Though still exhausted from countless nights of poor sleep, neither Branford nor I did much sleeping the night of his return. However, we did spend most of the morning lying in the bed with our arms wrapped tightly around each other.
“I do not ever wish to be away from you again,” he told me.
“Then do not leave again,” I responded.
Branford’s eyes sparkled at me as he leaned forward and captured my mouth with his and then continued over my jaw to my ear and down my neck.
“Never again,” he whispered against my skin. “Besides, I have a mind to keep you right here until you are definitely carrying my child.”
“I would not object,” I responded.
I worked my fingers through his hair and vowed to myself to cut it for him this morning as well as to give him a shave and maybe even make use of the bathtub. I lay my head on the pillow, and Branford settled against my shoulder, gazing up at me for a very, very long time.
In the days that followed, Branford and Camden spent many late nights together, discussing what had happened and how Silverhelm would recover from the loss. I knew my husband’s sense of guilt over the deaths of his men weighed heavily on him, and he did his best to ease the suffering of the families who lost their fathers and husbands. Dunstan survived though he would probably walk with a limp for the rest of his days. He could no longer be a soldier, but he would still be able to serve Silverhelm with the highest of honors—as the savior of his prince and future king. In the months that followed, despite dealing with the losses he had endured, Branford was very single minded.
Branford’s sole focus became securing his heir.
*****
Autumn…
Winter…
Spring…
Summer…
Autumn…
Winter…
*****
The first snow fell lightly from the sky, tiny little flakes that were just barely enough to cover with a dusting of white the field outside the morning room window. It was beautiful to witness, and I had found that winter was my favorite season in Silverhelm. I inhaled the cool, crisp air before closing the shutter to the chill.
I walked back into the bedroom and nodded at Janet, who was collecting my things. Branford sat motionless, his arms resting on his legs as he leaned forward, his hands dangling between his thighs. He did not look up at me as I gathered my sewing and placed it on top of the pile of clothing near the wardrobe. My heart ached for him…for us…but there was nothing I could do.
It was my second winter as Branford’s wife, and despite what had become nearly constant effort over the harvest season, I was again heading to the women’s room for my bleeding time. Janet placed my clothing in a leather wrap and hoisted it under one arm. As the girl moved around the room, Amarra followed her—sniffing with curiosity at the bundle under her arm. We started toward the door when Branford called out.
“Alexandra, wait,” my husband implored as his eyes met mine. I paused, and Janet followed suit. Amarra’s ears perked up at the sound of Branford’s voice, and she went to his side. “Stay a moment.”
“Branford…” I let my voice trail off. I knew how difficult it was for him, for it was the same in my heart. Being away from him—even for only a handful of days—was always painful, and our people paid for it dearly at times. Branford’s temper may not have been what it once was, but his bite could still be felt most readily. I had heard talk of our people going to the church in droves to pray for me to be with child soon, and I knew Branford’s prayers had increased manyfold.
“Just a moment alone.” His eyes darkened as he looked at Janet and then back to me. With a motion from his hand, Amarra jumped onto her cushion by the fire and settled her head on her paws to watch us.
“We are not supposed to.” My reminder was unnecessary, but I felt I needed to say something. I had already waited too long to leave the company of my husband. His audible breath and clenched hands demonstrated how much this particular rule from the church held no interest for him. I was sure if it was in his power, he would abolish the practice completely.
“We should go, Lady Alexandra.” Janet spoke quietly, her gaze darting between mine and my husband’s.
“I am still speaking to my wife,” Branford stated.
“She should be—”
“So help me God, Janet,” Branford yelled suddenly, “get the hell out of this room, or I will throw you out the window!”
Glancing at me quickly, Janet wisely heeded his words and scampered out the door with an armload of my things. I turned to Branford and shook my head.
“You should not scare her so,” I said, chastising, but he was not interested in such words. For the most part, Branford was more reserved in his treatment of the servants of Silverhelm Castle, but he had never warmed toward Janet. I knew he had searched for more information on her background—her family and her homes prior to Silverhelm—but he had been unsuccessful. This made him nervous.