“Are you uncomfortable?” Branford asked. “It wasn’t my intent to sleep this way. You rolled over and…well, here we are.”
“It’s all right,” I said, feeling the heat in my face increasing.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“Not right now,” I answered as truthfully as I could.
“Even after what I have done?”
I didn’t answer because I had no words for it. Yes, I was still afraid of him. I was afraid of that part of him that seemed so quick to anger without reason. However, lying here with his arms around me, I could feel how the strength of him was also for my benefit.
“I feel…safe here…in your arms.”
“I want you to feel safe,” Branford said. “Protecting you is very important to me.”
Of all the other things he had said, this was the one remark that rang the truest to my ears.
“I didn’t protect you yesterday”—Branford’s arms tightened a little—“not from Kimberly or Nelle and not from myself either. It’s the one part of being a husband I thought I knew how to do.”
Again, he brought his fingers to my chin and tilted my head to look at him.
“I will do better,” he said in earnest. “You will never be without trusted protection again.”
I could only nod in response, which shifted my head away from his touch. He stroked his hand back down my arm and eventually to my fingers. He brought them to his lips and kissed my knuckles.
“I promise,” he said, and I tried to make myself believe him.
I excused myself to dress and saw the offending garment was no longer on the floor behind the screen. I wondered what Branford had done with it, but mostly I was glad it was no longer within my sight. Perhaps he had burned the horrible thing. I would not have minded.
As I removed my nightdress and pulled on my clothing for the day, I winced a little as the fabric brushed over my shoulder. I remembered scraping my skin on the stone wall and had to swallow hard before I could draw proper breath again. I chanced a look at my right arm where Branford’s fingers had gripped me so hard. There were distinct bruises on my skin though they weren’t bad and wouldn’t last but a few days. I had certainly had worse at Princess Whitney’s hand, and that had been just for being in the way and not for suspected treachery.
Breakfast was delivered shortly after we woke. Branford was visibly annoyed to have breakfast brought to us instead of being able to head out of the rooms, but he sighed and finally opened the door. As the line of servants entered, carrying trays of fragrant foods, Branford was obviously on edge—his eyes darting back and forth between them as they entered, fulfilled their tasks, and then quickly moved around Branford and back out the door. They averted their eyes from him, I noticed, and seemed to be very eager to complete their duties and get out of his way. I remembered another lord in Hadebrand who was often approached the same way—with head down and a wish to remain invisible. He was known to strike servants for not being quick enough or diligent enough. I wondered if Branford was the same way.
I made a point of thanking the last servant—a girl not much younger than I—and she nodded quickly before scurrying off. As she left the rooms, I noticed the broken couch and table were no longer in the morning room. In fact, another couch and chair were already in their places.
We sat down in the plush chairs near the fire, our meals on our laps, eating in silence as the sun rose higher in the sky, and light poured through the windows. I was famished, having not managed to eat anything the night before. If I had tried at that time, my stomach probably would not have been able to digest anything without causing me pain. I considered asking Branford who had cleaned up the remnants of his ire but determined that course of action to be less than advantageous. Instead, I ate my meal with only the occasional glance at my husband. Every time I looked at him, he was looking back at me. He did not appear to be eating his breakfast, but mostly shuffling the food around in a circle.
Branford finally stopped playing around with his breakfast, set the plate off to one side, and let out a deep sigh. He stretched his neck, shuffled his feet, and then repositioned himself in his chair. He looked at me, then out the window, then back at me again. He stood abruptly, went to the window to stare out into the sky, and then sat himself back down in the chair across from me.
“Sunniva said I had to tell you…tell you about why…” He stopped and looked down at his hands in his lap. He sighed once more and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he appeared determined. “She said I needed to tell you about my parents and what happened to them.”
I nodded, not daring to speak. I wasn’t sure I wished to hear this story, especially given Branford’s reluctance to tell it, but the queen seemed to think it was important for him to tell me, so I chose not to dissuade him with any words at all.
“This is not something I talk about,” Branford said solemnly. “Not even with Ida.”
Branford was silent for a while, and I sat looking at my lap and fidgeting. I resisted the urge to tell him he did not have to speak of it since I knew Queen Sunniva had ordered him to do so. I continued to hold my tongue and waited for him to continue.
“I was seven years old,” Branford said. “My birthday had been celebrated just a few weeks prior. Ida was ill, and she and I were both to stay behind with our nursemaid when our parents were to travel to Sawyer for the summer assemblage of all the neighboring courts. Normally, Ida and I would have gone with them, but they seemed to think since Ida was sick, we should both stay behind. I was angry—I had a bit of a temper then, too—and did not want to be left behind. When no one was looking, I climbed in the carriage and hid under a blanket.”
Branford chuckled softly to himself.
“I don’t know why I thought I wouldn’t be seen, sitting in the middle of the floor with a blanket over my head. When my parents got in the carriage, they knew I was there immediately, of course. My mother sighed and scolded me, then picked me up and sat me down beside her. My father called out to the driver—I don’t recall his name, only that he had been driving for them as long as I could remember—and we started off. Four guards on horseback rode in groups of two on either side of us.”
“The guards were named Dalton, Kolby, Yagmur and Salik.” Branford shifted slightly in his seat. “I remember them all quite well. At least one of them had been by my side since I was a toddler, watching over me and making sure I was safe wherever I went. They watched over Ida, my parents—the entire household. Even Kimberly and Nelle, when they came to live with us.”
“They lived with you as children?” I asked, immediately regretting my interruption, but the words were already out.
“Yes,” Branford said. “Their mother was my mother’s sister. Her husband had already passed, and she fell ill—one of the first to die of the plague that would later be linked to the destruction of Eagle—and her daughters came to live with us. My mother swore to her sister she would raise her daughters as her own and that they would always be cared for and protected. It was the final wish of my aunt, and my mother promised to honor it.”