by Shay Savage
“Would you like me to shave you today?” I asked.
Branford’s eyes brightened, and he smiled.
“Yes, I would like that.”
“Now?”
“I suppose I can only lie around in bed for so long.” Branford chuckled and kissed the back of my hand again. “Shall we?”
I moved to sit up and felt a sudden sense of loss when his arms dropped away from me. I shook my head slightly and then clambered out of the bed to take care of my more urgent morning needs. Branford placed two logs on the fire closest to the water basin, and I placed the kettle on its hook. While the water heated, I dressed in the slightly too-long dress Sunniva had me wear while we had hemmed the blue and yellow one. It hung down low enough to touch the floor, so I spent a moment twisting the fabric into the waistline to shorten it a few inches.
When I came out, Branford was dressed only in his trousers and sat back in a chair he had pulled close to the basin. Everything I needed to shave him was set out on a nearby cabinet top. The kettle’s water was boiling, and I added a generous amount to the bowl. Testing its heat with my fingers, I soaked two towels in the hot water. Once they were drenched, I wrung out the first one and placed it around Branford’s face. He winced at first then relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes.
It had been some time since I had shaved a man, but I had shaved Prince Gage, Princess Whitney’s brother, often enough that I wasn’t concerned about my abilities. Taking a straight razor from the nearby cabinet top, I soaked it as well and then used my fingers to extract cream from the cup on the cabinet. I rubbed the cream into Branford’s face and neck to soften his skin and make the process more comfortable.
Starting with his neck, I scraped the edge of the razor slowly up his skin, rinsed the blade, and then made a second pass. I worked over one side of his neck before moving up around his jaw to his cheek. Branford’s eyes stayed on my face as I worked over him, and he seemed rather tense. I wondered if he ever had anyone do this for him or if he was used to doing it all himself. His skin was taut with his tense muscles underneath, and his stare was starting to make me feel self-conscious as well as making my job more difficult. I decided to try conversation in hopes of diverting his attention and relaxing his face.
“Why does Ida want us to have another reception?” I asked.
“She’s angry with me, to begin with.”
“Because she was supposed to plan your wedding?”
“Yes, who told you?”
“Ida and Sunniva talked about it.”
“Of course.” Branford sighed and turned his eyes to mine. He did appear to be relaxed a little now or at least distracted. “I suppose they told you how awful I am?”
“No,” I replied. “Sunniva said you were…”
I paused and bit down on my lip, wondering how much I should reveal.
“What did she say?” Branford asked, prodding for an answer.
“She said you were a good man,” I said.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
For a few minutes, I went about my task in silence, and Branford stared off into space, his expression contemplative.
“Does the reception worry you?” Branford asked.
“Somewhat,” I admitted, slowly sliding the straight blade up the side of his neck. “I don’t really belong with all those people.”
“Of course you do,” Branford said, correcting me. “You are my wife.”
“I’m not so sure everyone would agree with that. Their first sight of me was less than ideal.”
“It doesn’t matter if some of them disagree,” Branford said, his voice low. “You are mine. You belong wherever I am, and you will be at my side during the feast celebrating our marriage.”
“I’m yours,” I said quietly. “I will do as you wish.”
“You are mine.” Branford reached out and placed his hand over my wrist, stopping my motions with the razor. With his other hand, he reached out and cupped my chin. “In the same respect, I am yours.”
I moved the razor from my husband’s cheek. For some strange, unknown reason, the notion made me laugh.
“You find that funny?” Branford inquired, and for a moment, I thought him angry, but when I looked to him, he was smiling slightly. He released my wrist and chin.
“A little,” I admitted. I calmed myself and went back to my task. “I belong to you, of course. I was given to you when we married—by Father Charles. It’s supposed to be that way.”
“Is it now?” Branford said with a smirk.
I looked up into his eyes again, trying to determine if he was telling me I was wrong, agreeing, or possibly just teasing me. I couldn’t determine the answer from his expression.
“I think so,” I mumbled. I focused back on the edge of his jaw, running the razor carefully over the curve.
“Marriage is a union, Alexandra,” Branford said when I moved to shave the opposite side of his neck. “As I told you on our wedding night, I do have expectations of you, but there are things I must do for you as your husband. You belong to me, but I am yours as well. You will take care of me and our children, and I will protect you and provide for all of you. What happens to a man if he cannot provide for his family?”
“Um…well…” I stumbled over my words, not expecting the directness of his question. “In Hadebrand, his family may be taken away and given to a man who can provide for them. It would depend on his station, but one of Princess Whitney’s other handmaids was taken from her father when he could not care for her and her mother.”
“I better make sure I provide for you,” Branford said.
“But you are a prince,” I reminded him unnecessarily.
“Only as long as I keep my kingdom safe.”
It was yet another idea I had not considered in a long list of things I had not pondered. There were many, many individual kingdoms within the realm, and though only a very few had stood strong for centuries, a handful of others combined to become stronger. However, the majority rise and fall as loyalties change and battles are fought.
“Is that what happened to Sterling?” I asked, tensing as soon as the words left me, for I did not know if this was a subject about which Branford would speak.
“Not…exactly.” Branford’s words were strained and his voice deep. I could see the tension in his jaw. “I’m not prepared to discuss that with you.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” The words flowed out of my mouth automatically, just as the muscles in my neck and shoulders tensed for the potential physical assault. He did not make a move toward me, so I looked back to his face and studied him carefully.
His jaw was still tight with his teeth clenched. His hands were drawn into fists, and the muscles in his arms and chest were tensed and more clearly defined. Everything about his body screamed against the contained anger and violence within—everything except his eyes.
Branford’s eyes held the deepest sorrow I had ever seen. I had never witnessed tears from a man, and something inside me reacted instinctively.
Without thinking, I placed the cup and razor on top of the cabinet to free my hands. I reached out to him, and though I saw his eyes darken, narrow, and glare at the movement, I didn’t stop. I touched the edge of his jaw with my fingertips and then moved them further up his cheek until my fingers reached his hair.
“I’m sorry, Branford,” I said. “I don’t remember my parents, so I never really mourned for them. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you and Ida. I’m sorry.”
Branford’s eyes softened as they shifted to look into mine, but his jaw remained clenched. After a moment, I saw his throat move as he swallowed before he spoke.
“You had better finish with me,” he said. “I’m sure there’s something Ida is expecting me to do, and if I disappoint her again, I will never hear the end of it.”
I gathered up my tools again, quickly finished the last spot on his cheek and then moved to his chin and upper lip. Once those were complete, I probed his
skin with my fingertips, checking for any spots I might have missed. I found none and bit down on my lip to keep from smiling at myself. I took the last towel from the basin and covered his face in the heat again. I let Branford sit with his face covered for a moment while I cleaned the tools I had used, removed the wet towel, and gently patted him dry with a clean one.
“Excellent,” Branford said as he smiled broadly. His hands ran over his face while his eyes looked at me. “Thank you, my wife.”
“Anytime you wish, Branford,” I replied.
“You will spoil me, I think,” he said with another smile.
“Am I not supposed to?” I inquired. Branford laughed.
“Whether you are supposed to or not, I hope you continue.”
I nodded but could no longer contain my smile. Branford rose from the chair and stepped closer to me.
“I want to kiss you,” Branford said abruptly. He reached up and pulled my face closer to his. “Is that all right with you?”
“Yes,” I said, my breath already gone. “You don’t have to ask me for that.”
He smiled, raised his eyebrows, and then touched my lips with his very softly and briefly. I opened my eyes to find him staring intently into them, the green of his irises deep enough to lose myself in them. He kissed me again with a little more force.
Branford placed his hands on my hips. He pressed against my mouth as his body pushed me backwards until my shoulders touched the cool stone wall behind me.
“Do you remember what I said last night?” he asked. “About trusting me?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Trust me now?” His words were both a question and a command, so I nodded and tried not to let any of the fear that lurked in my belly show itself in my eyes. Branford took my chin in his hand and leaned close, looking directly at me. “I’m not going to hurt you, Alexandra. I swear it. I just want to touch you like I did last night.”
I nodded again, and Branford’s head dipped, and he placed his lips against my throat, sucking softly on the skin there. My breaths started coming in pants almost immediately.
His gaze took me in, first looking over my face, then darting to my lips and lower. He moved his hand quickly up the length of my arm and to my shoulder. He moved slowly across my neck before dipping lower, grazing my collarbones on the way back.
“I want to touch you lower, Alexandra. Do you want me to stop?”
Lower…lower? What did he mean by lower?
“I don’t think so,” I finally said as I wondered what in the world I was agreeing to let him do to me. Part of my brain said it didn’t matter. Whatever he wanted to do was just fine. There was one thing I was sure of at that moment—I did not want him to stop.
He moved his hand over the top of my breast once more, on top of the fabric of my clothing, and then very, very slowly, his fingers crept over my entire breast until his hand reached the bottom edge and curled his fingers around, lifting my breast into his hand as his thumb traced over the center, causing it to tense and tighten.
But it wasn’t just the nipple he touched that I felt tightening.
I felt the muscles of my thighs also clench, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling that started in the pit of my stomach, slowly worked its way downward as Branford’s thumb gently massaged the nipple of my left breast. My legs moved closer together of their own accord, and the feeling became more intense and focused on a spot directly between them.
“Do you like that, Alexandra?” Branford’s mouth ran along my jaw, and his thumb graced my nipple again. “When I touch you here…do you feel it in other places? Do you feel it between your legs, my wife?”
“Yes.” I was panting. How did he know? How could he possibly know what my body was doing when I didn’t understand it myself?
“Do you like the way that makes you feel, Alexandra?” Branford’s hot breath invaded my ear. “Do you want more from me?”
“Yes.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t know!”
Branford chuckled softly.
“I know what you want, and I want to give it to you,” he said. “I want to teach you what it is you want from me.”
He nipped lightly with his lips at the skin of my neck, down to my shoulder, and then back up to my ear. He traced the edge of my ear with his tongue before he whispered again.
“Tonight,” he said quietly so I had to strain just to hear his words. “Tonight I’m going to touch you where you’ve never been touched. Slowly and gently, Alexandra…so gently…and then you’ll understand what it is you want from me.”
*****
Having missed breakfast altogether, I found myself in the Women’s Room with Ida, eating a simple lunch of breads, cheeses, and berries while my brain turned somersaults. I considered Branford’s words to me over and over again. Between his promise from the previous night and those right after I had shaved him, my head was a maypole of twisted emotions.
Ida discussed my hair with a young woman named Ramona. After some conversation between the two of them, I found my head dunked in water and then washed with mead, of all things. I sat near the window and combed it, as Ida instructed me to do, until it was dried from the sun. I was surprised at how soft it was and wondered if it would feel different to Branford when he ran his hands over it tonight.
Tonight.
I felt my body tense at just the word, which echoed through my head with a memory of his breath in my ear. The tension—so different than it had been when I thought of him before—ran up and down my torso with the remembered movements of his fingers over my skin. I shivered, shook my head, and tried to concentrate on the conversation at hand.
“I think she should wear it up,” Ramona was saying.
“I’m not so sure,” Ida replied.
“It will show off her neck, and she has a lovely neck.”
“Very true.” Ida nodded in agreement. “We should probably hold it up simply, because Branford is just going to want it down when he gets her back to their rooms. I know my brother’s preferences, and he likes hair long and flowing. He’ll want to be able to take it back down again without a lot of fuss.”
“What about those combs Queen Sunniva gave you for your birthday?” Ramona suggested. “Would they work with the dress?”
“Anything would work with the dress I have picked out,” Ida said with a laugh. “No one will even notice what’s in her hair—they will be too focused on the dress!”
For as long as they discussed me, I wondered if I even needed to be in the room. I did end up with my hair affixed to the top of my head, twisted and coiled around in the back before it was held in place by a luxurious set of combs.
“Perfect,” Ida finally said after fussing with a few loose strands for what seemed like an hour. “I have to go check on your dress. Sunniva is hemming it for you. I’ll send a couple of the girls up to your rooms soon to help you dress, all right?”
“Of course,” I said with a nod.
“I’ll try to be there as well, just to make sure everything is as perfect as your hair.” Branford’s sister gave me a big smile. “I have a thousand things to do though, and Branford won’t let anyone else help him dress. I can’t wait for you to come into the hall. You are going to look so elegant and so noble, no one is ever going to question you.”
I tried to smile and believe her words, but I had some difficulty. Most of the nobles had already formed a first impression of me, and I doubted anything Ida could do at this point would change that too drastically.
“At the very least, Sir Branford is going to have a hard time keeping his hands to himself before the dancing,” Ramona said with a giggle.
I knew I was blushing but kept my gaze to the ground. It would be several hours before the reception, and I was already concerned about how well my hair would stay in place and if the dress would truly be to Branford’s liking.
“I have to get downstairs,” Ida said. “The dinner is complicated, and I want to make sure it’s
right before they get too far along. Alexandra, go on to your rooms. I’ll get your dress sent there as soon as it’s ready.”
“Yes, Ida,” I responded and headed back to the rooms I shared with Branford. I walked carefully to keep from disturbing my hair. Along the way, I worried over the mechanics of getting a dress over my head without messing up all of Ida and Ramona’s hard work.
Our rooms were empty, and I wondered if Branford had also spent his day with someone primping and preening him, but I doubted it. Ida said he didn’t let anyone but her help him. I wished there was something useful I could do to pass the time, but everything I considered seemed too great a risk to my hair. I couldn’t even bring myself to add another log to the fire for concern it would dirty my hands, which would then need to be washed. If I washed my hands, they would end up wet. If my hands were wet and I accidentally reached up and touched my hair, it would be ruined.
I had never had the occasion to concern myself over such things before. The actual wedding probably should have been the first time, but everything had happened far too quickly for me to think about it much. The remainder of my afternoon was spent taking slow, deep breaths to keep myself from crying alternating with all the various ways I might embarrass myself or Branford during dinner. In retrospect, I should have done the hemming of the dress myself if just to give me something to occupy my mind.
There was a knock at the door, which surprised me. I wondered if Branford had spoken with Ida again about coming in without knocking first, but I somehow didn’t think she would listen to him. I opened the door slowly and was taken aback by who stood on the other side.
It was the beautiful golden blonde from the garden along with the other attractive noblewoman who had stood with her in the throne room the day before.
“Hello, Alexandra,” the golden-blonde said. “I’m Kimberly, and this is Nelle. Princess Ida sent us to help you dress.”
For the first time, I noticed the bundles of creamy-colored fabric with light blue trim held by Nelle, who stood a little behind the taller woman.
