The Shortcoming (Unexpected Circumstances 4)

Branford turned from Parnell and looked over his shoulder at the knight behind him.

“Vanquish?” Branford asked.

“Is that the white stallion?”

Branford nodded. He looked to me again, and I had to drop my eyes down to my hands. I worried my fingers together, trying not to let the tears building behind my lashes fall to my face.

“Come now,” Sir Leland called out. “What say you?”

“Your slave for my second horse?” Branford asked for clarification.

“Exactly,” the man said with an exaggerated grin. “Well then?”

Branford’s gaze met mine again, and his eyes were dark with anger. I bit into my lip as I tried to decide if I should say anything to him or not. As I looked, I silently begged him to do something for that girl though the idea of a fight terrified me. I heard him breathe heavily out his nose before responding to Sir Leland.

“Then I will see you in the morning,” Branford called over his shoulder. There was more of the sickeningly familiar laughter as Branford accepted the challenge.

My chest relaxed, and I could again draw breath. My husband’s gaze found mine, his expression still strange and indefinable though his underlying ire was still apparent. I could not quite tell if he was angry with me for asking him to help the slave girl or just resigned to the way it had to be done.

The way it had to be done was not at all what I had in mind. I would have thought Branford could simply purchase Janet from her hideous master or order him to sell her. It never occurred to me that he might compete for her in battle. My initial relief that Branford might be able to help the girl twisted into fear for his safety.

“Branford?” Parnell leaned toward us. “Are you competing with him again? The tournament is over.”

“Just a little side bet, Parnell,” Branford mumbled into his ale. “I shall require your assistance.”

“You have nothing to prove,” Parnell said.

Branford looked at me and downed the rest of his drink before speaking.

“Apparently I do.”

*****

In silence, I poured Branford his evening tea.

He had not spoken to me since his discussion and wager with Sir Leland at the inn. He had only looked at me a handful of times, and though I held his arm, he did not even speak when we walked back from the inn to our rooms in Sawyer Castle. I knew my request for him to help the slave girl in some way had led him to agree to this wager, and he was obviously angry to be put in such a position. I didn’t know what I should do.

He took the cup from my hands without a word, and the silence between us was starting to drive me mad. I would have preferred his outward hostility—his tendency to yell and throw things about—than this oppressive silence.

I wanted to speak to him about it. I wanted to understand if his obvious displeasure was directed toward me for my request, at Sir Leland for his actions, or at the situation in general, but I didn’t know how to approach him. As I pondered, I became more certain he was angry with me, and my insides were tight and painful at the thought.

Remembering how he had approached me during those times he had apologized for his own behavior, I dropped down beside him and rose up on my knees. I placed my hands on the top of one of his thighs and looked up into his face. He sat back a bit, and his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I am sorry I angered you,” I said quietly as I bent my head forward. “I did not know he would suggest a contest.”

Unable to continue meeting his gaze, I lowered my head. I heard him breathe, long and slow, and felt his breath against the top of my head. Branford touched the end of my chin with his fingertip, and he tilted my head back up.

“I am not angry with you,” Branford said. Though his words should have been comforting, I felt tears begin to well up in my eyes.

“But…you have not spoken to me since we left the inn,” I said quietly. Branford offered me a slight smile, which did not touch his eyes.

“My mind has been preoccupied, I will admit, but it is not preoccupied with anger toward you.” Branford ran his hands through his hair and let out another deep sigh. “It is just that I…I…I truly despise Sir Leland!”

I gripped his thighs as his voice rose in pitch and volume.

“Lowering myself to a contest with an individual of his sort…” He trailed off, his sentence and thought left incomplete.