by Shay Savage
“Yell at you?” A humorless laugh escaped me. “No, I don’t think I could do that.”
“Why not?”
“You are…you are…” I stumbled over my words. Of all the things he wanted me to understand of his life, how could I explain this simple aspect of my own? “You are a prince, Branford. I would never be so disrespectful.”
“What if I deserve it?” He dropped down onto one of the chairs near the fire and stared at me. I reached for the edges of my opened dress and pulled the fabric back over my chest and shoulders, hiding my bare skin. I turned away from him and tried to get myself covered up again.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I deserve your anger for this, Alexandra.”
“I’m not angry.”
“How could you not be?”
“One of my station does not become angry with someone like you,” I replied. “It was probably one of the first lessons I ever learned in life.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Princess Whitney and I were young, and she would do something to me out of anger…” I stopped because anything else I said would have been against her.
“Alexandra, why won’t you tell me?”
“Is it not obvious?”
“No, it is not!” He growled under his breath. “If it were obvious, I wouldn’t be asking you!”
“I cannot speak against a noble!” I cried. “Justified or not, we don’t do that.”
“We? Who is this ‘we’ you speak of?”
“Servants do not judge their masters,” I said quietly.
“Is that how you see me?”
“You are my husband,” I said, for I believed that to be all the explanation needed.
“And not your master.”
“But you are of noble blood,” I whispered.
“And you are no longer a servant.”
No longer a servant. I didn’t even understand the meaning of the words. Wasn’t I now just his servant instead of Whitney’s? Hadn’t he said as much to me on our wedding night? Granted, the role involved many other aspects, but when it came right down to it, I would now serve Branford as his wife. If I was not his servant, I didn’t know at all who I was or what I was supposed to do. At least as his servant, I had some inkling of how to behave.
“What am I?” I heard myself ask.
“You are my wife,” he stated simply, “unless you choose not to be.”
“I could not make that choice,” I said.
“Does that mean you will forgive me?”
“I already have,” I said.
“Because you have no choice but to accept me as I am?”
There were too many questions to answer, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to say. Since I didn’t know how I should answer, I found no words forthcoming at all. Obviously, I could not hold a grudge against him for his actions. It would serve no purpose.
“That is the reason, is it not?” he pressed. “You will endure anything and everything because you feel you have no choice in these matters.”
“I will try to be what you need me to be,” I said. My voice was shaking, and I could feel the beginning of tears in my eyes. My breaths were short, and my mouth had gone dry. I was failing him again. I didn’t have any idea what he wanted me to say, and it was obvious my answers were not correct. I pulled the laces of my dress tight and sat in the opposite chair. The warm air from the closeness of the fire contrasted with the cooling breeze coming from the window.
“Please, Alexandra. Please tell me what you are thinking. I need to know how you really feel and if you can even bear the sight of me after what I have done. I swear I will go mad if you don’t tell me something.”
How could I speak of the things Princess Whitney would say and do to me when she was angered? Even though he professed to hate her, I still could not speak against someone of her bloodline. He had to understand this, at least, for his kingdom also held servants who would not speak against the nobility of this court. I took a deep breath and tried to talk loud enough for him to hear me.
“All my life I have been taught to never question the actions of nobles. To do so would always mean severe punishment, and I have seen it cost some their lives. How could I even consider being angry with you over such a thing? Yes, it hurt, if that’s what you really want to hear, but it doesn’t matter. I am yours to do with as you please.”
“You should not think that way,” Branford said. “Yes, you are my wife, and therefore my property, but that doesn’t mean you cannot feel anger toward me.”
I felt the first of the tears drop from my lashes down my face. If one felt anger, one would eventually speak of it. It was safer not to feel.
“I can’t just…stop thinking this way, my…Branford,” I said. “I can’t even address you properly!”
“I like the way you address me,” he responded quietly. “I want you to speak your mind to me. You have every right to question my actions and my ability to be a good husband to you. I deserve it.”
Speak my mind? I felt the tension in my arms as I wrapped them around my torso. I had no idea what to think, so how could I explain my thoughts to him? And if I did, and they were not words he considered correct or—if I were extremely unlucky—words he considered traitorous, what would happen to me then? Both my tears and my words burst forth, and I found myself unable to contain them.
“How?” I exclaimed. “How am I supposed to discern between the questions that will not provoke your ire and those that will? How am I to know when my feelings are justified in your eyes and when they are not?”
I gasped because I knew I had overstepped my bounds. I closed my eyes and held my breath, waiting for the blow to come. Behind my lids, I hid in the darkness, silently remembering the blows of small fists and screams in my ears.
“I’m not going to hit you,” he said softly. There was no anger in his voice. “This is very difficult for you, isn’t it?”
I nodded, and Branford sighed.
“I’m sorry, my lord.”
“Stop that,” he said quickly. “You don’t need to apologize for my inability to teach. As my mother so aptly put it, this is on my shoulders.”
Branford sat back in the chair and ran his fingers through his hair. It ended up sticking out all over his head when he brought his hands down. It made him look much younger, like he did when he was sleeping.
“I don’t know how to teach you,” he admitted. “I’m not even sure where to begin, but I think I need to know how you really feel about me after what I did. Without that, I don’t even know where to start.”
I could feel panic begin to rise in my chest. He wanted to know how I felt about him when I myself wasn’t able to answer the question. I knew I needed him in many ways, but how did I feel about him? He was my husband. How was I supposed to feel? Did he expect me to love him?
“I want you to tell me something, my wife,” he said.
“Yes, Branford?” I waited for him to ask me how I felt, and I tried to formulate something in my head that would be enough to appease him but nothing deceitful and nothing that would provoke his anger. I never wished to have that directed toward me again.
“Tell me exactly what you were thinking when I held you against the wall.”
I froze.
“Your honest thoughts, Alexandra.”
This was not the question I had anticipated. This question had an answer, but again I didn’t know how it would be received. However, he had presented an exact inquiry, and I couldn’t refuse to respond.
“I didn’t know what you were going to do,” I finally answered. My voice was small, and I saw Branford lean forward in his chair to hear me. “I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean to…to…embarrass you. I should have known better, but I didn’t do it to hurt you. I thought you were going to kill me, and I wasn’t sure if you would do it here in our rooms or if you were going to take me to the executioner’s block.”
“Did you think you deserved to di
e for what you did?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Are you loyal to me, Alexandra?”
“Of course, my lord!”
“So if I had killed you, believing you to be a traitor, would I have been wrong?”
“No, my lord.”
“What?” he said, clearly surprised by my answer though I didn’t understand how he could be. “Why not?”
“Because you will always be right,” I said. “You would have been protecting your family as best you could. I’m only a commoner—”
“You are not a commoner!” Branford bellowed as he stood abruptly and towered over me. I shrank back from his voice. “You are my wife, and there is nothing the least bit common about that! Dammit, Alexandra!”
I startled and tried to muffle the automatic cry from my mouth as visions from the previous night enveloped me. I wrapped my shaking hands around my shoulders and waited with my head turned and my eyes closed.
“God in heaven,” Branford murmured before I heard him take a step to approach the chair where I sat. I heard the rustle of his clothing before I felt his hands on my knees. “I’m sorry. Alexandra, I didn’t mean to yell, but you…ugh.”
Sharp points jabbed my thighs, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Branford on his knees with his face in his hands and his elbows resting on my legs. He was shaking his head slowly and muttering. I couldn’t understand what he was saying until he finally released his head from his hands and looked back at me.
“How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to figure any of this out on my own? I don’t know what I’m doing! I don’t know how to do this without your help! Please, Alexandra. Please talk to me.”
“I don’t know what you want from me,” I whispered. “I want to be a good wife to you. Please…I’ll learn whatever it is you need from me. I promise.”
“I want to know you,” Branford said. “And not just because my queen demanded I do so. But try as I might, I can’t get anything out of you. Every disparaging thing you say about yourself infuriates me.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you angry. Please, don’t…don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
“Make me leave,” I finally said as tears began to pour down my cheeks again. “I know if I don’t get this right, you will find someone else to...to…”
“I won’t,” he said, insistent. “I told you, I want you to remain my wife.”
“But you still haven’t…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I didn’t know the right words.
He sighed again and reached up to my face with his thumb to brush away the tears.
“You know why,” he said. “It’s not for lack of want.”
“It is because I’m afraid,” I said. The word inadequate floated through my head. “And because I don’t know what to do. I’ve already failed you in this regard. If I fail in others, you won’t want me anymore.”
“God, no.” Branford took my face in his hands. “Alexandra, if you fail anywhere, it is because I have not given you the proper instruction, the proper guidance. I want to understand you so I can better learn how to teach you what you need to know. You are not a servant any longer.”
“But I know how to be a servant,” I blurted out. “I don’t know how to be anything else.”
For a moment, Branford just stared at me. His eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth only to close it again before he narrowed his eyes. One of his hands ran through his hair as he looked at me, his expression unfamiliar and confused. He looked away from me, then down to the floor, out the window, and finally back to my eyes.
“Tell me something,” Branford suddenly said. “When have you felt the most comfortable with me?”
“My lord?”
Branford closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again. I realized my mistake and bit down on my lip.
“When have you felt comfortable with me, at ease, like you knew exactly what was expected of you?”
I considered his question, knowing I had to answer as truthfully as I could. There had been so few times when I felt at ease around him, it wasn’t long before I came up with my answer.
“When you have asked me to do something for you,” I said.
“Like making me tea? Giving me a shave?”
“Yes, my…Branford.”
“Will you make me some tea now, Alexandra?”
“Of course, Branford.” I stood and went to the kettle, which was empty. I quickly tied the front of my dress back together, filled the kettle with fresh water, and hung it over the fire. I added a couple of logs to help build up the flames, then went to the basket containing the tea leaves and began to prepare the pot while Branford’s eyes followed my movements.
“Bring me my lunch as well.”
I went to the table and ladled the stew into a large bowl. I added some of the bread to a plate and placed some berries and a pear on it as well and then brought them both to him. I stirred a spoonful of water from the pitcher into the stew to help it cool a little so Branford’s mouth would not be burned. Already, I could feel my body begin to relax as my tears dried up.
“Would you like anything else to drink?” I asked. “There’s wine…”
“Not right now,” he said. His gaze continued to follow me as I set his meal on the table beside his chair. I went back to the kettle. When the water began to boil, I added it to the teapot to steep.
“Who taught you to make tea?” Branford asked.
“Edith,” I replied. “She was one of Princess Whitney’s other handmaids. She came to Hadebrand when I was still young. She taught me to cook as well.”
“She was older than you?”
“Yes, she was several years older. She was a handmaid in another court for many years before coming to Hadebrand. She knew several other kingdoms and usually went with the princess when she traveled.”
“I think I know who you mean,” Branford said with a nod. “Were you friends with her?”
“I suppose so,” I said, shrugging my shoulders. “I spent more time with Hadley, though.”
“She is the one who helped you get ready for the wedding.”
“Yes.”
“Are you the same age?”
“She was born a few months before me, so we are very close in age.”
“When did she come to be in Whitney’s employ?”
“When we were still quite young,” I told him. “She is an orphan as well.”
“What happened to Hadley’s parents?”
“She came from a farming family, and her father was killed when his cart tipped over. Her mother couldn’t work the farm on her own though Hadley tried to help as much as she could. When the lord of the farmland came to collect the grain she was supposed to supply, it wasn’t ready for him. Hadley ended up being brought back to the castle since Whitney really needed more than one handmaid by then.”
“Why was she brought back?” Branford asked.
I looked over to him, confused.
“The grain wasn’t ready when the lord came to collect it,” I repeated.
“Yes, you told me that.” Branford scowled. “But why was Hadley taken from her mother?”
“The lord punished her mother,” I said.
“By taking her daughter? Why?”
“He didn’t take Hadley from her mother,” I said. My eyes narrowed in confusion. He had to understand what the punishment was for failing one’s lord.
“Well, what then?” he asked, his tone demanding.
“The grain wasn’t ready, Branford. He killed Hadley’s mother as an example to the other farmers.”
*****
“Would you like some more tea?”
Branford shook his head silently. He had hardly spoken a word since lunch when his questions about the other handmaids I had worked with suddenly stopped, and he had grown quiet. He had gone from the window, where he looked out over the forest, to the chair near the fire, but he hadn’t spoken more than a couple of words, and he had barely
touched his supper. Now that the sun was starting to set, he was back in the chair, staring absently at the fire.
Since Branford was obviously in no mood for company, I spent some time looking through a wardrobe full of dresses, arranged in a piece of furniture similar to the one that held Branford’s clothing. There were several customary, daily dresses I had seen many noblewomen wear as well as one obviously fancier dress of blue and cream. I wondered if it was the dress I was supposed to have worn to our reception. There were also two nightdresses for sleeping, a long cloak, and a pair of long gloves. Inside the wardrobe was a small drawer, which displayed jeweled hair ornaments.
Once I had thoroughly explored the wardrobe, I washed off the basin area and made sure the cloth Branford had been using to wash himself at night was accessible. I placed a dry towel out for his use as well and started to wonder if I should go ahead and prepare myself for bed. I glanced over toward the chair where Branford sat and was surprised to find him watching me.
“I want you to care for me.”
I startled at his voice, for it had been hours since he had spoken.
“I shall, Branford. Is there something you need?”
“Only understanding,” he replied. His voice was short and clipped. “Come here.”
Branford placed his empty cup on the table beside him and leaned back in the chair. I approached and stood before him. My fingers twisted around themselves, a sure sign of my trepidation. I tried to make them stop so Branford would not notice, but I ended up nervously pushing loose hairs behind my ear instead. He opened his arms and curled his fingers back toward his chest.
“Sit,” he said. I started to move to the other chair, but he stopped me. “Not there. Here.”
Branford touched his hands to his thighs. I walked slowly back to him, looking down to where he pointed and trying to figure out how I could sit there. I turned to the side, gathered up my skirts, and sat astride his lap much in the same way I had on his horse on the ride to the abbey. Branford’s arms reached around and rested lightly against my lower back. He looked at me for a long moment before he spoke.
“I don’t think I have ever considered the lives of serfs,” he said, “other than my general duty to make sure the lands are safe from thieves, and all who can work are given work. There are too many of them, and I have never thought of what life may be like for those outside the court. When I realized what you were saying—that Hadley’s mother was killed because she could not run a farm on her own—I was appalled. My first thought was of Edgar and how he has never taken care of his people. My second thought was that I have killed for less.”