flexed slightly as he shifted in sleep and held me tighter. There was soft-looking hair over his sternum, which trailed down the center of his body until it reached his stomach, tightened into a distinct line, and disappeared under the blanket. The muscles of his stomach were perfectly outlined, displaying ridges under his skin, which screamed of physical power. Physically, he was as perfect as the title of prince would indicate.
What in the world was I doing here with this man?
My eyes were sore, and I remembered exactly how I had fallen asleep—amidst tears and sobs in the arms of my new husband. He must think me incredibly weak, or at the very least, ungrateful for what he had done—taken me as his wife. Lying in his arms, I found myself feeling unworthy, small, and frightened. I supposed I should have taken comfort that he did not hurt me as he surely could have done and as was his right. But though I felt comforted by him, lying in his arms as I slept, I could not find comfort in him because I was still unsure of his true nature and his motives.
Moving cautiously, I slipped out from under his arm, crawled to the other side of the bed, and dropped over the edge to the cool floor. I was careful not to wake him as his arm slid off my back and landed on the sheets. I shivered with the cold and made my way to the chamber pot, then to the fire, which smoldered with an orange glow. Choosing two logs based on their weight and density, I placed them over the coals and blew gently until flames burst forth, warming the air around me. They were heavy and should last for some time. I glanced over to the window and saw no signs of daybreak, so I made my way slowly back to the bed.
After crawling underneath the blanket, I lay on my back on the far side of the bed, which was cool to the touch. I shivered slightly and stared at the ceiling of the room. My mind felt empty—in a daze, I suspected. I did feel grateful for Branford’s apparent kindness but still quite concerned that he would reconsider his decision due to my apparent inability to give him a proper wedding night. Were we even truly married yet? Though my well-being had always been in the control of others, I had never felt so unsure of myself. I shivered again.
“You’re cold.” I heard Branford’s soft voice from the other side of the bed. “Come back here.”
I closed my eyes tightly for a moment before cautiously rolling to face him. Branford reached out and grabbed my upper arms, pulling me back into a similar position I had found myself in upon awakening. He ran his hand up my back and stroked from the top of my head down to the ends of my hair.
“That’s better,” he stated, then sighed. I turned my head to glance up at him, only to find him already asleep again. Resting my head against his shoulder, I closed my eyes for what seemed like only a moment, but when I opened them again, daylight shone through the window.
Branford’s hand was moving up and down my back again, softly running over my hair and shoulders. My hand lay flat against his chest, and I could feel his steady heartbeat under my palm. I tilted my gaze to meet that of my husband.
“I must admit,” Branford murmured, “this has been a most pleasant way to awaken. I think I will quickly become accustomed to having you in my bed.”
The heat rose to my face, and I looked away quickly.
“You rebuilt the fire during the night,” Branford stated. I answered with a nod. “I do not often awake in the night and usually find myself in a cold room come morning. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, my…Branford.”
He chuckled.
“It would be lovely to stay here for the day,” he said, “but I’m afraid we have to prepare ourselves.”
“For what?” I asked.
“The journey home,” he said. “A carriage is waiting to take us to Silverhelm. I want to be there before nightfall.”
Branford dressed while I made his morning tea and prepared bathing water for him. He was near the bed, clasping a scabbard and sword around his waist. He stood there for some time before coming to the wash basin. As he began to wash his hands, I noticed a fresh wound on the palm of his left hand.
“My lord, what happened?” I gasped. I reached into the water and looked at the slight cut. I took one of the cloths and gently washed it clean.
“It’s nothing,” he said. “Don’t concern yourself.”
“I can prepare a dressing for it,” I offered. “It will heal faster if it’s kept covered.”
“Will it, now?”
“Yes, my lord.” Branford raised his wet hand up and tapped his finger under my chin, causing me to look up into his scowling eyes. “I mean, Branford.”
He smiled and allowed me to clean the cut on his hand though he refused the dressing, claiming it was too small of a cut to bother.
When I went to the changing screen, I found clothing left out for me. A beautiful, if relatively simple, traveling dress and cloak had been hung on a large metal hook on the wall. It was not overly extravagant, for which I was glad. I wasn’t sure if I could put on an extravagant outfit without assistance and was used to dressing others in such trappings, not myself. What would I do if I ended up needing to wear such clothing and had no one to assist me? As Branford’s wife, would I be required to wear such things? Would there be others to help me dress myself? Thankfully, this dress was easy to put on, and it hung neatly to my feet, which I encased in a pair of soft leather shoes. Branford smiled at me again when I came out from around the screen, took my hand, and led me out the door.
“I can have someone sent to retrieve your things from King Edgar’s castle,” Branford said. “I don’t relish the idea of heading back there any time soon.”
“There are very few things to retrieve,” I admitted. “I will need my clothing, I suppose.”
“I will provide you with everything you need, my wife,” Branford informed me, his words nearly a chastisement. “If there are things you want though, I will send for them.”
I considered my small living area and the things contained within. There were only a very few things belonging to my mother that had been brought with me when I was orphaned and none of them valuable. There was a carved wooden bowl I quite liked but little else.
“I don’t think there is anything worth the trouble, my…Branford.” I felt my face flush yet again.