“They are loyal to King Camden,” Sir Parnell said.
“Good.”
Sir Branford led me back to the table where he quickly finished a glass of wine before pulling me back to the dance floor with him. We stayed on the dance floor for some time, occasionally switching partners. When another man danced with me, I felt unsteady, and once I nearly stumbled. I managed to get through the evening without falling to the floor in my white dress and found myself relieved when Sir Branford took my hand again and informed me it was time for the last dance.
“You’ve held up well, my wife,” he said softly before twirling me one last time in a slow circle under his arm. The minstrels stopped playing, and the crowd cheered for us again. Branford smiled and waved, perfectly at ease as the center of attention, while I blushed and hoped I wasn’t doing anything wrong. Many of the wedding guests came to us again, offering their congratulations and wishing us well. Branford seemed to know each one by name and spoke eloquently to them all while I tried not to cower behind him.
“The reception was beautiful,” yet another lord commented to Sir Branford.
“I think it was splendid,” Sir Branford replied, “especially when you consider my eagerness to wed.”
The lord laughed and walked away.
“As splendid as it has been,” Sir Branford said, turning toward me, “I am tired of celebrating with the populace. I think I would rather take you back to my chambers alone so we can complete our union.”
He tilted his head slightly, and his gaze burned intensely into mine. He raised his eyebrows, and his half smile returned though I did not find it as joyous and carefree as it has appeared before. Now it displayed somet
hing more primal, something…hungry.
My heart raced, and I found it difficult to take a deep breath. I had been so overwhelmed by the wedding itself and the idea of marrying someone I did not know, I hadn’t even considered the expectations he would have of the wedding night.
Unlike the Princess Whitney, I was a virgin. My first kiss had occurred not four hours ago, right after Sir Branford slipped the ring on my finger. I knew what I was supposed to do. At least, I thought I did. Accounts of the act of marital relations were varied depending on who told the story though most seemed to agree it was for the benefit of the husband and for the creation of his heirs, not for pleasure of the wife. If she were lucky, he would not hurt her much, and it would be over quickly. A brand new panic permeated my head.
And that’s how my wedding celebration ended.
Chapter 3—Timidly Endeavor
Sir Branford led me up the long, curved staircase to an area of the castle sequestered from the rest of the guests by two burly guards at the bottom of the staircase. The guards bowed slightly to Sir Branford, who nodded hurriedly back to them before whisking me along. I don’t know if I would have made it up the steps had Sir Branford not had his hand placed over the one I had on his arm, for my legs were wobbly and my steps unsure. Aside from the near exhaustion I was feeling after dancing and all the mayhem over the last day and a half, my mind was absolutely racing.
My husband, whom I knew so little about, was about to claim my body as the final act solidifying our union. I had only the very basic understanding of what was to come. I was absolutely terrified but trying desperately not to show it. Remembered words of pain and blood scurried through my head as we approached a pair of large, wooden double doors.
Sir Branford reached out and pulled on the handle of the door leading to the last chamber. His eyes traveled up and down my body before he placed his hand on the small of my back, and we walked through. I heard the clang of the latch as the door shut behind us, sealing us in for the night.
Without warning, my back hit the inside of the door. Sir Branford’s hands were on my head, quickly removing my wedding veil and tossing it to one side. He combed his fingers through my hair, letting it flow loosely around my shoulders. Again, his eyes roved from my face to my feet, then back. I looked into his hooded eyes and startled at the way he stared at me before his mouth crashed onto mine.
This was not like the first kiss, when we were pronounced man and wife. It was not like the gentle touches of his mouth to my hand, lips, or neck while we danced. This kiss was hard and fast and filled with urgent need. He grasped the sides of my face with his hands and tilted my head sideways. I felt his tongue as he traced the slight parting of my lips before he pushed it inside my mouth.
At first I was shocked. I felt my body go rigid from the sudden intrusion. The feeling of his tongue in my mouth was not unpleasant but strange and unexpected. I could taste the wine he had consumed after the feast, combined with a simply indescribable flavor that must have been solely his own. I could hear and feel his rapid breaths against my mouth. My heartbeat quickened, and my breathing might have followed if I could have caught my breath at all.
I placed my hands on his wide shoulders, not knowing where else I should put them, and held on while he ran his tongue along mine, touching and tasting me. He dropped one of his hands to my shoulder and then down my arm until it reached my hip. Slowly, he moved his hand around and grasped my backside, lifting me slightly off the floor as he pulled me against his body. I could feel the tip of something long and hard press against my navel.
There was no way…it just wasn’t possible…he couldn’t possibly fit that…that…
I gasped into his mouth, and he released my lips only to travel to my neck, covering my throat with hot, wet kisses. My skin was left warm and tingling. He lowered me back to my feet and moved his hands up my sides, his thumbs brushing the sides of my breasts, causing me to gasp out loud. He continued his movements up and around the back of my shoulders, then quickly up and down my back as his lips covered every area of skin they could reach. He continued his effort with his eyes when his hands left me. I watched him reach down and pull off his belt and sash, dropping them in haste to the ground. With his trousers loosened, he pulled the ends of his shirt out before reaching for my hand and pulling me closer to him. His hands moved up and down my back again, searching.
“Damn this dress!” he suddenly cursed. “How does the blasted thing come off?”
“It’s laced up the back, my lord,” I said, my voice quivering.
Sir Branford’s frantic hands on my back stopped short, and he took a half step away from me. I closed my eyes and waited for him to turn me around and tear my dress from me as my earlier panic reemerged. How much would it hurt? He was such a large man in stature, and I was small…what if he found me lacking? He could annul the marriage if he desired. If that happened, what would become of me? Would there be any chance of me being welcomed back into Princess Whitney’s employ, considering the circumstances? I had to relax. I recalled Edith’s voice in my head, claiming it would hurt more if the woman didn’t relax.
“Oh, Alexandra,” Sir Branford said. I felt his breath across my mouth. “Open your eyes, my wife.”
I did as he bade and tried to meet his gaze, but the intensity of his stare was too much. I bit my lip as I looked away. With his fingers, he traced lightly over my cheek, causing me to tremble.
“Are you pure, Alexandra?”
“Y-y-yes!” I said, finally managing to find my voice. Why would he question such a thing now after we had already been wed? If he had any doubts, he should have demanded I be tested as he had of Princess Whitney. If he decided I was not speaking the truth, I did not know what he would do. “I swear it, my lord!”