Our gazes met again, and I could not understand his expression as he looked down at me. Branford closed his eyes and shook his head.
“He should not have bested me,” Branford said as he narrowed his eyes. “I have beaten him before both with lance and sword.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Sir Leland,” Branford said. “He is not a particularly pleasant fellow, and you are not to go near him if you see him.”
“I would not know his face,” I told him. “I would only know him if he was wearing that same armor—with the griffon on the front.”
“He is young,” Branford said. “Younger than I—maybe nineteen years. His hair is blond and trimmed short, the same color as Michael’s. Just…I do not want you walking around on your own. Is that clear?”
“Yes, my Branford.”
I looked over his arm again, making sure I had not missed anything important.
“How do you know of the care of wounds? Did someone teach you?”
“Edith taught me some things,” I replied. “I do not have much knowledge, but there was a boy in Hadebrand who fell from a tree and broke his arm. I helped her care for it to make sure it healed straight. He was almost as good as new afterwards. She told me to keep a cut covered up, and it would heal faster and sometimes not even scar. Your arm is not broken though. I think it is just a bruise.”
“As I already told you, I am perfectly fine,” he said as he raised his eyebrows.
“I think so,” I replied. I ducked my head down to my chin as the realization washed over me that I had outwardly defied him by not respecting his wishes. I ran my fingers over his arm and hand a final time. I heard Branford huff through his nose.
“Have my injuries been sufficiently examined, wife?” he asked sharply.
I looked up and found his eyes, if not his words, had softened. I traced the edge of the bruise with my fingertips, careful not to put pressure on the wound. I nodded once more and released his hand.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “I just wanted to know you were all right.”
“Come here,” he said as he patted his hand against his legs. I stood, and Branford reached out with his right arm to pull me onto his lap. I placed my hands on the cold, smooth breastplate of his bronze armor as he pulled me closer and wrapped his fingers around my hair. Our lips met, and he kissed me softly. When he backed away, I could see the hunger in his eyes, and his look made my stomach tighten.
He stared at me for a long moment without speaking, and I did not wish to interrupt his thoughts. The cold metal of his plate armor was uncomfortable as a seat, but I did not fidget or complain. I watched as he took a deep breath and leaned in to give me one more, quick kiss.
“I need to make sure Romero has been properly secured for the evening,” Branford finally said. “Come with me.”
“Of course,” I responded as I stood. Branford sheathed his sword and grabbed his helm. I took his right arm, and he led me back toward the arch, turning sharply once we were back inside the wall, and we headed to the stables.
The building was huge, the largest abode for horses I had ever seen. Branford explained that Lord Sawyer bred the very best horses in the entire realm, which is why the building was so large. Romero, as well as most of Branford’s other horses, had come from Sawyer. One of these, a sleek, white stallion named Vanquish, was Branford’s alternate steed and had accompanied us to the tournament. Both of Branford’s horses were at the end of the building—the farthest away from where we had entered.
“Michael!” Branford called out as we walked between the rows of mostly empty stalls. The young blond boy looked up quickly from where he held a bucket of water for Branford’s horse. Branford dropped his hand from my arm, and captured my hand with his, lacing our fingers together. He began to walk faster, pulling me along. “Make sure the farrier checks his left back hoof. I think the shoe might be loose.”
“Yes, Sir Branford,” Michael responded. His eyes met mine for the briefest of moments before he looked away again.
“Alexandra, I realize you have not been properly introduced before,” Branford said. “This is Michael, my page. Michael, this is my wife, Lady Alexandra.”
“An honor, my lady,” the young man said quietly as he bowed to me. His blond hair hung down to his eyes, and he looked to be around my age. I nodded back, biting my lip. Branford released my hand and ran his fingers over Romero’s neck for a moment before ordering Michael to help him remove his armor. Bits of metal seemed to end up everywhere, and Michael began to gather it all as Branford went back to his horse.
I smiled as I watched my husband’s fingers gently massage the proud stallion’s neck and mane, glad to see the handsome boy make an appearance in his eyes for a moment. When I looked over to Michael again, I felt a little uncomfortable with the look in his eyes as he glanced at me and smiled behind Branford’s back. Branford started to bark out instructions to the page, but I had the feeling Michael might not have been listening
as intently as he should have. I looked away toward the door to the barn.
Suddenly, Michael’s sharp cry of pain echoed through the building. I turned in time to see Branford hauling him off the ground, his lip bleeding. Branford grabbed the young man by his shoulders and shoved him against the wall of the stall.
“If I ever see you gawking at my wife like that again, I will tear your eyes from their sockets!” Branford yelled. He coiled his fingers around Michael’s neck. “That is, right before I gut you on the ground. Am I perfectly clear?”
“Yes…sire…” Michael gasped as he tried to draw breath into his lungs.
Branford released his grip, and Michael fell to the ground.