by Shay Savage
“Alexandra,” he repeated, “the expectations I have of you do not include allowing me to have my way with you before you are ready.”
I'm sure my eyes widened in shock as I tried to comprehend his words.
“You said you were innocent—a virgin, correct?”
“Yes, my lord.” I could hardly hear my own voice.
“Have you had any experiences? Have you ever had your mouth on a man?”
“My mouth, my lord?” I asked, confused again. “When you…kissed me at the altar…that was the first time…”
“Never mind, my wife,” Sir Branford said softly, his fingers stroking my cheek again. “You shall remain as you are until you are ready for me.”
“But it's...it's our wedding night,” I whispered.
“Are you saying you wish to consummate our marriage now?” he asked, and that half smile crept across his face again. “I'm more than willing, my wife, but frankly, you look rather petrified. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable with me, and I certainly don’t want you to be frightened of me. When you are ready, you come to me, and I will take you to my bed. Until then, I can be patient.”
His soft laughter filled the room.
“Actually, I think you may want to sleep in my bed this night,” Branford said with a chuckle. “Otherwise, you would be stuck with the floor, and it’s getting cold.”
“I can sleep on the floor, my lord,” I told him. “I have before.”
“Alexandra!” Sir Branford’s voice turned harsh, causing me to flinch slightly. “My dogs don’t sleep on the floor. You are my wife, and I will care for you the way you deserve.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” It was apparent the idea was not to his liking.
“Alexandra,” he said again, “we are wed. How long do you plan on addressing me by my title?”
“But you are a lord, my lord, and heir to the throne. How else should I address you?”
“When we are alone, you may address me by my given name,” he said. “In public, I normally prefer Sir Branford over lord, but…actually”—he paused, grazing my cheekbone with his thumb—“I think I rather like hearing you call me ‘lord.’”
His quiet laughter filled my ears.
“Whichever you wish, my…Branford.” I just barely caught myself, but he smiled and seemed pleased.
“Hmm…” Sir Branford laughed again and shook his head, still contemplating. “I wonder why that is.”
“May I ask a question, um…Branford?”
“Of course.”
“Why do you prefer Sir Branford?” I inquired.
“That title was earned, not given by birth,” he said. I nodded, for his reasoning did make sense. He turned to me and placed his hand over mine, resting in my lap. “Will you sleep in my bed with me, Alexandra?”
I looked over to the corner of the room and saw the bed. It was large and quite comfortable looking though I was not used to such extravagance nor did I need an abundance of comfort. However, there was no other place in the room to sleep except for the floor, and Branford’s thoughts on that were quite clear.
“There is plenty of room for two,” my new husband said. “I will not take any advantage.”
I nodded dumbly. It was as if my voice simply did not work in front of this man. Take advantage? I was his now, and by right, he could do with me as he wished. I wondered why he would even make such a statement when he could just as easily change his mind partway through the night and do with me as he wanted. I wondered if he was the sort of man who would try to mold me into complacency only to press his advantage later though there wouldn’t really seem to be a reason for him to act in such a way unless he was simply a cruel man.
What if he was?
“There is a screen near the basin and chamber pot,” Branford said. “You may change out of your dress there. Nightclothes were brought for you earlier.”
His voice was quiet, and he didn’t sound as if he were angry at me. Again, I nodded without sound and did as he instructed. I attempted to focus on the quiet calm of his voice and not my own internal fears.
In my haste to hide myself behind a screen to change into the nightclothes given to me by Hadley, I completely forgot the lacing up the back of my wedding dress. Once I was back behind the partition, there was no way for me to remove the dress on my own. I could feel panic welling up inside of me again, and I had to fight hot tears from escaping my eyes. I wasn’t doing anything right. Cruel or kind, what would my new husband think of me?
“Alexandra.” I heard Branford’s voice from the other side of the concealment. I hadn’t heard him approach and jumped at the sound. “What’s wrong, my wife?”
“I cannot remove the dress.” I blurted out the words, closing my eyes tightly to keep the tears inside.
“Come here,” Branford said. I could hear him chuckling at me. I wiped my eyes—just in case any tears had escaped—and slowly came around the screen. Branford motioned for me to turn around. I felt his hands at my back, slowly pulling the laces through their holes. When he reached the bottom, I felt the backs of his fingers slowly trace over the exposed skin from my waist, all the way to the back of my neck, and then down again. I felt myself shiver. He placed his lips next to my ear, and his breath covered my neck. “I think that should do it, my wife. Please don’t hesitate to tell me if you need more help.”
“Yes, my…yes, Branford.” I stepped back behind the screen before my blush could cover me completely. I tried not to focus on the tingling sensation on the skin near my spine as I removed the dress quickly, hung it over the screen, and pulled the nightdress over my head. It hung to my feet and all the way down my arms, but the material was silk and would have been sheer if there was only one layer instead of two. Still, I had never been dressed in such a way in front of a man, and though I was dressed appropriately for sleep, I couldn't bring myself to come out from behind the barrier.
I clasped my hands together, trying to keep them from shaking. I told myself to stop, but my body wasn’t listening to my commands. Branford was my husband, and at some point, he would see me in a far more compromising state of dress than I was currently in. If he chose to tear it from me on sight, I could do nothing about it. I could not compete with him physically even if I were inclined to do something so ridiculous.
While my mind rambled, Branford lost patience.
“Are you planning to sleep back there?” he asked.
“No, my lord.” I took a deep breath and forced myself to move back into the main room. I heard him catch his breath and felt heat cover my cheeks. I stared at the ground and shuffled my feet, not knowing what I should do next.
“You are breathtaking, Alexandra,” he said. “Come sit with me.”
I returned to the stool near the fire and sat before him, still completely unsure of my place, my position, the way I was dressed, and myself. I kept my eyes down, as it occurred to me that I wasn’t even sure if I was allowed to look him in the eye or not. Had I already offended him? He was silent for a few minutes, which only increased my anxiety.
“I told you what I expect from my wife,” Branford finally said, “but there are things you must expect of me as well. Alexandra, as your husband, there are certain things I will promise you. I will always provide for you. I will always keep you safe—protect you. Your needs will always be met, and you will live in relative luxury. Our children will also be protected and educated. You will never have to worry for their care or their safety. I will take care of these things for you. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes, Branford,” I said, glad I remembered to address him correctly this time.
“Is there anything else you expect from me, Alexandra?” When I didn’t answer right away, he prompted me again.
“I honestly don’t know, Branford,” I said. “I had never even considered marriage before yesterday. I’ve never thought enough about it to form any expectations.”
“Then you may consider the question open, and you may res
pond to it when you think of what you wish to say. Is that acceptable to you?
“Yes, Branford,” I said softly. I looked up at him through my lashes and then looked away again. I didn’t know what to ask of him and felt like quite the fool. I wondered what Princess Whitney would be doing at this moment had he chosen her instead. Then I realized exactly what she would be doing with him, and I was dumbfounded by a mix of emotions: disgust at my own inadequacy regarding intimate matters; shame that I did not appear to be able to give my husband what he needed, and—strangely—anger at the thought of Whitney marrying Branford. “May I ask a different question, my lord?”
“Of course.”
“How did you know?” I asked, and then realized he had not heard my own internal ramblings. “I mean, how did you know about the princess?”
“Because I took her virginity nearly a year ago,” he said simply and without hesitation. I gasped.
“Then why…” I stopped, not sure if I wanted to know the answer to my question.
“Why what?” he asked, pressing me to answer clearly.
“Why did you choose me? If you were the one…I mean…you could still have wed her.”
Branford glanced sideways and met my eyes only briefly before looking away again.
“You caught my eye,” he finally said.
“But you could have chosen her or another princess,” I continued, “or a lady, at the very least. Someone worthy of your station—”
“Tell me something, Alexandra.” Branford interrupted and looked back at me. “You obviously make an excellent cup of tea. Can you cook?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can you mend clothing?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can you polish silver? Cut hair? Give a man a proper shave?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Can Princess Whitney do any of those things?”
“I don't believe so, my lord,” I said after a moment of consideration.
“Why would I choose a useless wife?” He sat on the edge of the stool and looked down at me with his head tilted to one side. “I’ve had my share of princesses and the like. If I wanted one of them for a wife, I would have chosen one of them. Trying to force me to choose his daughter as reward was King Edgar’s way of trying to get under my skin and, in turn, under my uncle’s skin. Choosing you upset his plans and made it clear that a union between our kingdoms will not come at such a low price.”
“So, I am a political pawn, my lord?”
He laughed out loud at me.
“Yes, I suppose you are,” he said, still chuckling. “A very beautiful political pawn. Now stop addressing me as my lord. There is no one else here.”
“I’m sorry, Branford,” I said.
“You are forgiven, Alexandra,” he said with a smile. With a yawn, he stood and stretched his arms over his head before walking over toward the basin to wash. I stood and quickly followed him. Branford watched, bemused, as I took up the pitcher of water and filled the basin, then adding the heated water left over in the kettle. I tested the water to make sure it was the proper temperature, took a cloth from a basket nearby, soaked it, wrung it out, and then held it for Branford to take.
“Do you think Princess Whitney would have bothered to warm my bathing water for me?” he asked with a smile.
“No, my…Branford.” I smiled back at him, finally feeling as though I had done something right. Before I could feel too pleased with myself though, I had to quickly turn away as Branford loosened his shirt and pulled it over his head, baring his chest to me.
“You might as well get accustomed to it,” Branford said. I found I could hear his smile in his voice. “I sleep without a nightshirt. It is much more comfortable.”
I remained where I was, my eyes focused on the fire. I could hear Branford’s soft laughter behind me.
“Would you prefer it if I got into the bed first and covered myself?”
“Yes, please,” I said. I heard more of his clothing rustle near the changing screen and then felt him walk past me toward the bed. After another minute, he called out.
“Are you ready to sleep?” he asked, laughter still evident in his voice. “Or do you plan on standing all night? It’s safe for you to look now.”
I glanced quickly, wondering if he was teasing me or not. He was on the far side of the bed with one of the blankets drawn to just under his armpits. His bare arms and broad shoulders were still clearly exposed, and he was propped up on one elbow, looking at me with that half smile.
I slowly approached and then stopped at the side of the bed farthest from him. Taking a deep breath to prepare my nerves, I slipped under the blanket and quickly pulled it up to my chin. As soon as my head rested against the soft, down-filled pillow, I could feel every muscle in my body tense. Though he was on the other side of the bed, I could still hear his breathing and feel his presence. In the sheer nightdress, I felt completely exposed even with the blankets over me, and my thoughts again shifted to how little I knew of this man.
“Goodnight, my wife.”
“Goodnight, Branford,” I replied. I tried to force my muscles to relax, telling myself over and over that the bed was large, and he was really not so close. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and then closed my eyes as the events of the day and the emotions they generated washed over me.
As I lay completely motionless on my side of the bed, facing away from my husband, I tried not to cry. What had happened to me? How had I gone from a relatively happy, if penniless, handmaid to a princess, to the wife of the heir to the crown from the next kingdom in a single day? I had married a man I did not know, and now I did not know what I was supposed to do with my life. I hadn’t even allowed my husband to sanctify our marriage. What kind of wife was I going to be for him, with or without warm bathing water?
I closed my eyes and begged sleep to come. Perhaps the light of day would cast a favorable outlook on my plight. Then I realized I didn’t even know if we would still be here the next day or if we would be heading for Silverhelm. Maybe my husband was due for another tournament in some other nearby kingdom. What would happen to me if he were hurt in a tournament? What if he were killed? I had to fight back panic again as all of the tension, the fear, the anxiety, and the worry of the past day came crashing down on me, and the tears I had held back throughout the day burst forth.
“Alexandra.”
I heard his soft voice behind me and felt his hand on my shoulder.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m s-s-sorry…my lord…I mean, Branford.” I could hardly speak. I felt him turn me over and gather me up in his arms, holding me against his body with my palms spread out over his chest. “I…d-don’t know…what…I’m…sup-supposed to…to d-do now!”
“Shh, Alexandra…”
Unable to do anything else, I leaned into him and cried against his warmth as his whispers told me it would be all right, and his hand stroked my hair. All of my tight muscles slowly began to relax under his touch, and I found enough breath to quiet my sobs. His arms held me tightly against his bare chest, and his warmth comforted me unlike any fire ever had. I don’t know how long he held me like that before I fell into slumber.
And that is how I spent my wedding night.
Chapter 4—Secretly Overhear
When I woke, I was distinctly warm, and not from the fire smoldering across the room.
I was lying across Branford’s bare chest, my head on his shoulder and my hand on his stomach. I could feel one of his arms around my back, across both of my shoulders, holding me close to him. His other hand was on my arm, which lay on top of him. The blanket had shifted downward in the night and now only came up to our waists. In the dim firelight, I could make out the distinct shape of the muscles covering his torso. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and tried to contain my nerves. I opened my eyes again slowly, taking in the partially disrobed, absolutely stunning body of my husband.
His shoulders were broad, and the muscles
flexed slightly as he shifted in sleep and held me tighter. There was soft-looking hair over his sternum, which trailed down the center of his body until it reached his stomach, tightened into a distinct line, and disappeared under the blanket. The muscles of his stomach were perfectly outlined, displaying ridges under his skin, which screamed of physical power. Physically, he was as perfect as the title of prince would indicate.
What in the world was I doing here with this man?
My eyes were sore, and I remembered exactly how I had fallen asleep—amidst tears and sobs in the arms of my new husband. He must think me incredibly weak, or at the very least, ungrateful for what he had done—taken me as his wife. Lying in his arms, I found myself feeling unworthy, small, and frightened. I supposed I should have taken comfort that he did not hurt me as he surely could have done and as was his right. But though I felt comforted by him, lying in his arms as I slept, I could not find comfort in him because I was still unsure of his true nature and his motives.
Moving cautiously, I slipped out from under his arm, crawled to the other side of the bed, and dropped over the edge to the cool floor. I was careful not to wake him as his arm slid off my back and landed on the sheets. I shivered with the cold and made my way to the chamber pot, then to the fire, which smoldered with an orange glow. Choosing two logs based on their weight and density, I placed them over the coals and blew gently until flames burst forth, warming the air around me. They were heavy and should last for some time. I glanced over to the window and saw no signs of daybreak, so I made my way slowly back to the bed.
After crawling underneath the blanket, I lay on my back on the far side of the bed, which was cool to the touch. I shivered slightly and stared at the ceiling of the room. My mind felt empty—in a daze, I suspected. I did feel grateful for Branford’s apparent kindness but still quite concerned that he would reconsider his decision due to my apparent inability to give him a proper wedding night. Were we even truly married yet? Though my well-being had always been in the control of others, I had never felt so unsure of myself. I shivered again.