“I thought you might like more than a couple of hours’ notice,” Ida said with a shrug, obviously not concerned about her intrusion. “Good morning, Alexandra.”
I mumbled a response to her though she may not have heard it through the blankets.
“I’m throwing a reception for you tonight,” Ida said, “since the first one was obviously a complete mess according to Parnell’s description. You need a good one, and since I’m leaving with Parnell to go to Sawyer in two days, it will have to be tonight. Mother said it would be a good way to introduce Alexandra to the court officially, anyway.”
“Parnell’s leaving?”
“Yes, he said you spoke about it.”
“Oh, right. We did.” Branford sat up a bit and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “I don’t suppose I can talk you out of this.”
“Not a chance.” Ida crossed her arms over her chest.
“Fine,” Branford grumbled. “Now get out!”
Ida waved at me before she turned around and headed back out the open door, shutting it soundlessly behind her.
“A reception?” I finally said.
“There’s no way of avoiding it,” Branford said. “Once Ida has her mind made up, there really is no way of stopping her.”
“Tonight?” The concern in my voice must have been noticeable.
“Don’t worry, my wife.” Branford smiled at me. “This one will be easy for you.”
“What will I have to do?” I asked.
“It will be a dinner, much like the reception after our wedding, only a bit more ostentatious, I’m sure. Ida goes overboard when it comes to such things though they do end up being the talk of the kingdom afterwards, so she must do something right. It will be a feast, and you will be the last one to enter. You’ll join me to eat, and we’ll dance afterwards. Nothing to worry about at all.”
“What should I wear?”
Branford laughed.
“I haven’t any idea at all,” he said. “I’m sure Ida will find someone to advise you, though. She probably has a wardrobe picked out for both of us by now.”
“It really is late,” I said, glancing at the shuttered windows. “I should get up and…”
I didn’t really know what I should be doing, so my sentence trailed off. I was used to keeping myself busy all the time. I started to push myself away from him, figuring there was something I should be doing instead of sleeping, but Branford’s arms tightened around me.
“Stay,” Branford said, the word sounding more like a question than a command. “Ida will undoubtedly do everything that needs to be done, so there is no rush right now. Please…just lie here with me a while.”
Branford lay down on his back and pulled me close to him again. I nodded and lay my head down against my husband’s chest. He immediately moved his hand into my hair again with his fingers pulling lazily through the strands. My thoughts returned to the night and the feel of Branford’s gentle touch and compared them to the slow draw of his fingers through my hair.
“What are you thinking?” Branford asked quietly. “I find you so difficult to read, and you’re not very forthcoming with information. Tell me what you are thinking that makes your eyes shine like that.”
Heat rose to my face, and I tried to tuck my head into the crook of his arm, but he held my chin and turned me to face him.
“Don’t hide. What are you thinking?”
“I was just thinking about what you said,” I told him. “I like waking up with you, too.”
“You do?” Branford beamed at me, letting out a breathy, relieved laugh.
“Yes.” I was sure my face blushed a deeper red.
“I’m glad to hear you say that,” Branford said. “Honestly, I had just about come to the conclusion that you didn’t care much for me at all.”
“Why would you think such a thing?”
“You hardly look at me,” he said, his smile quickly gone from his face. “When I saw you with my mother, I think that was the first time I had seen you really smile, and you stopped as soon as I walked in. You’ve barely told me anything about yourself, and every time I touch you, you flinch as if you think I’m going to do something horrible to you.”
Though his grip remained holding me to face him, I still shifted my eyes away from his gaze. Part of me understood that a lifetime of ingrained behaviors could not be changed overnight, but I would have been lying to both him and to myself if said I wasn’t made nervous by the touch of his skin on mine. It was too unexpected—not necessarily unpleasant, but foreign and strange. I probably hadn’t spoken to more than a handful of men my entire life, and all of them in the royal family, or very close to them, at Hadebrand. None of them ever touched me intentionally though—not once.
“Why, Alexandra?” Branford tilted his head way over to the side and looked at me straight on. “Am I so hideous to you?”
“No!” I said emphatically.
“Then why?”
“I don’t know,” I said softly. “I can’t even manage to get your title correct. I have no idea how I’m supposed to talk to you either alone or with others.”
“I don’t understand,” Branford said, shaking his head. “Just talk.”
“It’s not that simple,” I answered.
“Please, just tell me what you want to say.”
“I’m frightened of you,” I blurted out.
Branford’s brow furrowed, and he glanced away from me.
“What frightens you?” he asked.
“I don’t want you to be angry with me,” I said, admitting my fear. “You said we would talk later about the carriage driver, and we haven’t, and I don’t know what you are going to do when you’re angry with me.”
“What do you think I will do?” Branford asked.
“You’re a prince,” I replied. “You can do anything you want.”
Branford sighed and lifted his hand to run through his hair. He closed his eyes and shook his head for a moment.
“None of this is going right,” he mumbled to himself, and I felt panic immediately rise to my breast. Despite my efforts from before, he was going to send me away.
“Please don’t get rid of me!” I finally cried out and then covered my mouth with my hand, horrified.
“Oh, Alexandra!” Branford shook his head. “Why would you think such a thing?”
I had to look into his eyes because he sounded so sincere, and I needed to understand.
“Because I’m not good enough,” I said. “I'm only a handmaid. I don't know how to be your wife. I have no idea how to behave as the wife of a prince.”
“Alexandra,” he said, slowly drawing my name out. “I'm not going to send you away.”
“You could,” I whispered, “or worse.”
“Alexandra,” Branford repeated, his voice nearly as quiet as my own. “Have I given you any reason to think I would do such a thing?”
Sunniva’s words about assertiveness and being noble of heart came back to me. Maybe he hadn’t said as much in my presence, but he hadn’t said anything to the contrary, either.
“You haven’t given me reason to think you would not.”
“Why would I cast you out?” Branford asked.
Did he want me to list all the reasons again, or was he looking for something else? I was certain I had spent more time second-guessing myself in the last two days than I had in my entire life.
“You have…you could…there could be someone else you want to choose instead,” I whispered.
“What on earth are you talking about?”
I took a deep breath and decided if I didn’t say it now, I probably never would.
“I saw you…last night,” I said, hesitating a moment. I took a deep breath. “You were with that pretty woman from the court.”
I felt his chest muscles contract under the side of my face, and his arms gripped me tighter for a moment before he relaxed again.
“What do you mean, you saw me?”
“You were in the garden,” I
said. “While I was waiting for you, I went out to see what it looked like at night. You were there…with that lady.”
“And?”
“You were talking…and I heard you say…” I paused, both to try to remember his exact words as well as wonder what on earth I thought I was doing. If my words were taken as an accusation—right or wrong—against my husband and prince, the consequences could be dire. He owned me, and if he decided to either cast me out for the favor of a new wife or keep me to the side as he entertained himself with someone else, there would be nothing I could do about it.
“Say what, Alexandra?”
“That you would have to replace me.”
“Replace you?” Branford’s eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “I never said anything like that!”
“You did,” I said emphatically, though I kept my voice quiet. “You said it was so soon, and you weren’t sure how quickly you should replace me.”
Branford’s eyes widened.
“We were talking about Lily,” he said softly, then shook his head slowly. “I was not referring to you, Alexandra.”
“You weren’t?”
“No, and I’m a little angry you would think so little of me. I chose you, Alexandra. If I hadn’t intended to keep you as my wife, why would I have chosen you in the first place?”
“You wanted to…to upset King Edgar.”
“And I did,” Branford said with a sly grin.
“You have already accomplished that goal,” I said, reasoning. “Since we haven’t completed our union, you could send me away.”
“I would have completed it on the first night!” he shouted suddenly. “If I wanted to replace you, I wouldn’t have even considered bedding you!”
Branford closed his eyes, and he took a couple of deep breaths. I could see the tension rise in his shoulders and slowly dissipate again with each breath.
“Last night I asked you to trust me,” Branford said, “and you did. Did I do what I said I would do?”
I nodded, my head reeling a little from his swift change in moods.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did you like it?”
I nodded again, blushing.
“Trust me again now,” he said. “You are going to remain my wife, and I will remain your husband. No one can change that.”
My mind fluttered back to the words I heard in the garden, the pretty woman holding his hands and beckoning him to her. I wanted to press the issue further. Where did they go and what did she give him? I was concerned I had only barely dodged his anger though, and I wasn’t sure the answer was worth his wrath.
“Will you trust me, Alexandra?”
“Yes, my…Branford.”
He covered my hand with his and pulled it up to his mouth. I followed the motion with my gaze as he brought my fingers to his lips and pressed gently along my knuckles. The rough skin of his unshaven face tickled my hand. Taking a deep breath, I opened my hand and slowly touched the edge of his jaw, the rough stubble of hair scratching the pads of my fingers.
“Would you like me to shave you today?” I asked.
Branford’s eyes brightened, and he smiled.
“Yes, I would like that.”
“Now?”
“I suppose I can only lie around in bed for so long.” Branford chuckled and kissed the back of my hand again. “Shall we?”
I moved to sit up and felt a sudden sense of loss when his arms dropped away from me. I shook my head slightly and then clambered out of the bed to take care of my more urgent morning needs. Branford placed two logs on the fire closest to the water basin, and I placed the kettle on its hook. While the water heated, I dressed in the slightly too-long dress Sunniva had me wear while we had hemmed the blue and yellow one. It hung down low enough to touch the floor, so I spent a moment twisting the fabric into the waistline to shorten it a few inches.
When I came out, Branford was dressed only in his trousers and sat back in a chair he had pulled close to the basin. Everything I needed to shave him was set out on a nearby cabinet top. The kettle’s water was boiling, and I added a generous amount to the bowl. Testing its heat with my fingers, I soaked two towels in the hot water. Once they were drenched, I wrung out the first one and placed it around Branford’s face. He winced at first then relaxed his shoulders and closed his eyes.
It had been some time since I had shaved a man, but I had shaved Prince Gage, Princess Whitney’s brother, often enough that I wasn’t concerned about my abilities. Taking a straight razor from the nearby cabinet top, I soaked it as well and then used my fingers to extract cream from the cup on the cabinet. I rubbed the cream into Branford’s face and neck to soften his skin and make the process more comfortable.
Starting with his neck, I scraped the edge of the razor slowly up his skin, rinsed the blade, and then made a second pass. I worked over one side of his neck before moving up around his jaw to his cheek. Branford’s eyes stayed on my face as I worked over him, and he seemed rather tense. I wondered if he ever had anyone do this for him or if he was used to doing it all himself. His skin was taut with his tense muscles underneath, and his stare was starting to make me feel self-conscious as well as making my job more difficult. I decided to try conversation in hopes of diverting his attention and relaxing his face.
“Why does Ida want us to have another reception?” I asked.
“She’s angry with me, to begin with.”
“Because she was supposed to plan your wedding?”
“Yes, who told you?”
“Ida and Sunniva talked about it.”
“Of course.” Branford sighed and turned his eyes to mine. He did appear to be relaxed a little now or at least distracted. “I suppose they told you how awful I am?”
“No,” I replied. “Sunniva said you were…”
I paused and bit down on my lip, wondering how much I should reveal.
“What did she say?” Branford asked, prodding for an answer.
“She said you were a good man,” I said.
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
For a few minutes, I went about my task in silence, and Branford stared off into space, his expression contemplative.
“Does the reception worry you?” Branford asked.
“Somewhat,” I admitted, slowly sliding the straight blade up the side of his neck. “I don’t really belong with all those people.”
“Of course you do,” Branford said, correcting me. “You are my wife.”
“I’m not so sure everyone would agree with that. Their first sight of me was less than ideal.”
“It doesn’t matter if some of them disagree,” Branford said, his voice low. “You are mine. You belong wherever I am, and you will be at my side during the feast celebrating our marriage.”
“I’m yours,” I said quietly. “I will do as you wish.”
“You are mine.” Branford reached out and placed his hand over my wrist, stopping my motions with the razor. With his other hand, he reached out and cupped my chin. “In the same respect, I am yours.”
I moved the razor from my husband’s cheek. For some strange, unknown reason, the notion made me laugh.
“You find that funny?” Branford inquired, and for a moment, I thought him angry, but when I looked to him, he was smiling slightly. He released my wrist and chin.
“A little,” I admitted. I calmed myself and went back to my task. “I belong to you, of course. I was given to you when we married—by Father Charles. It’s supposed to be that way.”
“Is it now?” Branford said with a smirk.
I looked up into his eyes again, trying to determine if he was telling me I was wrong, agreeing, or possibly just teasing me. I couldn’t determine the answer from his expression.
“I think so,” I mumbled. I focused back on the edge of his jaw, running the razor carefully over the curve.
“Marriage is a union, Alexandra,” Branford said when I moved to shave the opposite side of his ne
ck. “As I told you on our wedding night, I do have expectations of you, but there are things I must do for you as your husband. You belong to me, but I am yours as well. You will take care of me and our children, and I will protect you and provide for all of you. What happens to a man if he cannot provide for his family?”
“Um…well…” I stumbled over my words, not expecting the directness of his question. “In Hadebrand, his family may be taken away and given to a man who can provide for them. It would depend on his station, but one of Princess Whitney’s other handmaids was taken from her father when he could not care for her and her mother.”
“I better make sure I provide for you,” Branford said.
“But you are a prince,” I reminded him unnecessarily.
“Only as long as I keep my kingdom safe.”
It was yet another idea I had not considered in a long list of things I had not pondered. There were many, many individual kingdoms within the realm, and though only a very few had stood strong for centuries, a handful of others combined to become stronger. However, the majority rise and fall as loyalties change and battles are fought.
“Is that what happened to Sterling?” I asked, tensing as soon as the words left me, for I did not know if this was a subject about which Branford would speak.
“Not…exactly.” Branford’s words were strained and his voice deep. I could see the tension in his jaw. “I’m not prepared to discuss that with you.”
“I’m sorry, my lord.” The words flowed out of my mouth automatically, just as the muscles in my neck and shoulders tensed for the potential physical assault. He did not make a move toward me, so I looked back to his face and studied him carefully.
His jaw was still tight with his teeth clenched. His hands were drawn into fists, and the muscles in his arms and chest were tensed and more clearly defined. Everything about his body screamed against the contained anger and violence within—everything except his eyes.
Branford’s eyes held the deepest sorrow I had ever seen. I had never witnessed tears from a man, and something inside me reacted instinctively.
Without thinking, I placed the cup and razor on top of the cabinet to free my hands. I reached out to him, and though I saw his eyes darken, narrow, and glare at the movement, I didn’t stop. I touched the edge of his jaw with my fingertips and then moved them further up his cheek until my fingers reached his hair.