. When he still did not stir, I ran my fingers from the tip down to the base, back again, and then wrapped them all the way around.
Though the rest of my husband’s body did not awaken, this part of him did. I could feel it twitch and grow in my palm as I stroked him the way he had showed me in the meadow. Soon, I could no longer reach all the way around with my fingers as his flesh grew and pulsed in my hand.
With a low moan, Branford’s hips bucked up against me, and his arm grasped at my shoulders.
“Alexandra!” he exclaimed. “Wha-what are you…oh…God…”
I could not contain my smile as I heard his low moan and felt his fingers grip tightly onto my skin on the top part of my arm. His other hand reached for mine, holding my fingers around his and guiding my strokes. His breathing turned quickly to panting, and he murmured my name over and over again. After only a minute or so, he pulled my hand from him and gripped both of my arms as he dragged my body up his. He brought my mouth to his, and I felt his tongue reached out to me. I returned the gesture, running my tongue over his as he held my bare body against the warmth of his chest.
Quite awake now, Branford wrapped his arms around me and rolled until he was on top of me, pushing my legs apart quickly. He slid into me steadily with another loud groan and began his intoxicating rhythm inside of my body.
He found my breasts with his hands and held them up to his lips. His tongue caressed my nipples, and as he took the first in his mouth and sucked hard, I lifted my body up to his. I moaned softly and wrapped my fingers through his hair to hold him against me. He moved from one breast to the other, his licks and kisses moving in time with his gentle strokes.
I was completely captivated by him—his touch, the sight of his eyes, the smell of his skin as he labored to bring us both such pleasure. I felt my mouth turn up in a smile when I thought of how frightened I had been in my innocence and compared it to how I felt now, just a few short days later. I marveled in the feeling of his soft hair around my fingertips as he pulled away from my breasts and held himself above me and pushed slowly inside of me, holding himself up by his arms.
