“Oh, Branford.” Kimberly sighed and rolled her eyes. “Always so dramatic. We were only having a bit of fun—”
“Let me be perfectly clear,” Branford said, his voice turning low and deep. His words had not been loud, but there was a distinct murmur of hushed voices and the movement of bodies pressing closer to hear what was being said. “If I encounter you after midday tomorrow, I will have you both beheaded. Understood?”
“Branford!” Kimberly’s hand went to her breast and her mouth dropped open. “Why in the world—”
“No one”—Branford suddenly yelled, causing me to flinch. He squeezed his hands into fists and dropped his voice low again, each word separated and whispered through his tight, clenched jaw—“no one…insults…my…wife.”
The sounds of the hustle and bustle of the market around us had completely ceased, and I could have sworn even the wind chose that time to stop blowing about the field. Kimberly’s eyes went wide for a moment before they narrowed at me, and she laughed out loud. It was a hard, cruel sound, and it sent shivers up my spine.
“Your wife.” Kimberly sneered and rolled her eyes again. “You know as well as I that Princess Whitney gets what she wants in the end. Do you really think—?”
“Your opinion in this matter is not of any interest to me,” Branford said with a growl. “I want you out. Now.”
“Your mother took us in.” Kimberly smirked at him. “She promised to—”
“My mother is dead!” Branford screamed at her, and she flinched, taking a step backward. His voice dropped back low. “Not all of her decisions in life were good ones. You rely on my good will now, and my patience is gone. Now apologize to my wife and get out.”
She huffed, narrowing her eyes before briefly glancing at me. Her lips turned up into a terrifying, toothy smile. I pressed my body instinctively against Branford’s side.
“Alexandra”—Kimberly turned her head to the side and tilted it, looking at me with contempt and loathing—“surely you understand it was only in jest. It was still a prettier outfit than the one you were wearing when you arrived, and no harm was—”
I tried to step back to distance myself, but Branford kept his grip on me, holding me in place.
“Kimberly,” Nelle whispered as she reached for her sister’s hand.
Everything happened so quickly, I wasn't sure how I went from holding Branford's arm to suddenly being behind him, held at arm's length. My ears barely registered the scrape of metal as he drew his sword, but it was suddenly placed against the pale skin of Lady Kimberly’s neck.
“Do not make a move,” he said with a snarl. “Do not move a damned inch, or I’ll take your head from your shoulders right now.”
“Branford, how dare you—”
“Silence!” His voice thundered the command, and Kimberly’s mouth closed with a snap. “Apologize to my wife.”
“I am not about to lower myself to apologize to some handmaid!” Kimberly screeched, and the silence around the marketplace was replaced by a simultaneous gasp from the onlookers.
Lady Kimberly’s words stopped abruptly, and her eyes went wider for a moment before she went perfectly still. She seemed to stare with unfocused eyes at Branford’s hand as it gripped the hilt of the sword. She whimpered slightly, and I could see her hands begin to shake. A moment later, a slight trickle of red flowed from the edge of the sword where it met her slender neck.
“Drop to your knees—both of you.”
I held my breath as Kimberly’s glazed eyes looked toward me as she slowly lowered herself into the muddy ground below with Nelle at her side. As she moved, Branford’s sword moved with her, keeping its deadly position near the artery in her neck.
“Your life is in jeopardy,” Branford said between his teeth. “Don’t push me any further. You live only because I honor the memory of my mother and her wishes. Say one more contrary word—anything—to my wife, and I will end you.”
Lady Kimberly stared at him, wide-eyed and unmoving. The blade at her neck remained completely steady though I could feel the tension from Branford’s body through his grip on my arm.
“Apologize,” Branford demanded again. “If Alexandra accepts your apology, you will keep your head, so I suggest you make it a good one. If she doesn’t accept, I will end your life right here and now.”
I watched her gaze turn to mine, and her tongue flicked quickly over her lips before she spoke.
“My humblest apologies for my words, Lady Alexandra.” Kimberly’s voice was strained. I could see her throat bob as she swallowed hard. Branford continued to glare down at her. “And we, um…we never should have put you in that…that dress.”
“I am sorry, too,” Nelle said softly. She could not look up at me as she spoke.
“Alexandra,” Branford said quietly without turning toward me. “Do you accept?”
I looked at the two women on the ground in front of me as I slowly realized what Branford was saying. He was putting their lives in my hands. I could forgive them and let them live, or with a word—my word—their lives would be over.
The lives of two noble-born women were at the mercy of a handmaid.
The irony was not lost on me.
Irony aside, I was not prepared for this kind of responsibility. I was not prepared to have the lives—let alone the deaths—of the people of Silverhelm in my control. Noble or otherwise, I could not have someone else die because I said they should, regardless of what they had done to me.
I was aware of what my husband was doing as well. I knew this was his way of making amends for his actions after his cousins’ stunt though it would have been better if he had given me some indication that he would put their punishment in my hands. In all likelihood, he had not planned this though. He was surprised by their sudden presence, and he was probably acting on impulse.
“Alexandra?” Branford repeated. I could hear the waning patience in his tone.
“Y-yes,” I stammered. Branford’s eyes swiveled to mine for a moment and then back to Lady Kimberly on the ground.
“Do you accept their pathetic excuse for an apology?”
“Yes,” I repeated. Branford’s gaze found mine, and for the briefest of moments I thought he was going to kill her despite my acceptance. Instead, he nodded his head in my direction and then turned his gaze back to the women at his feet.
“Consider yourselves lucky my wife is so gracious. You have until midday tomorrow to remove yourselves from Silverhelm entirely. If I ever, ever see either of you in Silverhelm again, I will place your heads on pikes outside the castle.”
“You cannot possibly be serious.” Kimberly’s voice was quiet now, and all the venom was gone.
“Completely and totally,” he assured her. “Get out of my kingdom. If you ever set foot on my lands again, or if you ever come near my wife, I will slaughter you both like the animals you are.”
“But we apologized to—” Kimberly did not complete her sentence as Branford’s sword hand shifted slightly but halted her breath in her throat instead.
“Am I completely clear?” Branford’s voice was soft now, but his eyes still blazed.
“Yes,” she croaked.
Branford slowly drew his sword away from her neck, revealing a line of deep red against her skin. The slight trickle of blood continued to drip from the very bottom of the line down into the neckline of Lady Kimberly’s dress. It was not a deep cut but so obviously close to the pulsing vessel in her neck, even the slightest change in the sword’s course would have been her end. She raised her hand to her throat, and a small amount of blood seeped easily through her fingers.
“Get out of my sight.”
Lady Kimberly rose and took several slow steps backward, her gaze never leaving my husband’s save for once when they darted over to me. The look in her eyes was nothing less than sheer hatred, and I gasped when our eyes met. Lady Nelle grasped her sister’s hand, and they turned together, fleeing toward the castle gates.
And that is how Kimberly a
nd Nelle were exiled.
Chapter 18—Inelegantly Fail
Two days after the consummation of our marriage, I attended my first tournament as Sir Branford’s wife.
The sounds of the trumpets were deafening as the line of knights entered the arena one at a time, circled their horses around the perimeter, and eventually ended up on one side of the arena—the side closest to where I stood with Ida and the rest of Sawyer’s kingdom.
The sound of the horns brought me back to my thankfully uneventful presentation to the court before dinner on the evening of Kimberly and Nelle’s exile. After spending the afternoon with Ida in the Women’s Room, I had been properly attired. My hair adorned the top of my head, and the new necklace Branford had purchased for me had been around my neck. After Ida’s tutelage on etiquette, I had been moderately sure of myself when I walked through the huge double doors at the end of the hall. I had walked down the aisle and kept my eyes on my husband at the far end and not on all the lords and ladies of the court. Between the horn blasts, all the people had not just looked upon me but had bowed down before me. I had become quite anxious and froze for a moment in the middle of the grand hall. Noticing my hesitancy, Branford had come to my side, taken my arm, and had then led me to each of the members of the court. Every one of them bowed down to me and addressed me as Lady Alexandra.
Since my habit was always to look down around nobility, Branford had to remind me with a gentle finger on my chin and a whisper in my ear that I was always to hold my head high as his wife. I was most uncomfortable with this new bearing, but I did as he told me to do, and the evening had gone smoothly. In the night, Branford laid me on the bed and brought those feelings from me again but refused to indulge himself, claiming he needed to let me recover for a night.
Ida nudged me and pointed across the field, bringing me out of my reverie and forcing me to focus on the knight with a red dragon painted on his breastplate. It was her fiancé, Sir Parnell. Branford rode behind him, circling the field, clad in his copper-colored armor. When Branford passed by, I clapped as loud as I could though I could not quite bring myself to cheer as loud as my husband’s sister did for Sir Parnell. A few of the noblewomen turned to look at me when I clapped, and I could see them lean toward each other to whisper.
“They are all trying to decide if you are the one they heard about,” Ida whispered into my ear. “Naturally, they have all heard Branford had married, and they are wondering if he brought his new wife to the tournament. You are unfamiliar, so they are bound to make their guesses.”
“I thought they were probably talking about me,” I admitted.
“Do not be nervous,” Ida said with a gentle hand on my arm. “They just want to get a look at you, and you look completely striking, if I do say so myself.”
Ida had me whisked away to her private room in Sawyer castle as soon as our carriage had arrived in the area. She had then proceeded to spend the next several hours dressing me and making my hair curl, wrapping it around the heated leg bones of a small animal. Then she had nearly covered my head in gold and black ribbons to match my gown. I wore the necklace Branford had bought for me as well.
“They are going insane with jealousy,” Ida said with a smirk.
“Jealousy?”
“Of course! Every one of that bunch had her eyes on Branford at some point in her life—even those who have since been wed.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Are you blind?” Ida asked with a laugh. “He is my own brother, yet I can still see why the women of any kingdom fawn over him.”
I blushed, embarrassed that I had not really considered it. Of course, I thought he was wonderfully stunning, especially when he looked at me with laughter and light in his sparkling green eyes. I hadn’t really considered how much other women must look at him and possibly want to be with him. I wondered again about the nine royal women Branford had previously bedded and contemplated whether any of the women seated near us now might be one of them. He had promised to tell me if there was, but he said he did not know exactly who would be at this tournament, only that Princess Whitney certainly would not be. Hadebrand was never invited to tournaments in Sawyer’s lands. Lord Sawyer took Branford’s stance on the death of the Sterlings.
“He is very…handsome,” I finally said.
“And it is you he takes to his bed after supper,” Ida whispered conspiratorially. “They would give their last piece of jewelry to trade places with you for a single night.”
I looked up at Ida, shocked.
“I would never trade Branford for someone’s jewelry!” I exclaimed.
Ida laughed.
“It is just an expression, Alexandra,” she said as she patted my arm. I let out a slow breath. “I know you would not wish to share my brother.”
I nodded.
“You actually care for him, do you not?” Ida asked quietly. Another blare from the trumpeters nearly drowned out her voice. I nodded as I looked out to where he stood to the side of the arena, preparing for the next joust. Ida squeezed my shoulder. “I am very glad of that.”
Ida and I looked at each other, and I could not help but smile. Her love and concern for her brother was obvious in her eyes. Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I turned my attention back to the arena where I saw the first two knights line up and prepare to joust. One had a blue griffon on his breastplate, and the other’s knight’s armor was shiny silver but without any additional markings. Looking again to the side of the arena, I could see Branford with his page, Michael, as he checked the end of his lance and bent over so Michael could place his helm on his head.
The knight with the blue griffon on his chest defeated the other handily and raced his horse once around the inside edge of the arena as his fans cheered him on. He stopped below the platform where Lord and Lady Sawyer were seated. She stood as he held the end of his broken lance toward her, and she tied a red ribbon around the end of the weapon before he rode off and took his place off to the side.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched Branford at the end of the arena shift his position atop Romero. At the trumpeters’ call, he jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks and sped forward, straight for a knight with a red plume on top of his helm. As Branford’s lance crashed and splintered against the opposing knight’s chest, the other knight missed Branford entirely. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“A perfect hit!” Ida exclaimed. “Branford will win as long as he is not knocked from his horse.”
Two more passes went by, and Branford was declared victorious. As he rode to the edge of the field, and Lady Sawyer placed a red ribbon on the end of his lance, signifying his win, I felt relief flood through my veins. I was not relieved that he had won the contest, only that he had done so without injury.
What surprised me was that my thoughts were not solely directed toward my own fate if something were to happen to my husband. From the beginning, I had feared what would become of me if something were to happen to him, but what I felt now was something different. In my mind, I thought of returning to our rooms, alone. I thought of looking at the kettle and not having Branford there to ask him if he wanted tea. I wondered how empty the water basin would look in the evenings were he not standing there, pulling his shirt over his head and preparing for the night. And lastly, I thought of the bed—our bed—and though I had spent very few nights lying beside him, I could not fathom sleeping without the warmth of his arms around me now.
The very thought sent a chill up my backbone and through my arms.
“Is he done now?” I asked Ida, hoping this might be the end of the games but still knowing it was only the beginning. She shook her head.
“This is the first of three jousting trials,” she explained. “If he bests the other two knights, he will compete for the title tomorrow in hand-to-hand combat.”
Several other knights took their turns before Branford was up again, this time challenged by the blue griffon knight. Branford was lined up at the side closest to where Ida and
I sat, and I saw his head turn toward us before the trumpet blew. He nodded in our direction, and Ida cheered and waved at him as he took off, riding close to the dividing barrier between his horse and his opponent. The knight with the blue griffon symbol on his chest urged his horse faster as he neared Branford, and they clashed together with a horrific sound, and both were awarded one point.
Again, the horses raced toward each other, and my attention was suddenly diverted to the construction of Branford’s helmet. With the front drawn down, his head and face were completely protected except for a small slit across his eyes. I looked to the end of the lances and speculated that there may be just enough room for the end of a lance to enter the eye slot. I had to fight the urge to look away again as they clashed, the tip of Branford’s lace smashing against the very edge of the other knight’s shield. At nearly the same instant, Branford’s opposition managed to position his lance at Branford’s chest, knocking him around in the saddle.
The entire crowd stood and began chanting and waving in the air either the pennants of their preferred knight or their tankards of ale. I stood with them—my eyes focused on my husband as he shook his head sharply to the side, adjusted his helm, and took a third lance from Michael. Branford hefted the lance and took a moment to position it before nodding his head, and the knights were off again.
Romero sped forward as Branford leaned into the steed’s neck and held the lance up high before swinging it over and across his body, aimed right at the head of the griffon on his opponent’s chest. The lance seemed to be ready to hit its goal when Branford’s opponent shifted to the side, and Branford’s lance missed its target. At the same time, his competitor’s lance hit Branford square in the chest, knocking him sideways and completely out of his saddle.
I couldn’t breathe as I watched Branford fall from the horse and land with a heavy thud on the sandy ground below. His helmet flew off into the sand, and his left arm was crushed underneath him. There were both gasps and cheers from the onlookers as the other knight was awarded the victory, and Michael ran out to Branford’s body, lying still on the ground.