by Shay Savage
“You will be assigned a guard,” he said. His tone left no room for any kind of rebuttal, and I was not about to offer one. “When I am unable to be at your side, you will be accompanied at all times. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Branford,” I replied. He sighed, and I watched his shoulders lose some of their tension as he slumped slightly forward. Moving slowly, I approached the bed. He did not seem agitated by my presence so close to him, so I sat down beside him and placed my hand on his thigh. “I did not intend to cause you worry.”
He continued to rub his fingers against his temples, and for a long moment, he did not acknowledge me. Truly, I understood his ire. I had been in a dangerous situation though I did not realize it at the time. I wondered if any of them would have been bold enough to harass me if they had known who I was, or rather, to whom I was married. It seemed unlikely, though for men who would do such a thing to that girl—slave or not—the list of things they would not dare do must be short.
Branford covered my hand where it rested on his leg, and for a moment, he just gripped my fingers. He then brought my hand to his mouth and touched his lips to my knuckles. He opened his eyes and turned to face me, his anger gone. Only worry and concern seemed to be left. He reached up to pull me close to him, his mouth covering mine. He kissed me softly at first, but as we touched, I could feel his increasing desire as he pressed against my lips and then ran his tongue against mine.
“I need you,” he mumbled against my lips. I could only nod in response as he fumbled at the ties to my dress, and his tongue invaded my mouth. Branford pushed my dress from my shoulders and then stood to remove it entirely. He pressed against my shoulders, pushing me back against the edge of the bed. He pulled his shirt up over his head and tossed it to the ground behind him as he stepped closer and nudged my thighs apart with his knee. He gripped my legs, pushing them farther apart and pulling my hips to the edge of the bed at the same time. He slowly lowered himself to the floor next to the bed, and his eyes stared into mine as he took me in his mouth.
I cried out at the contact of his warm lips and tongue against my sensitive flesh. I reached down to the top of his head as my hips rose reflexively toward the pressure from his mouth. I cried out again as his tongue entered me, caressing my body in ways I never could have imagined before we were wed. His mouth and his fingers invaded me until I could stand no more, and his name escaped my lips in a flood of ecstasy.
Without further preamble, he rose and lowered his trousers, exposing his hard male flesh to me. He grasped my hips and pulled them closer to him as he stood between my legs and thrust completely into me with a long, drawn out moan. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, with his eyes closed for a while before he began moving in and out of me, slowly at first, but quickly reaching a faster pace. He ran one of his hands down the outside of my leg, grabbing my ankle and pulling my leg up high until it rested on his shoulder. He gripped my hips again, pulling me sharply against him as he penetrated me deeper than I had ever felt before.
I didn’t understand these reactions from him—his sudden need to possess my body when he had been angered or worried—but I relished the feelings it seemed to bring forth from both my body and my mind. This feeling of being so urgently desired and needed was overwhelming. Was this what it meant to be a wife to such a man? To be here for him to channel his frustrations into desire for me? Would this be his outlet for all those things that plagued his mind? Would this seemingly simple act temper his emotions when his duties as king might otherwise overcome him? Was this at least part of my role in his life?
I hoped that it was.
For as long as his emotions were channeled into his passion for me, he would not be punishing those who were not deserving of his wrath. If I could claim both his temper and his passion, how many of those in the Kingdom of Silverhelm could be spared? I would relinquish my body to him without hesitation if it would give him the peace his mind needed. In all honesty, I would surrender my body to him regardless and for my own selfish reasons as well.
Our moans erupted in tandem as he pushed into me deeply, pulled back, and then thrust forward again and again. His pace continued to increase until I could see the beads of sweat covering his forehead and arms. He leaned over me, entering me faster and harder as I lay back on the bed and let the sensations wash over me. He released my hip and reached between us—a single touch against me that brought forth my release as my back arched against him.
Branford leaned back again, changing the pressure where we were joined. He wrapped one hand around the leg that still rested on his shoulder while the other still gripped my hip, pulling my body toward him with every thrust of his hips. I looked up to his face as he tilted his head to the heavens and cried out as he filled my body completely.
He was spectacular.
The strain in the muscles of his neck, across his broad shoulders, and down to his wrists was evident as he received his pleasure. His strong grip on me finally relaxed as the tension dropped from his shoulders and arms, and his body collapsed on top of mine. He wrapped his arms around me. He sought my skin with his mouth, and he held me close as his breathing and heartbeat slowed.
We did not speak, but I ran my hand through his hair as he lay his cheek upon my breast. He began breathing slowly and deeply, and for a moment, I thought he might have fallen asleep. I was content to let him lie there as long as he wished though he was heavy with all his weight on top of me. But soon, he pushed himself up on his arms, and I could breathe easier.
His gaze met mine, and all the complex emotions that had been displayed in his eyes before—anger, frustration, worry—were gone. I could see only contentment left in his dark green irises. Branford reached up and took my face between his hands, angling my head toward his.
“You are precious to me,” he whispered. His eyes were dark again—intense, but not with anger or need. I wondered what it meant when his eyes turned that shade of green.
“Nothing happened to me,” I said, reassuring him. I touched his cheek with my fingers.
“But it is like you invite trouble into your midst,” Branford said. “Everywhere you go, there is danger lurking, just waiting for me to drop my guard long enough to take advantage of your vulnerability.”
He kissed me again, gently and softly.
“I would be lost without you now,” Branford said. His voice was still very quiet, and his eyes were still dark. He ran the tips of his fingers across my face, right along my hairline, and then down to my jaw. His lips briefly touched my throat as he brushed his fingertips over my breasts. He raised his head and kissed my lips again before pulling back and looking down at me.
“Forgive me, Branford.” I brushed my fingertips across his arm. “Truly, I was never close to them at all. They were all the way on the other side of the barn. I could not even hear what they said. I could only hear their laughter while they were…were…”
“Hush,” he said. He cradled my face as he looked into my eyes. “Do not think of it any longer.”
“Is there nothing that can be done?” I asked. I could feel the hot sting of tears in my eyes for the girl in the stables, the one whose life was tied to that horrific man. Branford closed his eyes, and his forehead touched mine.
“I will try to think of something I can do for her,” Branford said softly. “I cannot make you any promises, but I will see what I can do.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and held myself close to him for a moment. Then I loosened my grip enough to drop back against the pillow and see his face.
“Thank you.”
He smiled his half smile and kissed me on the bridge of my nose.
“Shall we dress and head to the inn?”
And that’s when I remembered where the knights were going.
Chapter 2—Reluctantly Wager
Sawyer Inn reeked of pipe smoke and the odor of strong ale. The building itself was quite large and more of a banquet hall than a drinking establishment. With my hand on his arm,
Branford led me to the right where there were several ladies with their respective knights as well as Lord and Lady Sawyer. I glanced to the left, which appeared to be primarily men who had obviously been at the drink for some time.
We sat at a round table with Ida and Parnell along with another knight from Seacrest and his wife, Sir Rylan and Lady Suzette. Parnell’s parents were near us along with a host of other lords and ladies. Tankards of ale were brought around, and I tried to sip mine respectfully though I did not enjoy the taste as did the knights, who seemed to finish their first mugs with a single gulp.
Lord and Lady Sawyer were quite pleasant toward me, and though Ida was right—Lady Sawyer did seem to like to hear the sound of her own voice—I did not mind listening to her talk about the upcoming wedding of Parnell and Ida as well as talks of the mischief both Parnell and Branford got into as young boys.
“…and then Parnell ran inside, his face and clothes simply covered in mud, screaming that Branford had thrown him down¸” she said with a laugh. “Branford stormed in afterwards, instructing him on how he should have held his ‘sword,’ which of course was only a stick, in order to defend himself!”
“Mother, I really wish—” Parnell tried for the tenth time to silence her but to no avail.
“And here they are, half a lifetime later, still doing the exact same thing!” She laughed again, and her honey-blonde hair shook with her shoulders. “Every time they compete in a tournament, they spend the next week telling each other what they should have done instead.”
“It is not as if they speak of such things only after tournaments.” Ida laughed this time as well. “You would think there was nothing more to their lives apart from the games.”
“There is always you to consider,” Parnell said as he leaned to kiss Ida’s cheek. “I could speak about you for hours, but Branford only rolls his eyes at me. I thought it was always best to stick with other topics lest I feel the need to defend my fiancée’s honor from her own brother.”
“Well, now at least he can bore you with talk of Alexandra,” Ida said with a smirk in my direction.
I blushed, of course, and looked down at my hands as the conversation continued.
Though the area of the inn where we sat was relatively subdued, the group on the far side continued to increase in volume the longer we were there. I tried not to look over that way, for I feared what—or rather who—I might see. Sir Leland and his group had planned to be here, and I suspected they would be on that side of the hall. I did not wish to see them, so I tried not to look.
Unfortunately, averting one’s eyes is easier than averting one’s ears.
I heard Sir Leland’s voice and recognized the laughter from them all. I did not look but felt my shoulders tense, which seemed to catch Branford’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder as a group of men walked behind us and over in the direction of the rowdy crowd.
“Get me ale, girl!” I heard Sir Leland call out. From the corner of my eye, I could see the slave girl, Janet, as she rushed to do her master’s bidding. His voice sent further chills down my back.
Branford began to tap the tips of his fingers on the table in a short, rhythmic pattern. I looked to his face, but he kept his eyes on his fingers and did not look at me. Sir Rylan leaned over and asked Branford a question about hunting, which Branford answered but then went silent. Again, Sir Rylan tried to engage Branford in a conversation about the horses bred at Sawyer, which were apparently the finest anywhere, but Branford was polite only, his eyes and presumably his mind kept returning to the group of men across the room.
I took a sip of my ale and cringed as I heard the all too familiar laughter again. I dared glance in their direction and saw Sir Leland shove at Janet’s back, causing her to spill the tankards she carried.
“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.
