by Shay Savage
“If I knew another man looked at you, I would not take it well.”
I could only nod in response, having a pretty good idea what kind of reaction my husband might have. He would kill for so much less. It was not a sight I ever wished to see.
“In fact,” Branford said, “I have the feeling I might become quite infuriated with jealousy at the very thought.”
I turned to him, and his eyes were narrowed.
“I would never look to another. Never, Branford.”
“I know you would not,” he said quickly, “but if another man were to dare approach you, you must tell me immediately.”
“I will,” I promised.
He looked at me before nodding his acceptance of my words. He turned away from me for a moment, but I could still see his eyes in the candlelight—blazing like the fire across the room. He mumbled something under his breath, but I could not understand his words.
“I am yours, Branford,” I told him again.
“I know,” he said quickly. He looked back to me, and his eyes softened. “And I am yours, Alexandra. I will be faithful to you.”
My heart began to pound in my chest again. I had not truly considered it, other than knowing I did not want him to spend his nights in the company of another woman. I vaguely remembered something in the words he spoke to me in front of the altar regarding fidelity, but the entire day was difficult to remember in any specific sense. But now he was promising me again, here alone where there was no one to judge his words, to remain faithful to me, his commoner wife. And I wanted it. I wanted him to be mine alone.
He touched my cheek with the edge of his hand and tilted his head as he gazed down at me. He focused on his hand as his thumb brushed my chin and pulled my lower lip from my teeth.
“We may not have what Camden and Sunniva have now,” he said quietly, his eyes darting quickly to mine, “but we could—someday. I know I will never be an easy man to live with, but I will be good to you. I will try to control my temper with you and—God willing—I will have…have feelings for you…in time.”
As I looked up at the strong, handsome man lying on top of me and listened to him recount his own version of marital vows, I tried to understand what it actually meant to me. Branford was asking me to truly be a wife to him—suggesting that someday we could be in love with each other. I could not deny wanting such a thing, but despite our current position, I knew so little of the man who had taken my body. Some of the things I did know of him frightened me terribly, but I had also seen not just a more tender side of him but the side of him that knew pain and suffering.
Could I also have feelings for this man, my husband? Could I grow to even love him someday?
I wanted children. I even wanted his children though the reasons in my head for the thought were unclear. They would be beautiful; I was sure of that, but I could not be sure what other reason I may have had. Perhaps because they would tie me to him in a way no one else would ever experience. My children with my husband.
My mind drifted to the feelings he evoked inside of me as he entered me the first time. I remembered the feeling of spreading warmth through my body as he found his pleasure inside of me. I recalled the feeling of his hands in my hair and on my hip, holding me to him as he cried out, and the strange, incomprehensible meaning of his words as he thrust inside of me.
“I wish I knew what was going on in your head,” Branford said. I startled and looked back to his eyes. He did not appear to be agitated, just inquisitive.
“I was wondering about something you said.” I bit down on my lip, wondering if I should ask. What if it was something he did not want me to question? I took a deep breath, and tried to give him the opportunity to refuse my queries. We were not in our chair at the moment, and I was still unsure when I should ask him questions and when I should not. “You do not have to answer if you would rather not.”
“What did you want to know?”
“You said, um…when you were…” I bit down on my lip, not sure how I should phrase it. “You, um, you said, ‘He was right,’ and I wanted to ask what you meant. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to.”
Branford was silent for a moment before he let out a low chuckle.
“Something Father Tucker has told me on many occasions.” Branford smiled sheepishly.
“Father Tucker?”
“He is the priest in the chapel near the castle,” Branford explained. “I have…confessed to him. He knows of my past transgressions, and he always told me if I would wait until I was wed—wait until the act was sanctified in the eyes of God—then the pleasure I felt would be so much better.”
I kept looking into his eyes, trying to understand exactly what he meant.
“Father Tucker was right,” Branford finally said. “It felt so much better to be inside of you than it ever has before. I honestly had not believed him before this night, but being with you…”
He stroked the side of my face with his knuckles, slowly dragging them over my skin as he followed the movement with his eyes.
“It felt right.” His voice was soft, and I kept looking at his face, bathed in the light of the candles around us. “It felt like I was supposed to be there.”
It had felt right, and I found myself feeling strangely empty now that he was no longer buried inside of me. I remembered some of his words in the meadow—how he had said he had an appetite for such acts—and I wondered when he would take me again. He had said earlier he would want me in the morning, but I was still not sure if he was serious or not. If he was truly so insatiable, I thought I would likely be with child, his child, before the end of summer. Then I realized it was entirely possible, however unlikely, I was carrying his child right at this moment.
“What are you thinking?” Branford asked. He pushed a piece of hair away from my face and back behind my ear.
“I was thinking…or wondering, really…I know it is not very likely…”
“What is not likely?”
“I just wondered if you…if you might have, um…started a baby.”
Branford’s eyes became unfocused for a moment, and then he glanced down at my belly. He shifted his weight and dropped to the bed at my side. He pulled his arm back and he rested his warm fingers over my smooth, flat stomach. The corners of his mouth turned up as his fingers danced over my skin.
“I would like that,” he said. Branford stretched and slid his body down a little, resting his head against my shoulder while his hand caressed my belly. The ends of his hair tickled my chin, so I brushed them aside, marveling again at how soft his hair felt in my fingers. I watched the strands as my fingers ran through them. Finally, Branford spoke again.
“Do you like children?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you say that only to appease me?”
“I’ve always liked children,” I repeated. “I used to care for Hedda when her wet-nurse was busy with other tasks. I liked taking care of her.”
Branford nodded, but his forehead was furrowed, and his mouth was turned down in a scowl.
“I will make sure we find plenty of trusted servants as wet-nurses and nannies—you won’t have to raise them yourself.”
Visions of the wet-nurses as they held Hedda and their own children to their breasts, talking, laughing, and caring for the little ones flowed through my head. Though I had played with Hedda and the other children in Edgar’s castle, I remembered being somewhat envious that I could not nourish them as their nurses did. Another vision came to me—one of a tiny baby boy with wisps of dark hair on the top of his head. In my mind I saw a woman with an indiscernible face, holding him to her chest while I looked on, and I immediately frowned.
“I wouldn’t mind taking care of them,” I said quietly. Branford turned and looked at me, his eyes wide and sparkling. As the image faded from my head, I spoke again. “I want to be the one to raise our children.”
“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.” Branford tigh
tened his arms around me, and I wondered how much he worried about having nannies around his children. Tension in his shoulders I had not even realized was there released, and he relaxed against me with a slight smile displayed on his face. Minutes went by in silence as he ran his fingers over my belly, and I stroked his hair back off of his forehead. Eventually, he spoke again.
“How many children would you like to have?” He turned his head and looked up at me, his fingers still tracing circles around my stomach.
My mind wandered for a moment, and I saw again the image of the dark-haired boy in the field, older this time and accompanied by a smaller girl-child with chestnut locks and bright green eyes. In my mind, I saw myself with a baby resting in my arms atop my swollen belly. I couldn’t help but smile at the image.
“As many as you will give me,” I finally replied. Branford’s smile echoed my own.
“I cannot wait to see you with your belly round with my child,” he said quietly.
My body felt warm at the sound of his words. His large hand splayed out over my stomach, twitching slightly and making a large circle. I could almost see what it would look like when I was with child, and he was running his hand over my full belly. I felt myself smile, and my thoughts focused. I wanted to carry Branford’s child, and now that I knew what intimacy was like, I was not only unafraid of what it would take to make one, but I welcomed it.
I opened my eyes as I felt faint kisses up my arm and shoulder until Branford’s lips reached my neck. He found the spot behind my ear and kissed it more firmly.
“Sleep, my beautiful wife,” Branford whispered into my ear as he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him. I lay my head against his chest and listened to the steady thrum of his heart and tried to picture what he may have looked like as a child. I quickly gave into the exhaustion of the day and closed my eyes. Branford rubbed my back slowly, lulling me to sleep. As I slept, images of children running in the fields, playing with the hunting dogs, and learning to ride on gentle ponies filled my dreams.
And that is how we consummated our marriage.
Chapter 5—Abashedly Interrupted
Branford had definitely not been jesting when he declared he would want me in the morning.
As daylight broke on the day after we consummated our marriage, I did not just wake to my husband’s warm embrace but also the warm moisture of his mouth on my breasts and the heat of his hand as he reached between my legs. He spoke only with his lips and fingers, covering my body with his touch and his kisses. Once his hands had brought me to panting cries, he rolled over on top of me and pushed slowly and gently inside of me.
There was a strange soreness between my legs and within my flesh. It was not particularly painful but certainly noticeable. Branford moved slowly, and I wondered if he knew I would feel this way, for he was even gentler than he had been the night before. I reached around his back as he leaned over me with his body propped up on his arms next to my shoulders.
He moved slowly against me, pushing and pulling as his breath coated the skin of my neck with wet heat. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me flush against his body from our shoulders to our hips. Rocking steadily, eyes closed, he continued to tell me, between his rapid, panting breaths, how good I felt and how much he wanted me.
He tucked his forehead into my neck, and I wrapped my arms around his head as he reached a furious pace and cried out into my skin. He stilled and continued to moan incoherently as I felt the warmth of his seed spread inside of me. Again, small kisses covered my neck in time to his slowing breaths as he caressed my hips and sides with his hands. He moved to my lips and kissed me softly before pulling back and gazing down on me a moment. He rolled to his side, and I winced slightly as he pulled out of me.
“Are you sore?” he asked quietly. He traced over my cheek with his fingers.
“A little,” I admitted. His eyes narrowed in concern, so I quickly elaborated. “Not much though. I am all right.”
“It will go away in time.” Branford kissed me gently. “If it is too much for you, you must tell me.”
“It is not,” I assured him. I didn’t want him to be dissuaded from repeating what he had done to me.
“Forgive me, Alexandra,” Branford mumbled against my neck. He continued to kiss me as his hands roamed freely over my skin.
“Forgive you for what?” I asked.
“I should not have taken you again so soon,” he said. His gaze darted away from mine for a moment before he looked back and smiled slightly. “I could not bring myself to wait any longer. Having you lying here, bare in my arms, is too much of a temptation.”
“You were hungry,” I said, biting my lip to hide my smile.
“Hungry?” he asked, obviously confused.
“Um…you said you had an ‘appetite,’” I said, reminding him.
Branford laughed and his eyes sparkled, showing no hint of the man who had been such a tyrant the day before. His smile and glowing expression made him look quite young, and he seemed to have transformed into a wonderfully handsome boy instead of the unpredictable and sometimes violent heir to the throne.
“So I did,” he acknowledged. His gaze turned dark as he looked at me though his eyes did not lose their playfulness. “And so I do. I may very well also make good on my threat to keep you here in this bed for the entirety of the day.”
“If you do not rise from the bed, you will have a different sort of appetite, I should think,” I said. I know I blushed, for though I understood such word games were common among couples, I had never engaged in one and was not at all sure if I was saying the right things. I then wondered if Branford had understood what I meant at all and decided to clarify. “I mean, you would eventually want your breakfast, would you not?”
“I suppose,” Branford said with a nod. With his fingers, he traced invisible lines on my skin from my shoulder and down over my breasts. “Though I think with you as my distraction, it would take missing more than a single meal before I felt any pangs in my stomach. You should probably be advised to remind me to eat. It may be your only way out of this bed. At the very least, it would be in your best interest to don your nightdress after I have taken you in the evenings lest you be awakened by my hunger every morning.”
I thought about what he was saying and about the feeling of him on top of me, preparing to take me as I woke. Though I was a little sore, he said that would not last long.
“So…what would happen if I, um…if I did not have any nightdresses at all?”
Branford’s eyebrows rose as he peered at me. He laughed through his nose.
“Then I would be taking you every night and every morning without fail,” Branford said, and his words sounded like a promise. His gaze darkened and his mouth turned up in a smile. “You would likely wake to my hunger in the middle of the night as well.”
“I will have to find some way to disposed of them, then.” I heard myself say the words, and I bit down on my lip, instantly horrified at my brazenness. Branford was still beside me, and when I let my eyes glance quickly to his, I could see the return of his appetite.
“Just your suggestion has made me hard for you again.” He confirmed his words as his body pressed close to mine, making it clear to me that he was quite serious.
A moment later, he was on top of me, his mouth and hands seeking and finding my breasts, stomach and sides. He growled against my skin, moaning something about how good I tasted and not needing anything else for breakfast, then crawled back to look me in the eye. He stared down at me for a moment while I reached out and ran my fingers over his rough cheek.
A knock at our door coaxed a different sort of growl from my husband’s chest, and he barked at the kitchen servants to leave our morning meal in the outer room and get out. Though the curtains around the bed were drawn back on the side nearest the fireplace, the end of the bed, which faced the morning room, was still significantly covered. I didn’t think the attendants would be able to see us even if they did walk all the way in
to the bedroom, but I attempted to hide myself under the blankets and Branford’s body anyway. As soon as the door closed behind the kitchen staff, his mouth was on my breasts again—licking and sucking them between his lips as he took me again.
And again.
A while later, on unsteady legs, I warmed breakfast near the fire. I was pleased the kitchen servants had brought cream and sweetener without my asking so I could fix Branford’s meal the way he liked it. Branford washed, dressed, and ate while keeping his eyes on me. Every time I looked at him, he was staring at me, which made me blush scarlet and made him smile. I gathered the dishes together and placed them on the tray in the morning room when something caught my eye. On the small table next to the fireplace was my mother’s bowl. I immediately remembered Branford saying my things had arrived, and when I looked at the small bundle of objects, the bowl was the only thing I truly saw.
I picked it up and held it in my hands. The bowl was unlike any I had ever seen. The wood was smooth, and there were distinct lines where one kind of wood met another—blond woods and dark woods, mahogany and oak segments seamlessly swirled together and spiraled up to the rim. I could not help but smile as I held it to my chest for a moment before placing it back on the pile of clothing that had accompanied it from Silverhelm. It was the most beautiful thing I had ever been able to call my own and the only thing I had of my family. It was both decorative and useful, and I hoped Branford would let me place it on the nightstand where I could look upon it often. I decided I would ask him later.
When I came back into the bedroom, Branford was standing near the bed and running his hands through his hair. I walked up behind him, wondering what had him so focused, and saw the pink stain on the sheets where we had been.
“Branford...” I squeaked as realization hit me.
“Do not concern yourself, Alexandra,” he said sternly. “I shall take care of it.”
“Someone will see,” I whispered. I could feel the tightness in my chest, and I was having difficulty drawing breath into my lungs. “They will know.”
