by Shay Savage
“Are you able to make your hand into a fist?” she asked.
“What difference does it make?” I hoped she did not think I would strike her now. Even before—at the climax of my rage—I didn’t truly think I would strike her though I probably would have struck anyone else who had come near.
“I want to see if your fingers are broken.”
I complied, and a sharp breath escaped my throat as the searing pain traveled from my fingertips up my arm. I refused to give into it, though, and forced my hand into a proper fist. Once I had completely clenched my fingers, it actually felt somewhat better.
“I told you,” I said to her sharply, “it is nothing.”
She raised her eyes to meet mine, and her concern for my well-being was apparent. I narrowed my eyes slightly, wondering if she had finished her examination of me and would now go back to the rest of the audience where she belonged. As she held my gaze, I knew this would not be the case. Her eyes held the determination and the same stubbornness that had been apparent on her approach though I had not seen it before this day.
Her eyes were glorious to look upon.
As she stayed there on her knees before me with her unwavering gaze, I felt the strength of her as though it were a living thing, surrounding her and reaching out to encompass my body. It was intoxicating and overwhelming and not unlike the feeling of sliding myself into her flesh—burying myself in her and allowing the feeling of her body to become the only thought in my head. The look was so intense I had to move my eyes away from her. As I did, I felt her hand move up my arm. Arising from her touch, so gentle and brief on my skin, I felt the most powerful and overwhelming sensation I had ever experienced.
It covered my skin, bore into my body, and wrapped itself around my very soul. My chest clenched again but with a completely different feeling than it had when the darkness was upon me. Images of her flooded my brain—the look in her eyes when she lay beneath me in the meadow, the sight of her shy smile when she handed me my evening tea with her head bowed, the deep red flush that covered her from her face to her breasts when she received pleasure from me—and I again felt as though a strong fist had collided with my jaw. I knew what it was instantaneously.
My heart began to pound inside of my chest, and my breath caught in my throat.
I loved her.
I was in love with Alexandra…my wife.
At that moment, it was as clear as the most serene forest lake on a luminous morning. It was calming and powerful all at the same time. I looked back to her, and the sheer beauty of her—not just her smooth skin, her captivating eyes, or the way her mahogany hair framed her lovely face—but the beauty inside of this woman I had chosen by mere happenstance in my own, ignorant arrogance.
I opened my mouth to say the words to her, but I stopped. I swallowed hard and raised my hand to cup her face, and I ran my thumb across the top of her cheek. Her skin was so soft under the rough pad of my thumb, just as she was soft in her manners in comparison to my harsh exterior. The words wanted to come—practically screamed inside of my head—but I could not say them to her now, not here with dirt and blood covering me while she knelt by my side. If anything, I should be on my knees, gazing up at her with the adoration she deserved.
“What is wrong, Branford?” she asked in a soft voice, breaking me out of the trance that had clouded my mind. I shook my head to clear it though there were thoughts in my mind that led me to believe I may never think completely clearly again—not when matters pertained to the beautiful woman beside me.
I closed my eyes for I knew as long as I was looking at her I would not think clearly. I drew a deep breath into my lungs and out again before I looked upon her. My early morning fantasy of presenting her with the tournament trophy flashed in front of my eyes.
“I wanted to win…for you,” I told her with a sigh. There was so much truth to the words—more than I even realized before I said them. “I wanted to present you with whatever the prize may be, and I managed not to even make it through the first trial.”
“It does not matter to me if you win,” she said. “I only want you unhurt.”
I looked to her eyes, for what I was not completely sure. Deception? How could it not matter to her if I proved myself in the games or not? Outside of actual war, there was little else more important to a knight. But of course, she was raised beside us, and not as one of us. There were so many things I took for granted with her, her upbringing being only a very small part of the long list of things I did not consider about her.
I gazed at her, trying to see beyond her face, but all I saw in her deep brown eyes was concern. Still, it was important she understand I was better than my performance today.
“He should not have bested me,” I said. “I have beaten him before both with lance and sword.”
“Who was he?” she asked. I almost wished she had not.
“His name is Sir Leland,” I said. “He is not a particularly pleasant fellow, and you are not to go near him if you see him.”
“I would not know his face,” she said, which was completely understandable. She had only seen him once, and he had been wearing his helm. “I would only know him if he was wearing that same armor—with the griffon on the front.”
“He is young,” I told her. “Younger than I—maybe nineteen years. His hair is blond and trimmed short, like Michael's. Just…I do not want you walking around on your own. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Branford.”
I felt my lips turn up slightly at her words, and at the same time, the muscles in my shoulders and back seemed to further loosen and relax. At times she did not even appear to notice she had said it, and when she did, she considered it a mistake. However, when I heard it, it sounded like the most beautiful lyrics to the most captivating song. The sound of my name on her lips and the possession it seemed to embody—every time she said it, it brought me joy.
Even now.
Her delicate fingers surrounded the outside of my bruised skin, carefully examining it with both her touch and her vision. I remembered when I had cut my hand and her instant desire to make sure it was not a bad wound and then to take care of it…to take care of me. I wondered where she had learned such skills before, so now I asked her.
“Edith taught me some things,” she told me. I felt my skin tingle under her touch. “I do not have much knowledge, but there was a boy in Hadebrand who fell from a tree and broke his arm. I helped her care for it to make sure it healed straight. He was almost as good as new afterwards. She told me to keep a cut covered up, and it would heal faster and sometimes not even scar. Your arm is not broken though. I think it is just a bruise.”
“As I already told you, I am perfectly fine,” I said with a smirk. Skilled or not, I knew when I had been injured badly and when I had not.
“I think so,” she said with a slight nod. Her head bowed until her chin nearly touched her chest, and I wondered why she seemed suddenly nervous. She looked over my arm again, her fingers brushing higher up and along my bicep before she went back to my hand. I smiled a bit again, remembering her comment from days before about enjoying the look and feel of my muscles.
“Have my injuries been sufficiently examined, wife?” I held back a chuckle. Apparently they had not, because she ran her hands over me again, ending with her hand in mine briefly before she released me with a nod. Her eyes met mine, and her cheeks were a lovely shade of pink.
“I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I just wanted to know you were all right.”
She seemed so shy and embarrassed, which I found terribly endearing considering how she had called out my name in ecstasy only last night. She was so different from anyone else I had ever known—demure, yet possessing this quiet strength I had seen in only a few, and they being of royal birth.
“Come here,” I said as I tapped my thighs. She stood, and I pulled her to me. With her hands placed on my armored chest, I wound my hand into her hair and pulled her to me, capturing her lips and kissing her softly.
It was my quiet thanks to her, and though I meant it only as such, tasting her lips brought forth my intense desire for her body. I was both glad for the armor I wore, for it hid my lust from her, and also sorry it was in my way, for I may have simply taken her on this very bench. I pulled my mouth from hers and found myself lost in her eyes.
I loved her.
Though the revelation had shocked me only a few minutes before, it now felt as comfortable as my own sword. Loving her was what I had hoped for in my heart though I did not truly expect such a thing for myself. I had also hoped she would at least find me acceptable as a husband regardless of my flaws. The feelings inside of me came far sooner than I would ever have imagined, and much more intensely than I ever would have expected. I wondered if there was any chance she would someday have any true feelings for me at all.
My gaze dropped to her lips, and I took them with mine once more. The desire to say those seemingly simple words was strong in me, but the timing was nearly as poor, and there were other matters still requiring my attention.
“I need to make sure Romero has been properly secured for the evening,” I said. I ran my thumb across her cheek, pushing her hair off her face. I knew I did not want to be parted from her company. “Come with me.”
“Of course,” she responded, and she took my uninjured arm and allowed me to lead her to the stables, where we were ambushed by the smells of fresh hay and horses as we walked through the stable doors.
“Why are the stables here so large?” Alexandra asked.
“Lord Sawyer breeds the finest horses in Silverhelm,” I told her as we walked past the rows of stalls, “probably all of the realms. Romero and Vanquish were both born here. I brought Romero back to Silverhelm Castle to train when he was very young. They are strong, grow large, and they are also intelligent and ready to learn. More horses in my army came from Sawyer than those that did not. It is their pride here.”
“I did not realize how important it was,” she said as she tilted her head down. I glanced over at her, knowing by the gesture her cheeks had warmed and turned pink. I found myself smiling as I placed my injured hand over the top of her hand, which rested on my sword arm.
“I would never consider fighting on a horse not bred here.” I glanced up at Romero, feeling somewhat chagrined that I had not even thought of his health and possible injury from the joust. I yelled out to my page and started walking a little faster. Alexandra’s arm slipped slightly from mine, so I took her by the hand and brought her to the final stall on the left. I glanced back behind me, again feeling the corners of my mouth turn up as I considered how well our fingers laced together though her hand was much smaller than mine. My attention turned from my wife to my steed, and I called to Michael again. “Make sure the farrier checks his left back foot—I think the shoe might be loose.”
“Yes, Sir Branford,” Michael said. He looked to Alexandra briefly before going back to his work, and I remembered I had never properly acquainted them.
“Alexandra, I realize you have not been introduced before,” I said. “This is Michael, my page. Michael, my wife, Lady Alexandra.”
“An honor, my Lady.” Michael seemed to think making a show for her was necessary, and he smiled broadly as he bowed low to my wife. Alexandra only nodded back at him.
“Armor, Michael,” I said. He stepped up and pulled the armor from my body, one piece at a time. As he took off gauntlets and breastplate, they landed on the ground haphazardly. As soon as he had removed the leg armor as well, he gathered up the pieces so they could be stored until the next tournament. Once I was free from the uncomfortable stuff, I looked Romero over more closely. One of his back shoes was definitely in need of attention.
“The farrier—first thing,” I told Michael.
“Yes, Sir Branford,” he replied.
“We leave tomorrow, and I don’t want him getting injured on the way home.”
“Yes, Sir Branford.” Michael’s tone was a little off, but I did not pay it any heed. I looked over Romero’s flanks and neck, checking for any scratches. There was one on the underside of his belly, likely obtained from my boot when I fell from him.
“Get this wound addressed quickly,” I said. “One of the stable boys should be able to direct you to the right resources.”
“Yes, Sir Branford.” Again, his tone was abnormal, and this time I turned to look at him with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t looking towards me or the horses. No, he wasn’t paying me any heed at all.
He was, however, gleefully eyeing my wife’s backside.
The familiar sensations began to creep up my body—heat, tightness throughout my body, and shaking hands. My vision did not darken but blurred, and my eyes felt as though they were trying to escape my skull. My body felt compressed—as if it had again been shoved into a tight, enclosed space. My mind fought against the feeling as my body responded with a desire to fight.
Without further consideration, my fist made contact with Michael’s mouth, knocking him to the ground and breaking open his lip. I slammed the edge of my still armored boot into his leg as he dropped to the ground. Taking him by his neck, I hauled him upright and braced him against the wall. My fingers closed around his neck, partially closing off his breath.
“If I ever see you gawking at my wife like that again, I will tear your eyes from your sockets!” I screamed at him and seriously considered just strangling him right here and now. “That is, right before I gut you on the ground.”
Had Alexandra not been present, I likely would have killed him outright.
Michael’s wide eyes stared back into mine. I had threatened him numerous times, shoved him often, but he had never made such an egregious error as this. He had never before been so close to losing his life at my hand.
“Am I perfectly clear?” I leaned my head closer to his and spat the words in his face.
“Yes…sire…” Michael was having trouble drawing enough breath to speak his words. I loosened my grip on his throat and then dropped him to the ground.
“Get out!” I yelled at him. “Go find out when the farrier is available, and do not come anywhere near me again tonight!”
“Yes…yes, Sir Branford!” Michael scuttled from the ground and ran from the building.
I tried to regulate my breathing into something calmer, but it just didn’t help. He had been staring at her…ogling her like she was some kind of common street wench. My wife!
It went beyond disrespect…far, far beyond it.
He wanted her—I had seen it in his eyes.
That little whelp wanted my wife.
My Alexandra.
Mine.
“Bastard!” I snarled and turned to her. Her eyes were wide, and one of her hands was covering her mouth, holding in whatever it was she wanted to say. I had undoubtedly frightened her yet again but was in no position in my current mindset to do anything about it. I hoped, for her sake, she would not choose this time to voice her concerns over my treatment of my young page—the stupid child who dared stare so unabashedly at my wife.
What if she had also found him pleasing to look upon?
He was closer to her in age, and his station now was not completely unlike hers had been in her former life. He would understand her better than I. She might find him interesting to talk to and may even find camaraderie with those such as he.
Within the next instant, the hated darkness was on top of me again—encompassing and omnipresent—and I felt my knees buckle, threatening to give out from under me. I tightened the muscles in my legs, refusing to fall. My vision was gone completely, and the screaming, jeering voices clouded my head for a moment. There was pain in my left hand and wrist as well as in both of my palms. My fingernails were digging into my skin as I further tightened my hands into fists. The pain from my injury served to pull me slightly from the fog.
I wanted this feeling to end once and for all. I was reminded of her gentle touches outside the arena and how quickly her feel and scent of her skin had brought me back from
the depths of my troubled mind.
I needed to feel her again.
I reached out and pulled her towards me, my hands gripping her hips and my neck bending so I could capture her mouth to mine. Without hesitation, I pushed my tongue between her lips and ran my hands up into her hair to allow me to hold her mouth to mine.
It didn’t help.
I needed to feel more of her.
My hands dropped to her shoulders, then down her arms and back to her hips so I could pull her body against me and hold her there. I tilted my head to the side so I could further claim her mouth. My tongue plunged in, running quickly and completely over hers as I heard her low moan into my mouth. I released her lips, moving quickly over the side of her face and down her throat.
I could still feel the dark cloud around my thoughts. I could feel it threaten to push me down. She was mine. I had won her—claimed her. She had agreed to be my wife and no one else’s. Only I would possess her ever.
I needed to be inside of her.
Now.
“I need you, Alexandra.” I moved my mouth up to her ear. I looked quickly from one side of the stable to the other, but there was no one. It was expected—the tournament games were continuing even though I was already eliminated. The thought did not serve to temper me. There was one thing and one thing only I could think of that might quell the fury inside of me. “Right now. Right here.”
“Here?” Alexandra gasped.
“Here,” I repeated in a low voice. Without giving her any chance to consider her actions, I grabbed her by the middle and dragged her backwards into Romero’s stall. I lifted her and held her against the inside wall, kissing her again as I fought with the darkness inside of my head. If she would just hold on to me…wrap her arms around me and hold me…maybe…
But I could not form the words to ask her.
I dropped her back to her feet, and my hands quickly moved to seek out her breasts, feeling the warmth of her soft flesh through the material of her dress—a dress I had been quite fond of this morning but now wanted to see in shreds on the ground. I sucked at the skin of her neck as I begged her to let me have this. My hips pushed against her, grinding my obvious need for her into her stomach.