ted what had occurred. He knew what had happened, and he was willingly walking away from it. Indeed, he was telling me to do the same.
“Branford, she is hurt,” I said, hoping my emphasis would make the point better. He glanced at her again.
“She seems all right.”
“Branford!”
“There is nothing I can do,” Branford said. He turned and started walking back toward Romero’s stall, and I scurried after him.
“Branford, what do you mean, ‘nothing’? They were…they were brutal with her!”
“I know who she is,” Branford said with a shrug. His eyes were dark and narrowed, betraying his ire behind the nonchalance he attempted to project.
“Who is she?”
“Her name is Janet. She’s owned by Sir Leland.”
“Owned?”
“Yes.”
“A slave?” I gasped.
“Yes, a slave.”
“But surely he cannot—”
“Alexandra, please.” Branford stopped and gripped my forearms with his hands. “There is nothing I can do.”
“But is Sawyer not part of Silverhelm?” I continued to press. “Do you not rule here?”
“Of course I do!” Branford snapped back. “That has nothing to do with it!”
“They hurt her, Branford. Did you not see?” I couldn’t understand his attitude toward what was obviously so heinous an act. He was a prince here! Could he not do whatever he pleased?
Branford closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head sharply, as if to dispel whatever thoughts were in his mind as he turned and walked farther away from me though I followed still. He balled his hands into fists, and without warning, he stopped walking and turned back to me.
“Do you not think I want to correct this?” he yelled. “Do you not think I would do something about it if I could? With all you know of me, with what you know of…of my mother…how could you think I would turn my back if I had another choice?”
I opened my mouth, dumbfounded, but quickly looked away from him, for his question was more than valid.
“I did not mean…” I started but didn’t know exactly how to finish.
“You asked me once before how your life differed from that of a slave,” Branford said, reminding me.
“I remember,” I said softly. I looked up into his eyes, taking a step closer to him. “I was not thinking clearly, Branford. Please, forgive me.”
“Now do you understand the difference?” Branford raised his hand up in the air as if to make his point to the skies or at least the roof of the barn. “Had she been his paid servant, I would have no issue taking him to the stocks, but she is a slave, and she is his property. He is free to use her as he sees fit.”
The sight of her on the floor of the stall invaded my mind and brought tears to my eyes. Her torn dress, her bloodied lip, and four, strong knights drinking their ale and doing with her whatever they wished.
“Branford…that is…is…”
“I know, Alexandra,” he said, his voice softening. He took a deep breath as he reached out and took me in his arms. “Do you not believe I would act on this if I could? But she is only a slave, and he is of royal blood from the kingdom next door to Silverhelm. Even if she was a hired servant, I could not have punished him harshly. But she is his slave, and he has done nothing wrong.”
“Nothing wrong,” I said, listening to the words echo around the stables.
“Alexandra, please…”