“Get up,” he said quietly. His voice was hard, dark, and it sent a chill down my spine.
I turned my legs to the side and stood from the chair. I started to take a step back but Branford stood and grabbed my hand, holding me firm. With his other hand, he took me by the chin, and his eyes blazed down at me in anger.
“I will not have you or any other woman tell me how to deal with my army,” he said, his voice a low snarl. “I swore there would be no chastisement for anything said in that chair, and I will stand by my word, but don’t you ever question how I handle my men again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my lord.”
He released my chin and dropped both his hands to his sides. I lowered my gaze to the floor and tried to keep myself from dropping to my knees, as I felt I should, but I didn’t think it would please him. Branford turned away and stalked over to the window. The shutters were open, and he looked out over the darkening field for a while.
I was so confused. Hadn’t I done what he asked? He wanted me to ask him questions when we sat in the chair. That was what he had requested. It seemed no matter what I did, I could never make the right choice.
“Make me some tea,” Branford finally said. His voice had gone cold and expressionless.
“Yes, my…Branford.”
I took the kettle and filled it with fresh water, trying to understand just where I had gone wrong. He had demanded I tell him what I was thinking, but when I did, he did not truly wish to hear it. I was so confused, and even the usually calming act of preparing his tea was not helping my shaking hands. I brought him the cup of steaming liquid, which he took and deposited on the table near the window with barely a glance. I didn’t know what I was to do next, so I stood there beside him and stared at the floor.
“I didn’t mean to be so…gruff.” He tapped his fingers on the windowsill and continued to stare out over the field. “You caught me off guard.”
“I’m sorry, Branford,” I said quietly. “I thought…”
“You thought what?” He turned his gaze on me.
/> “I thought you wanted me to ask you…questions.”
“You may”—Branford’s jaw tensed, and he spoke through clenched teeth—“inquire, but do not presume, Alexandra. You may ask me questions, but do not question my judgment. Not in matters such as war.”
“I didn’t mean to,” I whispered. I felt one of the tears I had been trying to hold back escape and tumble down my face. Branford reached out and ran his hand up my back, stopping at my shoulder. He pulled me against his chest, and his lips touched the top of my head.
“Sit down, Alexandra,” he said. He released me, pointed toward the chair, and I moved to quickly sit. Branford took a couple of steps toward me, then stopped and turned to the fire, staring at the burning embers and kicking at a piece of a log that had rolled away from the flames.
“I was raised for war.” Branford placed his hands on the mantle and leaned against it heavily, staring into the flames. “I have been preparing for it nearly my entire life. There is only one person to whom I answer on such matters, and that is our king. Not even Sunniva questions me in this regard.”
“It was not my intent—” I tried to say, but he shushed me.
“I know,” he said.
“It won’t happen again,” I promised.
Branford closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He reached out and touched the hilt of the sword as it sat propped up against the wall. He slid his fingers slowly over the edge of cold metal.
“I am a violent and brutal man, Alexandra,” Branford said softly. He didn’t look at me but kept his eyes turned toward the flames. “It is in my nature. When I am angered, it is how I have always resolved the issue at hand.”
He turned his head abruptly, and our gazes met. I didn’t understand his expression. Though I could see his anger still lodged deep within his irises, there was something else there as well.
“I do not wish to be violent toward you again,” he said, his voice earnest. “I wish to trust you and have you trust me, but this is how I have always been. I want to be different toward you—for you—but it is…”
He shook his head sharply and looked back to the fire.
“It is difficult,” he finally said.
Though I was sure his words were meant to calm me, the effect was the opposite. Did he think I wished him to be different with me as if I were truly a princess? Did he think I would attempt to impose whatever will I had on him?
“I do not expect you to change your ways,” I told him.
“I know you don’t,” Branford responded. “But I’ll not subject you to the way I have always been. Not here. Not when we are alone. You will still see it outside of these rooms—there is no way to avoid that.”
He glanced at me for a moment, and his eyes and voice softened.