“I think bed would be just fine,” Branford said, halting my words. “I’m glad there’s nothing pressing for us to do in the morning, or you would be very tired. I should have told you not to wait up for me, Alexandra. I’m supposed to take care of you, and I’ve failed within the first day. Please forgive me.”
“Of course, Branford,” I replied, not knowing what else I should say.
Branford told me to prepare for bed, so I went to change behind the screen. Though I could not see him, I could hear Branford removing his clothing on the other side, near the basin. I heard the splash of water as he dipped his hands in and realized I had not warmed it from the water in the kettle and knew it must be quite cold. I pulled my nightdress over myself quickly and ran to the kettle by the fire. I brought it to the basin and poured it in as Branford looked at me sideways with his half smile.
“The water isn’t hot anymore,” I said apologetically, “but it’s still warm. I’m sorry I didn’t think of it before you started to wash.”
“That’s quite all right,” Branford said softly. His shirt had been discarded on the back of a nearby chair, and he was dressed only in the fine linen trousers he had worn to bed the night before. At least, they looked to be the same. I averted my eyes and thought I could hear him snicker softly to himself and then sigh.
“Alexandra?” he asked quietly.
“Yes, Branford?” I still didn’t turn back to look at him.
“Would you help me?” he asked.
“Help you, my lord?” I closed my eyes tightly, knowing I had said the wrong thing again. All my life I had been taught to address the noblemen as such and trying to address just this one nobleman differently when we were alone seemed impossible. My frustration at addressing him incorrectly distracted me so I couldn’t think too long about what he might need from me.
“Yes, please,” Branford replied. “Come here.”
I took a couple of steps toward him but kept my eyes to the ground. I could see his bare feet on the wooden floor, sticking out of the ends of his pale-colored trousers.
“Here,” he said, and I had to look up to see what he was offering. In his hand was the washing cloth, soaked in the lukewarm water. “Will you wash me?”
“Wash you?” My voice squeaked.
“If you would, yes,” he said. I was met with his crooked half smile when I looked up at him. I tried not to focus on his exposed skin any more than I had to but quickly realized I would have no choice but to look at him if I were to get him properly cleaned.
“Of course my…Branford.”
Branford took a step back to give me better access to the water. He turned so he was facing me directly, his arms hanging casually at his sides while he looked at my face. I realized I was still staring at his eyes and quickly looked away, feeling the ever-persistent flush covering my face. I didn’t understand why he would ask me to do this now, right after he had just said it was late. My mind raced to find the answer as I prepared for the task ahead of me but discovered none. I dipped the cloth in the water, then pulled it out and wrung it to stop the dripping. My hand was shaking a little as I reached up and drew the cloth over one side of his face. He leaned into my touch as I trailed the cloth over his skin, back around his ear and over his neck. I repeated the motion on the other side before moving to his shoulders, desperately hoping he did not notice the trembling in my hands and think me completely inept.
His muscles flexed beneath my hand, and I was reminded of his firm grip around my waist as we rode to Saint Anthony’s Abbey and the feel of his warm body pressed against mine as we traveled on horseback. I was finding breathing a little more difficult and didn’t understand why my heart was beating so much harder than it had been before. My rapid heartbeat was strangely reminiscent of the fear I felt when we entered the Grand Hall to meet King Camden, but I didn’t feel afraid now. Again I considered his motives for asking me to touch him in this way and came to the most obvious conclusion—if he wanted me to touch him like this out of bed, he was going to want me to touch him more once we were in bed. My teeth sunk into my lower lip as I ran the cloth up and down each of his arms before rinsing it out again.
I wiped down his chest and stomach and found myself again fascinated by the ridged muscles of his upper body. My fingertips could feel the outline of his stomach muscles underneath the cloth, and they tensed slightly when I touched him. Once I was done with his stomach and chest, I washed his sides quickly before I dared look him in the face again.
His eyes were dark, the light from the fire dancing over them in strange, ghostly patterns. I had learned already that particular look in his eyes and felt my heartbeat increase yet again as a chill ran down my spine. I took a deep breath, trying to calm myself. I had already decided to tell him I was ready, and this only meant he would agree to my offer.
“Will you wash my back as well?” Branford asked, and his voice sounded as dark as his eyes. He turned around without waiting for my answer, and I quickly refreshed the cloth before washing from his shoulders down to his waist. Once the washing was complete, I picked up a dry cloth and dried his back and sides. Then he turned around to face me again, and with my shaky hands, I dried off the rest of his skin.
“Thank you, Alexandra,” Branford said softly. “I think I am ready to go to bed now.”
“You’re welcome, Branford,” I replied. I hung both the cloths on a drying rack near the water basin while I tried to stop my heart from beating so loudly. I was sure he would be able to hear it if it became any louder.
He smiled down at me again before making his way to the bed. I took another deep breath before I followed dutifully after him, waited for him to position himself under the blanket, and then climbed in on the other side, only vaguely aware of the softness of the bedsheets and pillows as I settled myself next to my husband.
For a moment, I lay on my back and tried to determine the best possible approach. Should I just come out and ask him to join with me, or should I reach over and touch him in some fashion? I understood the ludicrousness of my thoughts as soon as I realized I had no idea how I might touch him to give him such an impression. It would have to be words, then. Clear and concise words. Assertive.
“I want you to…” I hesitated. Once the words were out of my mouth, I would not be able to take them back. However, if he had spent the first part of the night with one of the ladies in the court because he had not yet taken me, he could be discovered. If he were to be discovered, my virginity may also be discovered. He could be forced to send me back, and it was very clear what would happen to me if he did. I took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. “I want you to complete our marriage.”
“We shall, my wife,” he said with a smile. His hand reached out, and he placed his fingers under my chin. “When you are ready.”
“Tonight?” My voice did not come out as strong as I had intended. Branford looked at me warily.
“I don’t think you’re ready for that just yet,” he said simply.
“I am,” I said, trying to remain insistent though I had to tear my gaze from his intense look. “I want you to. Please.”
“It’s late, and you’re tired,” he said.
“I want to, Branford,” I said again. This time my voice managed not to shake.
I felt his fingers on my chin, tilting my head to look at him again. His eyes glanced back and forth, as if he were searching for something.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said as the relief washed over me. Once it was complete, we would truly be married, and I would no longer have to worry that he might replace me. His eyes danced over my face, glanced down my body, then focused on my lips. Branford's hand cupped my cheek, and he kissed me slowly, his lips pressing firmly but not too hard. I lay my head back against the pillows as he moved over me.
My mind raced. I had convinced him. He was going to do it! He was going to complete our marriage. Relief was quickly followed with the same fear that gripped me on our wedding night
. I tried to push it from my mind, but when he rolled over, and I could feel his desire against me, the anxiety from last night attempted to resurface. I could feel his leg as it nestled between mine, and he pushed my legs apart with his knee. I kept telling myself it had to be done, and that many, many women had survived this, but the fact was, I feared pain, and I feared blood. I knew both were to come, but I didn’t want Branford to stop and risk him casting me out. I had to try to do whatever was right in this situation, so when his mouth covered mine, I remembered his tongue in my mouth from the previous night, and I parted my lips. He groaned into my mouth as his tongue touched mine, and his hands gripped my waist tightly.
His breath was hot and suffocating. I could feel one of his hands running over my hip, down the outside of my thigh and lower until he reached the end of my nightdress and began to pull it up. He ran his tongue over my lips, and then he kissed me roughly before his mouth moved to my chin and then my throat.
I closed my eyes tightly and felt the muscles in my legs tighten as well. Branford’s bare chest rose up and down with his rapid breathing, pressing my body into the mattress with each inhalation. His mouth left a warm, moist trail over my skin. I've got to do this, I told myself. If I didn't let him do this, I could be sent away. He was already looking for another. Indeed, he already seemed to have another. Had he been with her just a short time ago? My heart clenched at the thought, and I couldn’t stop the muscles throughout my body from tensing. It no longer mattered how much it would hurt. It had to be done, or I would be driven to insanity from worry of where he might be and what he might be doing.
“Alexandra.” Branford’s movements had stopped, and when I opened my eyes, I saw him staring back at me. His eyes held that dark, hungry look, but it was quickly replaced with anger. “I have a mind to take you over my knee for lying to me. You don't want this. You are not ready.”
“Branford, please,” I said as he rolled back to his side. His hand pushed the hem of my nightdress back, smoothing it against my leg. “I am. I want to…please.”
“No, you don't,” Branford contradicted. His blazing eyes softened into something I hadn’t seen in his expressions before. Was it disappointment? Hurt? I didn’t know. “When I look in your eyes, there is no desire there, no want. I only see fear.”
He cupped my cheek and ran his thumb underneath my eye.
“And tears,” he added. I felt wetness spread across my skin. I didn’t realize I had been betrayed by my own eyes. “I don’t want you to cry, Alexandra. You are not ready.”
“I am, Branford—please! I want to complete our marriage! Please!”
I looked into his eyes and reached for him, my fingers tentatively touching the skin of his chest. If he stopped now, when would I ever convince him to start again? I was as ready for pain as I was ever going to be, and whether it was now or tomorrow or ten years from now, I was never going to be more ready for that.
“Please, Branford,” I repeated in a hoarse whisper. “Please. Please, Branford.”
He pulled my face to his and kissed me again slowly. He pulled back after only a moment, and again I repeated my plea.
“Oh, Alexandra,” he said, his voice soft. His breaths were heavy, and his eyes stared into me as he traced quickly over his bottom lip with his tongue. “How am I supposed to resist that?”
Again, his mouth captured mine, and his hand grasped either side of my head, holding me close and kissing me deeply but still softly. He kissed the curve of my chin and around my throat while one hand twisted in my hair. I felt his other hand against my hip again, his fingers splayed against the silk fabric, gripping my skin tightly.
I ignored the trembling in my fingers as I reached for the ties at my throat and started to pull at the laces so Branford would have better access to me. I knew he would want to see me bare, and I found a whole new concern that he may not like what he saw. Would he consider my breasts too small or too large? I thought them average but had no idea what a man might prefer. Was I too pale? I decided it really didn’t matter, given the darkness of the room, and continued my efforts. I pulled one of the laces out and felt the cool air hit the skin of my chest.
“Alexandra,” Branford grumbled, “would you please stop trying to untie your nightdress?”
“Do you want to do it yourself?” I asked, embarrassed yet again at my lack of knowledge.
“Yes, I do,” Branford said, his voice firm, “but not tonight, Alexandra.”
Realization hit me. He wasn’t going to do this. He may have even had his fill for one night and had no reason to want to bed me. The thought caused my chest to tighten again, and I found myself practically groveling.
“Please, Branford! I don’t want to wait!” I sounded desperate, and I knew it. “I want you to…to take me…now…please.”
“Why, Alexandra?” he asked. “You aren't ready, so why do you beg me to do this?”
Why, indeed? I closed my eyes and tried to turn from him, but he would have none of that, and his hand firmly gripped my chin again. Perhaps it wouldn’t make any difference if he did take my virginity. If afterwards he found me uninteresting, and his preferences were more in tune with someone else—someone with hair the color of a sunset, a more voluptuous body, and the understanding of how to conduct herself with nobles—then why did I do this? Simply because I had no idea what else I should do.
“I don’t know anything about being your wife,” I finally said. “There’s only one thing I do know—I’m supposed to let you do this to me, and I haven’t. I know you want it, and I haven’t…I haven’t…been able to…to…”
“Let me do this to you?” Branford repeated my words. He sat up in the bed, and his hands moved up to cover his face. I could hear him grumbling low in his throat though whether he talked to me or to himself was unclear. “You know so little, and I have no idea where to begin. I’m such a fool!”
I felt tears sting my eyes again. I didn’t know anything at all, and that fact was so completely obvious, it wasn’t even worth the effort it would take to say it. He had to be so frustrated with me.
“Please…just tell me what I should do.” I begged him, reaching out and wrapping my fingers around his upper arm—his sword arm. My mind flashed to the carriage driver, and when Branford glared at my hands around his arm, I figured he was remembering the same thing. I quickly released him and mumbled my apology. “I’ll do anything you tell me to do!”
“Then tell me why,” Branford said. “Why are you offering yourself to me now?”
“I’m supposed to do so,” I said again.
“Is that the only reason?” he asked.
“You shouldn’t have to lie about me,” I said softly. “You had to lie to King Camden. I don't want you to have to speak a lie just to protect me.”
“I'd do far more than lie if you needed protecting,” Branford said with conviction. “And I never lied to Camden. I just...misled him a bit.”
“You said there was proof,” I whispered. “There wasn’t any proof because we didn't...um...do anything.”
“I wouldn't have anyone question us,” Branford said. “I left...evidence.”
I furrowed my brow, trying to understand what he could possibly mean. Then I remembered washing his hands in the basin the morning after we were married.
“You cut your hand,” I said.
Branford tilted his head to one side and raised his eyebrows.
“I will protect you,” he repeated.
“You might…” I stopped, not sure exactly what I would say.
“I might what?” Branford asked.
“You might…you don’t…I know you don’t want to wait.”
“I’m not the only one in the bed, Alexandra,” Branford said, reaching out and taking my face in the palm of his hand. “We must both be willing, my wife—not just me.”
Branford sighed and slipped back down to lie on his side, propping himself up on one arm and looking down at me.
“Alexandra,” Branford said, “I
could certainly hold you down and listen to you cry as I took pleasure with your body without thinking of you. I’m physically capable of doing that every night for as long as we live.”
He took a deep death and leaned a little closer to me.
“I could do that,” he repeated, “but if I did, every time I would lie here with you, you would give me the same look you are giving me now—one of trepidation and fear. I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Alexandra. I don’t want to come to this bed every night, knowing you don’t want me here.”
“I would…I would want you here…” I stammered and then paused. I had no idea what I could say and finally just blurted out what was in my head. “I don’t want you to go somewhere else!”
“Those are not the same things,” Branford said as he shook his head. “You may consider my presence preferable to my absence, but that doesn’t mean you want me here. You are adept at serving those above you, and I’m sure you would manage to find a way to hide your loathing of me, but you would never look at me the way I want you to—with desire in your eyes. That’s what I want to see, Alexandra. When I come to this bed and lie beside you, I want to look into your eyes and know you want me.”
He used his fingers to roam over the skin of my cheek, then my chin, and down my neck. He rested his hand on the top of my shoulder, where the slightly opened fabric of my nightdress met my skin.
“How could you?” he finally said quietly, and I again wondered if he was talking to me or to himself. “You know nothing of what is to come except what little rumors of horror you have heard, so how could you ever want me?”
A light came into his eyes, almost as if the firelight leapt out from the logs and entered them, only to be directed at me. His back arched slightly, and he focused on my eyes.
“Alexandra, I would like to try something,” Branford said. He shifted closer to me again. “Will you let me?”
“I’m yours,” I whispered softly, trying not to show my increasing panic. What did he want to try? Why was he even asking me such a question?