“Why?”
“I have never understood his fascination with it. It does not matter now—if I offer it to him, he will let me end this. I must be able to bring peace back to Silverhelm.”
He found my fingers with his and brought them up to his lips, slowly kissing my knuckles. He rubbed the side of his face against the backs of my fingers and then held them against his chest.
“I have failed,” he whispered. “What must you think of me?”
I gripped his hands as they began to shake.
“I think you are considering your people first, putting yourself behind them and your kingdom,” I told him.
His gaze turned to meet mine, and a slow smile crossed his face.
“You sound like my mother,” he said quietly. He reached up and touched my cheek, then leaned in to kiss me softly. “Very, very wise.”
“She has taught me much,” I said.
“I can see you have taken her words to heart quickly,” he mused, “when it often took me many hard lessons before I understood her words. You are a very smart woman, my wife.”
I knew he could not see the blush on my face, but his fingers stroked across my cheekbone anyway.
“I will have to return to my men soon,” Branford said. “But I loathe the idea of leaving you. I swear, I will return as soon as I am able.”
“I wi
ll be here, waiting for you,” I whispered in return. “I love you.”
The words seemed so easy now, and his returning smile and sentiment was enough to send my heart into rapid thumps against my chest. Branford held me a moment longer, then pulled himself out of the bed, quickly donning his clothes. He strode across the room, pausing briefly to stroke Amarra’s head. He did not look back as he left our rooms, and even from our window, as I watched him ride off into the night, he did not turn his face to look at me.
A messenger returned late the next evening with news of Branford’s surrender to King Edgar.
And that is how Silverhelm lost the war.
Chapter 6—Lamentably Arrange
It was a bittersweet moment when the scout on top of the castle called out, signaling the return of Branford’s army. As the people of Silverhelm crowded around the castle entrance, what was left of the men who went off to fight came into view. As the small group approached, the wails of those who had lost their loved ones rose up into the early evening sky.
As I spotted Branford atop Romero, his silhouette catching my eye immediately as he appeared on the horizon, I knew from his posture that he was weary and despondent. I longed to run to him as some of the other wives were doing when they saw their husbands in the distance, but I stood my ground. I stood tall as Sunniva did beside me, ready to greet the army as a whole, recognize their sacrifices, and do what I could to help our people accept the loss in their hearts. After our people were cared for, then I would tend to my husband.
Thirty-eight of Branford’s two hundred and fifty men returned. Some of those that did make it were greatly injured, being dragged in makeshift carts behind the horses. Some were beyond hope and only returned to die in their own lands with their families around them.
My breath caught in my throat as I saw the cart that bore Dunstan.
He was lying on his back, his right thigh wrapped tightly in cloth. Branford dropped from Romero’s back, handing the reins to Michael, and walked beside my former bodyguard with Parnell close behind. Branford’s gaze met mine only briefly as the horses came to a halt near the gates. He reached over and helped Parnell to pull Dunstan from the cart, carefully wrapping his arm under the injured leg. Though conscious, Dunstan was in obvious pain, and the bandages around his leg were seeped in dark blood. The two knights carried him past the onlookers and into the castle as the rest of the court followed.
“If he had not suffered such injury, Branford might not have come out of the final battle unscathed,” I heard Michael say to Camden as he walked up beside us. “We owe Dunstan for the life of the prince.”
“We will repay that debt in any way we can,” Camden responded.
I followed behind with the royal family as they took Dunstan to the barracks and placed him on one of the beds. Branford lay his hand on the man’s shoulder and spoke softly to him, and Dunstan nodded his response. Branford then turned and came to me and placed his palm against the side of my face, his eyes full of concern.
“Is there anything you can do for him?” Branford asked.
“I will look,” I said, “but I know so little of wounds such as these. I don’t know if I have the skill to help him.”
“Whatever you can do,” Branford said as his hand dropped from my cheek. “Anything.”
I held back my tears as I approached. Parnell and Michael laid Dunstan on his back on the mattress, and he cringed in pain as his leg was shifted. They stood near Dunstan’s head, holding his shoulders to keep him from moving as I slowly unwound the bandages from his leg. The cut was deep, red, and continued to bleed lightly. I remembered Edith speaking once of using a sewing needle and thread to bind a bad cut together, but I was not sure if such a thing could really be done.