“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.