by Shay Savage
“I’m sorry, my wife,” he said suddenly.
“For what?”
“For not knowing what you need to know,” he said, “and for assuming too much. I have been bred for this life, this position, and you have not. Even then, I don’t know what a queen should know, only what I need to know. I’m not even sure how much of what I have learned since I was a babe in arms would be taught to you as well. More than I think, I would guess.”
He settled back and pulled me tightly against his chest, adjusting my riding cloak so it was securely around my shoulders. I tensed a little, suddenly aware of our closeness as he moved his hips against my back. He began stroking my stomach, and the warm sun sneaking through the leaves of the trees was making me feel sleepy again. I relaxed against his broad chest.
“Alexandra?” The tip of his nose touched the edge of my ear.
“Yes, Branford?”
He tilted his head to look at me from the side, and I turned my head to face him.
“I truly wish to know you,” he said. “Not just because our queen demanded it. Even the very first time I looked at you—when I was in the arena and you blushed so beautifully—I wanted to know more about you.”
“I will tell you anything you wish to know.”
“I know you will.” He nodded. “But I don’t always know what questions to ask. I will learn, my wife. I promise you that. I am not going to fail you again.”
The ride back down the hill was more difficult for both us and the horse. Branford gripped me tightly, only occasionally slowing enough to press his lips to my cheek or hair. My head was still filled with sleep, and my long nap, combined with Branford’s warm arms and the steady movement of the horse, almost lulled me back into slumber. Though it must have taken nearly as much time to return, it seemed like the castle walls were in view in almost no time at all.
Branford tightened his arm around me and leaned close to kiss my cheek.
“We’re almost home,” he said.
I looked up to the towering walls of the castle, and I could see the shadowy figures of archers as they patrolled the wall-walks. The stables emitted the sounds of horses as they came in for the night, and in the distance, I could hear the bark of Branford’s hunting dogs. The red and golden hues from the sun’s lowered rays across the fields were breathtaking.
And that is when I knew I wished to call Castle Silverhelm my home.
Chapter 3—Regretfully Question
The evening breeze whipped random pieces of straw around the entrance to the stables as Branford rode through the doorway, dismounted from Romero, and then lifted me easily to the ground. One of the stable boys held the reins as Branford barked orders at him.
“Make sure Michael exercises him both in the morning and later in the afternoon. I want him ready to ride with armor the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes, Sir Branford!” the stable boy chirped. He began to lead Romero into his stall.
“Feed him well this evening, and make sure he has enough water. If I see his pail empty again, someone will pay for it.”
“Yes, Sir Branford!”
“Tell Michael to check with the armorer in the morning, and make sure my armor has been properly repaired as well, including the helm.”
“Yes, Sir Branford!”
Branford held his arm out to me, and I took it. The sun was just starting to set behind the castle walls as we walked through the gate, up the path, and into the castle proper.
“I assume Sunniva has already planned on sending us dinner in our rooms,” Branford was saying as we started up the stairway. “After we dine, we can…sit for a while.”
I looked up at him, and he was smiling ever so slightly. I nodded, understanding what he meant, and I considered what questions I might ask him. I wanted to know more about his sister and Sir Parnell but wasn’t sure if that was the type of topic he wished me to broach in our chair. We had just reached the top of the stairs leading to the hallway and our rooms when we heard a shout.
“Branford Sterling!”
I felt Branford’s body tense as Queen Sunniva stalked down the hallway toward us. Branford’s fingers tightened on top of my hand as he watched her approach.
“You scared poor Dunstan half to death with that talk!” she said, scolding him. She placed her hands on her hips and scowled.
“I wanted some privacy,” Branford replied, his words harsh. I tensed. Though I had heard him use such a tone before—both to his adoptive parents and servants alike—I couldn’t help but think even a prince would be reprimanded for such disrespect to the queen, but his words did not seem to upset her. “I do not require, nor will I tolerate, a nanny!”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” the queen responded. “I needed to make sure you weren’t sneaking off somewhere with your men.”
Branford growled again under his breath as he shuffled his feet back and forth and stared at the ground. He flexed his fingers once before he looked up to meet the queen’s eyes.
“I heard your mandate,” he replied. “I had no intention of breaking it.”
“I see that,” she said as her eyes darted between us. “Still, to say such things to Dunstan! You would do well to remember how important he is to you in your army.”
“He would have been a great loss,” Branford said with a nod. He looked to Sunniva and raised his eyebrows. “I’m glad he chose to listen.”
Sunniva shook her head and let out a sigh. She dropped her hands from her hips and pursed her lips.
“Since you have already been out and about today, will you be joining us in the dining hall for supper?” Sunniva asked. “Lady Susan is here, and we'll be dining shortly.”
Branford hesitated before looking to me and taking a deep breath.
“Please offer my apologies,” Branford said curtly. “We will be dining in our room tonight.”
Sunniva's eyes widened. After a moment, her mouth turned up in the slightest of smiles before she tilted her head and nodded toward us.
“I will relay your regrets.” Queen Sunniva looked to me, and her eyes softened as she smiled. “I hope you enjoyed your day, Alexandra. Perhaps we will be able to spend some time together soon. I have been working on some embroidery, and I wondered if you had ever learned that skill.”
“I’ve tried it a few times…Sunniva,” I replied, still uncomfortable calling her by her given name but glad I had at least remembered to address her as she had asked. “I would love to try again.”
“Then we shall make sure you have the opportunity.” Her smile broadened, and she looked back to Branford. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll have your meal sent up directly.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
She nodded and took her leave of us. Branford opened the door to our rooms and ushered me inside. The fires must have been tended while we were out, for they were blazing. The room was warm, and the evening candles had been lit. The windows were opened, and I could smell the spring blooms in the air as the breeze made the candles flicker. Branford removed his riding jacket and tossed it over the couch in the morning room and then helped me remove my cloak before rinsing his hands in the water basin. He removed his belt along with his sword and scabbard, propping the sword up next to the fire.
Dinner arrived quickly, and I again took the food at the door and brought it into our rooms myself as the kitchen servants stayed in the hall. Branford looked on, smiling his half smile at me. He ate heartily, but I found my stomach was too tied up in knots to eat very much. Once we were finished, Branford sat in the chair by the fire and beckoned me. I walked over to him and then slowly lowered myself onto his lap. I felt his fingers touch my sides as he wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head.
“I’m glad you liked the meadow,” he said.
“It’s beautiful,” I confirmed. I lay my hands down in my lap and twisted my fingers together. I knew he wanted me to speak freely as he had indicated before, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say or ask, if anything. I could have asked a
bout his family or about what might be expected of me at the tournament in a few days’ time. I could also have asked him to elaborate on sinning since he had spoken of it earlier, but I was not sure I wished to hear the details.
“Are you nervous?” Branford asked.
“Somewhat,” I replied.
“Of sitting here or of…later?”
“Both,” I confessed. I tugged at my fingers.
“Your hands are trembling.” His hand ran from my shoulder down to my fingers, which he pried apart so he could hold one of my hands. He traced circles over my palm with his thumb. “There must be something you wish to say. Would you rather have dined with everyone else?”
“Dining here was fine,” I said.
“You didn’t eat.”
“I was not very hungry.”
Branford huffed through his nose and leaned his head back against the chair.
“Lady Susan was probably hoping to speak to you more.”
“Lady Susan?” I asked, hoping my tone didn’t give away what I was truly wondering.
“Of Wynton,” Branford said. “Do you not remember? She was in our carriage between the wedding and reception.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed, suddenly remembering the lithe older woman who sat with the Duke of Wynton, whose name I also didn’t remember. “I remember her and her husband.”
“Her brother.” Branford corrected me with a smile.
“I’m sorry.”
“There is no reason for an apology,” Branford said. “I know how overwhelmed you were that night. If it makes any difference to you, I would have handled it somewhat differently in retrospect.”
I nodded, not sure what difference it would have made. The last few days had been a whirlwind in my head, and I didn’t know what to make of any of it. I wasn’t sure how it could have been much different for me. Between embarrassing Branford on multiple occasions and being completely inept in understanding what he needed from me, changing how the wedding was conducted probably would not have made much of an impact.
Branford released my hand and placed his fingertips on my jaw, turning me toward him. His lips brushed softly against my own as his eyes looked into mine. They were bright, and they sparkled when the corner of his mouth turned up. I tried to fathom how the same eyes could go from this—soft and playful—to sharp and biting as he threatened the life of the guard. When he admitted to Sunniva how important the man was to him, I didn’t understand how he could consider punishing him for following her orders.
“There is something you wish to ask me,” Branford said. He was not asking a question. I bit down on my lip and nodded slightly. “Out with it, then!”
“It is…well…” I stammered. “It is about the guard…Dunstan.”
“What of him?”
“Queen Sunniva said he was important,” I said, “in your army.”
“He is.”
“Would you have…done what you said you were going to do if he had followed us?”
“Yes.”
“But…why? If he is so valuable to you...”
“Why kill him?” The corners of Branford’s mouth turned up slightly, and his eyebrows rose. I nodded. “The usefulness of one soldier is completely outweighed by my ability to command them all. If one of them cannot follow my orders, then the potential in battle is catastrophic. They have to be able to trust my word implicitly. They have to know that I will not back down from anything I say.”
“But…you made him go against the queen’s word,” I said.
“Not exactly,” Branford said with a shrug. “I told him to discuss it with her, which he obviously did, which would give her the opportunity to rescind. Sunniva knows I am a man of my word, and she knows how valuable Dunstan is to me. She never would have sent him. She could have sent another man, who would have died in Dunstan’s stead, but she obviously saw no point to such waste.”
I blinked a few times and looked down at my hands in my lap. My chest felt tight, and I had to swallow hard before I could speak again.
“If the queen had told him to follow, he would have been obeying her.”
“Yes.”
“And still you would have…have killed him?”
“Alexandra.” Branford sighed and leaned back a little in our chair as he shook his head. He ran his hand down my back and then up again, pushing gently between my shoulder blades until my head rested against his chest. “I never make a statement I am not prepared to see through. If I had seen Dunstan at any time out in the forest today, we would not be sitting here now. We would be in the courtyard, witnessing his execution.”
“I don’t understand,” I told him. I didn’t—I didn’t understand how he could be so…callous toward someone he said was important to him. “Why would you have someone executed for such a…a little thing?”
“Going against my word is not a ‘little thing,’ Alexandra.”
“But you said he was important to you.” I was pressing, and I knew it though sitting here with him was allowing me more boldness than I would have thought. On one level, it terrified me to be asking him so many questions, but he had wanted me to do so—indeed, he had demanded it—and I didn’t want to disappoint him either. I also wanted to understand his reasons, for as incongruous as they appeared, I thought there must be merit to them.
“He’s only a soldier, Alexandra,” Branford said, his tone chastising. “I have many capable soldiers.”
My eyes narrowed, and as I felt the gentle thrumming of his heart beneath my cheek, my mind flashed to Hadley and Shelly. I wondered just how the princess regarded us as we cared for her and made sure her every command came to fruition.
“Princess Whitney has many capable handmaids,” I said quietly before I realized the words were coming from my mouth. My muscles tensed as I sat in his lap but not so much that I couldn’t feel Branford tense as well. I felt the minute increase of his heart rate underneath his shirt as he held his breath. He gripped my arm slightly before releasing me altogether.
“Get up,” he said quietly. His voice was hard, dark, and it sent a chill down my spine.
I turned my legs to the side and stood from the chair. I started to take a step back but Branford stood and grabbed my hand, holding me firm. With his other hand, he took me by the chin, and his eyes blazed down at me in anger.
“I will not have you or any other woman tell me how to deal with my army,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “I swore there would be no chastisement for anything said in that chair, and I will stand by my word, but don’t you ever question how I handle my men again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He released my chin and dropped both his hands to his sides. I lowered my gaze to the floor and tried to keep myself from dropping to my knees, as I felt I should, but I didn’t think it would please him. Branford turned away and stalked over to the window. The shutters were open, and he looked out over the darkening field for a while.
I was so confused. Hadn’t I done what he asked? He wanted me to ask him questions when we sat in the chair. That was what he had requested. It seemed no matter what I did, I could never make the right choice.
“Make me some tea,” Branford finally said. His voice had gone cold and expressionless.
“Yes, my…Branford.”
I took the kettle and filled it with fresh water, trying to understand just where I had gone wrong. He had demanded I tell him what I was thinking, but when I did, he did not truly wish to hear it. I was so confused, and even the usually calming act of preparing his tea was not helping my shaking hands. I brought him the cup of steaming liquid, which he took and deposited on the table near the window with barely a glance. I didn’t know what I was to do next, so I stood there beside him and stared at the floor.
“I didn’t mean to be so…gruff.” He tapped his fingers on the windowsill and continued to stare out over the field. “You caught me off guard.”
“I’m sorry, Branford,” I said quietly. “I thought…”
“You thought what?” He turned his gaze on me.
“I thought you wanted me to ask you…questions.”
“You may”—Branford’s jaw tensed, and he spoke through clenched teeth—“inquire, but do not presume, Alexandra. You may ask me questions, but do not question my judgment. Not in matters such as war.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. I felt one of the tears I had been trying to hold back escape and tumble down my face. Branford reached out and ran his hand up my back, stopping at my shoulder. He pulled me against his chest, and his lips touched the top of my head.
“Sit down, Alexandra,” he said. He released me, pointed toward the chair, and I moved to quickly sit. Branford took a couple of steps toward me, then stopped and turned to the fire, staring at the burning embers and kicking at a piece of a log that had rolled away from the flames.
“I was raised for war.” Branford placed his hands on the mantle and leaned against it heavily, staring into the flames. “I have been preparing for it nearly my entire life. There is only one person to whom I answer on such matters, and that is our king. Not even Sunniva questions me in this regard.”
“It was not my intent—” I tried to say, but he shushed me.
“I know,” he said.
“It won’t happen again,” I promised.
Branford closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He reached out and touched the hilt of the sword as it sat propped up against the wall. He slid his fingers slowly over the edge of cold metal.
“I am a violent and brutal man, Alexandra,” Branford said softly. He didn’t look at me but kept his eyes turned toward the flames. “It is in my nature. When I am angered, it is how I have always resolved the issue at hand.”
He turned his head abruptly, and our gazes met. I didn’t understand his expression. Though I could see his anger still lodged deep within his irises, there was something else there as well.
“I do not wish to be violent toward you again,” he said, his voice earnest. “I wish to trust you and have you trust me, but this is how I have always been. I want to be different toward you—for you—but it is…”