“Please.” Branford’s warm breath danced over my lips.  “Please, let me touch you.”

“Yes,” I finally responded when my head cleared.  His kisses were leaving me without enough breath to speak even when his lips moved from my mouth to the hollow of my throat.

He placed his hands on my hips and pulled me close to his body.  I had to rise up on my knees, my skirts trapped beneath my legs as he pulled me to meet him eye to eye.  He kissed at my throat, down the skin at the base of my ear, and across my jaw.

I closed my eyes to the bright sunlight and let my hands coil into his hair, holding his lips to my skin and trying not to think about how he was pulling at the ties of my dress and how I would soon be exposed to him.  Opening my eyes, I marveled at how the light caught the strands of his hair, shining like bright shards of gleaming metal.  I fanned out my fingers, twirling a lock of the sparkling hair in my hand.

“I desire you so much,” he mumbled into the skin at the base of my neck.  “I have never…never wanted a woman this badly.”

His words both thrilled and terrified me, for there was a part of me that was glad to have him say such things—to know he wanted me as a husband was supposed to want his wife—but there was still another that remembered how a man’s lust could overcome him.  He may do something he would not have done had he been in his right mind.

Still, my skin tingled beneath his touch, and I told myself he would not hurt me—Branford had promised he wouldn’t—as he began to unbutton his jacket.  He only got through the first couple of buttons before he was kissing me again while his hands trailed down my sides.  They came around to my stomach and then made their way back up to the ties of my bodice.  I offered no protest while he undressed me.  As he exposed my skin, Branford stopped for a moment and turned to me sharply.

“You are mine,” Branford said sternly as his hands captured my face.  His eyes bore into me, his look so intense I could not speak at first.  He looked angry, frightened, and elated all at once.  “Only mine—ever.”

“Yours,” I finally said quietly, and his lips crashed back to mine.  With an open mouth, he claimed first my lips, then my tongue, then my chin and my throat.  I kept my grip on his hair as he worked at the ties of my dress.  He was having trouble with the laces and growled at the knots as he pulled at them.  When they loosened, he dropped his head to my chest, and I could feel his warm breath as he kissed at the top of my breasts.

“So beautiful.”  His words touched my bare skin just before he tilted his head to look up at me with half-closed eyes.  “I want to see you…all of you.”

I could only nod dumbly as his hands pushed slowly, softly, and the sleeves of the dress fell away from my arms, leaving me bare from my head to my waist.  I could hear my husband’s rapid breaths as his dark eyes—somehow untouched by the afternoon light—gazed from my shoulders to my breasts, his mouth open just enough to drag his tongue over his bottom lip.  He released my arms and leaned back on his heels, unbuttoning the rest of his jacket and tossing it off to the side, near my riding cloak.  His gaze met mine again, and he kept it focused on me as he loosened the waist of his pants and pulled his shirt up over his head.

Even when I had my hands on his chest and his back to wash him, it had been by the dim light of the fire and candles—never in the sunshine.  Now I could see him quite clearly, and those wonderful lines decorated his chest and stomach with the outline of each and every muscle.  Indeed, his skin was so beautiful, so radiant, he seemed to shimmer in the sun’s beams.

I heard Branford’s slight chuckle and realized I was staring at him with my mouth open.  I closed it quickly, feeling the heat in my cheeks as Branford took my hands in his and placed my palms on his bare skin.

“Touch me, Alexandra,” he said.  “Do not hold back.  Touch me any way you wish.”

I nodded, my lower lip firmly snared by my teeth, and ran the palms of my hands from his chest up to his shoulders.  His skin was smooth, with just a few wisps of dark hair in the center of his chest and down around his stomach.  I ran my fingers along the curve of his upper arms, and the large muscle there flexed as I stroked it.  I reached his forearms and hands and then lay my palms flat against his stomach.  The lines of muscles there tightened as I touched them, and I shivered.

“Tell me if you are cold,” Branford said.  “The sun is warm, but I want to know if you are chilled.”

“I’m not cold,” I assured him, though I wondered if I should have been.  The sun was high and its light was warm, but it was still early in the spring.

“Tell me if you get cold,” Branford said, emphasizing his words.  I glanced at his eyes, but he wasn’t looking at my face.  He watched his own hands as they ran up my arms and then down again.

“I will.”

Branford’s response was only a hum.  He traced a single finger over the tip of my breast, smiling slightly as it contracted at his touch, then leaned back and swiftly removed his boots and belt.

“Lie back,” he said softly.  He brought his lips to my forehead and kissed me once as his hands put light pressure on my shoulders.  I closed my eyes and bent to his will, dropping my head to the blanket as Branford’s fingers slowly moved from my shoulder, across my collarbone, and to my breast.  Again, a single fingertip traced around the nipple slowly, and I could feel it harden even more under his touch.

“Do you like that?” Branford whispered, his words breathy.  “Do you know how lovely it is when your body responds to me this way?”

I whimpered, unable to offer him a lucid reply.  He did not seem to mind, for his mouth was turned up in a smile when I opened my eyes to look at him.  He moved his hand to my other breast, giving it the same attention until both nipples pointed toward the cloudless sky.  As my breaths began to come faster, my chest rose and appeared to offer my breasts to him.  Branford seemed to agree and leaned over me to take one of them in his mouth, sucking gently as his palm slowly lifted and massaged the other.

“You feel so good in my hands,” Branford said, running his lips over my nipple as he spoke.  His open palms ran down my sides, and in his fingers, he gathered the skirts at my waist.  “I want more of you, my wife.”

When he looked up at me, I tried to take a deep breath.  It was difficult; the intensity of his look and the movements of his hands all seemed to gather at that single point between my legs—the place where he was threatening to explore.  He left a trail of kisses from the spot between my breasts down a line to my stomach.  Branford rose up on his knees, gripped the edge of my skirts and looked at me, his eyes a silent question.  I could only respond by nodding my head, and he slowly pulled the dress down my legs and off completely.

I shivered though the sun was warm on my skin.  I shivered because my husband was staring down at my naked body for the first time, his eyes dark and smoldering.  I shivered because he was licking his lips, and I was fairly certain he was also holding his breath.  Was I acceptable?  It had been my fear since the wedding night that he may, in the end, find me lacking.  His words to Sir Parnell in the carriage came back to me.  He could dismiss me if I wasn’t good enough, and here I was, exposed completely to his eyes in the bright sunlight of midday.  I looked away from him.

“Stop,” Branford said quietly.  I turned back to him, and I could feel the indentation of my teeth in my bottom lip as I bit down.

“Stop?”

“Stop thinking whatever it is you are thinking,” Branford said.  “You are incredible to behold.  You are not inadequate or whatever word it was you used before.”

It was the word I had used.  I couldn’t help but think of the princesses he had known and the other noblewomen who would have been, undoubtedly, better suited for his wife.  They already knew all these things that I did not, and many of them had not been afraid of his touch in the past.  I felt his hand on my cheek, and he turned my head to face him before he took my bottom lip away from my teeth and sucked it gently into his mouth.

“You are beautiful,” he said.  He moved his hands from my head down my shoulders, over my arms, and down to my bare waist.  For a moment, he closed his eyes and seemed to be battling something inside of himself.  Using his thumbs, he danced over my skin, making small circles across my flesh.  When his eyes opened again, he took a long, deep breath before speaking.  “So soft…so innocent…”

He moved one of his hands from my waist to my stomach, stopped there for a brief second, and then slowly dropped lower.  I gasped as his hand reached the small mound of hair that covered my skin there, and his fingers threaded through it.  They explored, they searched, and they discovered while I panted and gripped his shoulders, my eyes staring wide at the sky above.

“Do you feel it here?” he asked quietly.  He moved lower, slowly moving between my legs and coming back covered in moisture.  I gasped.  “Do you feel how warm you are against my hand?  How wet you are for me?”

A small noise escaped my lips as his fingers reached for my most intimate spot.  He circled with his moistened finger, dipped low, and then came back up to circle again.

“You are so wet for me, Alexandra.  Do you feel it?  Do you understand?  This is how I know your body wants me.  This is how I know you want to feel me inside of you even if you don’t know it yet.”

The tip of his finger circled at the apex of my folds, just below the mound of hair, spreading the moisture around me and then going back for more.  I heard a low moan, and I couldn’t tell for sure if it had come from his mouth or my own.

Branford pressed his lips back to my throat, sucking on my skin and licking at my neck.  I was sure he could feel my heart beating rapidly under his touch.  With one hand, he cupped my breast while the other continued to slide up and down between my legs.  My thighs clenched, and I felt the cloth of Branford’s trousers as he placed one of his legs between mine.  He curled his knee to wrap his ankle around my calf and dragged my legs apart in one fluid movement.  I gasped again as his fingers delved lower, sinking between the folds of flesh now spread out before him, fully uncovered to his touch.

I closed my eyes tightly and reached for him.  I grabbed at his back and shoulders as I fought with myself to stay grounded.  My heart was beating too fast—my lungs working too hard to bring air into my body.  Branford’s upwardly curled lips danced over the skin of my neck, shoulders, and chest as I held on to him.  I felt as though my whole body was shaking.  The sheer magnitude of feelings brought out of me at the touch of his mouth, tongue, and hands was just too much for me to bear.  My reaction was like it had been last night, when his hands had touched me there through the cloth of my nightdress, only multiplied.

The tip of his finger was suddenly there—right at the very entrance to my body—nestled between my legs in warm, wet heat.  I cried out, and Branford’s mouth was against my ear, whispering that he would not ever, ever hurt me.  As his words warmed my ear with his heated breath, his finger did as his words promised, and slowly pushed inside of me as his thumb began its relentless circling at the top of my folds.

There were so many sensations—his mouth against my neck, his hand cupping my breast, his thumb and its slow, deliberate movements.  His finger had slipped inside of me without any resistance at all.  The motions he made were obvious to my sensitive skin, but where I expected to feel the pain of his entry—even when it was only his finger—there was none.  He just slowly slid it in and out of me while I moaned and panted into his hair.

“Does that feel good to you, my wife?” he murmured against my throat.  “Do you like my hands on you now?  Do you want to feel more of what I can give you?”

I moaned again, possibly telling him yes though I couldn’t have been sure.  He pulled his finger from my body and then slowly eased back in with two fingers instead of one.  I gasped at the new pressure, and he pulled back, kissing my mouth and taking my breath from me before pushing them back inside again.

“Soon,” Branford whispered, “soon there will be more of me—pushing inside of you like this.  I’ll take you so gently, my wife…I swear it…”

I whimpered as my hands shook, and my legs tensed.  I tried to bring my legs back together, but Branford kept his leg firmly wrapped around mine, keeping me spread out for him.  I could feel his fingers curl up inside of my body, placing pressure up toward the area where his thumb pushed down from the outside.  My legs became rigid, then shuddered.  My fingers dropped to my sides and gripped the blanket under me as I called out for my husband.  Instantly, he was kissing the side of my neck and up to my jaw, whispering words I could not understand as my body sang loudly to the rhythm of his touch.

“Branford!” I cried out before my body went slack against the blanket.  I gasped for air, and though my eyes were open, I saw nothing.  I could still feel though, and I felt Branford’s hand as his fingers slowly pulled away from me, leaving me feeling empty without his touch.  He rolled to his side and pulled me with him, his arms circling me as he pulled me against his chest.

Slowly, I emerged from my stupor.  My breathing and heartbeat calmed down a little, and I found the clearheadedness to turn and look at my husband.  His face was slightly flushed, and he still breathed roughly.  Remembering the night before when he had not felt as I had felt, I was again hit with the unfairness of the discrepancy.

“You are, um…you didn’t take off your…”  I couldn’t even finish.  I would have thought now that I was lying beside him without a stitch covering my body, I would have been able to find the words I wanted to say, but they would not come.  I felt my embarrassment in my cheeks.  I wanted to tell him he could take me now if that was his desire.  I wouldn’t have stopped him again, for I understood now what it was he wished to feel, and I did not seek to deny him that pleasure.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself if I did,” Branford said.  “You are far too tempting, and I want to make sure I at least do this right.”

He pressed his lips against the tip of my nose.

“Would you like me to?” he said, giving me his half grin as he raised an eyebrow as well.  I turned away from him as I felt my cheeks flush at his forwardness.  Branford laughed through his nose, trying to hold it back.  “I will, you know.  I’m only too happy to have you look at me.”

He took my wrist like he had the other night, and I didn’t resist as he moved it across his chest and down to his stomach.  He released my hand, and I left it where it was as Branford lifted his hips slightly and pulled his trousers away.

I didn’t look.  I wanted to look, but I also didn’t want to look.

Branford covered my hand again, and he guided my fingers lower until they met the slight dip of his navel.  He let go of me then, and I opened my eyes to look at his face.

He was smiling his crooked smile and leaning all the way back on the blanket, with both of his arms tucked behind his head.  His chest rose and fell steadily as he breathed through his parted lips.  I felt a shiver run down my spine, and it reminded me of what his hand had been doing a few moments ago and how he had made me feel.

I wanted him to feel what I had felt.

I allowed my gaze to drop down over his sculpted chest, his muscled stomach, and all the way to his…his…

My breath caught in my throat.  It looked even bigger than it had felt, and it seemed to move of its own volition, bobbing up and down and reaching nearly to where my hand rested on his stomach.  It was long and thick and seemed so powerful as it lay against his skin.  It reminded me of the sword Branford had held—strong, hard, and dangerous if one was not careful around it—as he fought against Sir Remy

I traced the edge of my lip with my tongue as I reached out tentatively and slowly brought my fingers down the slight line of hair below his navel.  I remembered how Branford had run his fingertip over my sensitive nipples and wondered if he would like the same kind of touch against his skin.  With the index finger of my left hand, I followed the line down until I was nearly touching that part of him—the part he wanted inside of me, the part that would open me and make me his wife, the part of him that would fill me with his seed to grow children in my belly.

Branford hissed as I touched the tip, and I pulled my hand away quickly with a gasp. He grabbed my wrist, holding it near his stomach.

“Please…don’t stop.”

With my hand shaking a little, I reached out again and traced lightly over the very tip.  I was quite surprised at how smooth the skin was and equally astonished when I realized the skin at the end would move with my touch as I stroked two fingers from the tip to about half way down his length.  It twitched, then stilled, and Branford’s hand covered mine again, putting slight pressure on my fingers until they had curled around it.

With his hand guiding me, I wrapped my fingers partway around him—for my hand did not reach all the way around—and slowly stroked the male flesh, both soft and hard at the same time.  Branford set a smooth rhythm and then released my hand as he leaned back into the blanket, much as I had done just a few minutes before, leaving me to my own devices.

For a moment, I just watched what I was doing—slowly moving my hand up and then back down again.  When I brought it back, the layer of skin around the end pulled back with my hand, exposing the round, bulbous tip.  When I moved my hand back up, it disappeared, reminding me of a turtle sneaking back into its shell.  I felt myself smile at the thought and wanted to laugh but decided Branford would likely not find my thoughts humorous. As I became a little more comfortable with the action, I remembered how Branford’s hand had moved against my flesh, and I tried to do something similar.

Branford began to rock his hips slightly against my hand, showing me the exact rhythm he desired.  It made me feel bolder.  His panting breaths, tensing muscles, and dark gaze showed me what I was doing was pleasing him.  I gripped him just a little more as my hand stroked up to the tip, and I ran my thumb around the end.

Branford gasped, moaned, and grabbed my hand.  He held me there for the briefest moment—pushing my hand hard against his flesh—then stopped with a growl.

“Stop…Alexandra…please.” Branford groaned and pulled my fingers away.

 “You don’t like it?” I held my breath.  I must have done something wrong.

“Don’t like it?” He scoffed and moaned again.  “It’s feels like heaven, my wife.  It’s just…it’s too good, and I’ve sinned enough.”

“Sinned?”

Branford took a few deep breaths, one hand resting on his chest near his heart while the other gripped my fingers.  Finally, he spoke again.

“If you had kept touching me, I would have spilled my seed on the ground.”

“That’s a sin?”

His gaze turned to mine, and he brought my fingers to his lips.

“If it is not used for its intended purpose,” Branford told me, “it is sinful, yes.  If it falls to the ground…if it is not…ugh.”

Branford sat up and released my fingers from his grasp.  He closed his eyes, and his hands rubbed at his cheeks roughly before cascading upwards and through his locks, leaving them splayed out all over his head. I tensed, sure he must be angry with my ignorance. 

“I have no capacity to explain this to you,” he mumbled.   “In the end, it means I will only experience that pleasure when I am inside of you, and there is the potential to give you a child.”

I nodded as Branford opened his eyes and peered at me.  I understood what he meant—he would only feel the same as I when he released his seed into me.  I tried not to think about what he might have meant—that he had already sinned enough—for the implications were a little too unnerving.

“I’m sorry, my…Branford.”  I blushed.  “I didn’t know that was a sin.”

“Have you not read your Bible?” Branford turned toward me and grinned, obviously teasing.  I looked away and felt my teeth in my lip.  My heart began to beat faster as shame washed over me.  Before we were even wed, he had said I was to know his God, and I didn’t.  I knew almost nothing.  “Alexandra?  What is it?”

“I’ve not read the, um…the Bible.”

“Well, I’m sure you didn’t have much time for such things before,” Branford said.  He shrugged his shoulders.  “You will have time for it now.”

“I don’t, um…”  I didn’t know what else to say, so I finally just blurted it out.  “I know nothing of reading!”

“You don’t know how to read?”

“No, my lord.”

“Of course you don’t.” Branford grumbled and sighed.  He reached up and rubbed the bridge of his nose, his fingers against the corners of his eyes.  “Sunniva is right.  There is so much I need to teach you.”

Branford reached out and touched my cheek.

“All in good time, my wife.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slowly.  My heart had calmed with his words though my mind had not.  Branford lay back against the blanket and drew me close to his side before reaching for the cloak and pulling it over the top of us.  For a few moments, we lay on the blanket in silence while I wondered about how he may have sinned in the past and the reasons he had me stop touching him.  I had heard about a man’s seed and how it would be expelled from his body when he was in the heat of passion, but I had certainly never witnessed such a thing.  I was both curious and apprehensive.  I wanted to ask him more of it but did not know what to say.

“So, that is why you want to, um…to put, um…”  I was babbling, not sure exactly what I wanted to say, and I certainly didn’t know what I was supposed to call…it.  I finally gave up and just neglected to call it anything.  “You want to, um…so you won’t be sinning?”

“Yes, my wife,” Branford said with a smile.  He raised an eyebrow at me, and his eyes sparkled.  “Though that is not the only reason.  I want to be with you the right way every time I am with you.”

The right way.

I wondered if he meant that there was more than one way to complete the act itself, or was it only because he would be taking me as his wife and not just someone he came across at a tournament?  For what must have been the thousandth time, I wished I could be more like them—those women he had been with before—sure of what I wanted and willing to give him what he desired without any reservations.

“You may…if you wish,” I said.  Feeling the heat rise to my skin, I ducked my head against his chest.  My voice had been so quiet, I could hardly hear it myself.  Branford cupped my face and turned me to look at him.  He slowly shook his head.

“I do wish,” Branford said softly.  “I want you, Alexandra.  You will undoubtedly discover I have an…an appetite…but I am not so insatiable I cannot wait a few more hours.”

“When we return to the castle?”

“Very soon after we return if I may have my way.”  He raised his eyebrows at me.

“You will,” I said softly.  Branford traced along my jaw and neck with his fingers before he captured my mouth again.  I could feel his smile against my lips.

“I will need to make sure you are well-fed beforehand,” Branford said with a chuckle.  I wasn’t sure what he meant, but I didn’t ask.  I wondered if he would take me to our chair again tonight, and if so, maybe I would ask him what he meant then.   The thought had me wondering what else I might ask him the next time we sat there.

He moved his hand up and down my arm as he repositioned the cloak to cover my shoulder.  The afternoon sun shone down upon us, and it was quite warm under the cloak.  I relaxed against him and did not tense when he placed his fingers against my chin and turned my head so he could kiss me.  I smiled as his lips brushed mine, and he dropped his head and held me close to his body.  I felt his chest rise and fall with his steady breaths and found my thoughts drifting.  My eyes closed soon afterwards, and I let the warmth of the sun and my husband’s strong arms lull me to sleep.

*****

“Alexandra?”

I heard the sound of my name, but it wasn’t quite registering with my brain.  I was warm, sleepy, and content.  I could feel the soft brush of a finger over my cheek.

“Alexandra?” I heard my name again.  I blinked as bright, warm light penetrated my vision.  Branford gently teased the side of my face with his knuckle as I looked up into his jade green eyes.  We were still lying on the blanket in the middle of the meadow, our clothes scattered off to the side.  My cloak covered us like a warm, woolen cocoon.  Branford smiled and placed his lips against my forehead.

“It’s getting late, my wife,” he said.  He pushed a stray piece of hair off my face and around the back of my ear.  “We need to head back lest you be out after nightfall, which I will not allow.  I want you safe and indoors when the sun sets.”

“I’m sorry,” I murmured with a yawn.  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Do not worry yourself, Alexandra,” he said.  “You looked so comfortable lying there, I couldn’t bear to wake you sooner.  That was the first time you seemed peaceful in sleep since we were wed.  You obviously needed it.”

Branford pulled the cloak around my shoulders as he rolled to his side and reached for his clothing.  He dressed himself while I stared at the ground, trying to keep myself from examining the bare skin across his shoulder blades and the line of his spine as it dipped to the base of his back.  I pulled my dress up my body while Branford collected Romero and strapped the blanket and picnic basket to the horse’s back.  Once we were ready, I looked back on the little meadow as Branford hoisted me onto the stallion.

“Would you like to come back someday?” Branford asked as we left the little meadow and entered the thick, wooded forest.

“Yes, please!”

He chuckled at my enthusiasm.

“Any time you wish.”

Romero nickered and took a couple of dancing steps to avoid some fallen branches.  Branford held me steady, and we started downhill.  He gripped the reins with one of his hands and guided the steed while the other reached up and pushed my hair away from my face.  I turned to look at him and found him smiling.

“You are so beautiful,” he said.

“You don’t have to say that.”  I shook my head.  I knew he felt he needed to say such things to me, but I wanted him to know I did not expect it from him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.  He seemed truly confused.

“I know I'm not beautiful,” I said.  “You don't have to say I am.”

“Who says you're not?”  Branford’s eyes narrowed and darkened.

“Well, um... Princess Whitney,” I mumbled.

Branford took a breath and blew it down his nose in a huff.  I felt the muscles of his arm tense around my middle.

“Whose bed do you share?” His words were a low growl in his throat.

“Yours.”

“And whose opinion on your beauty matters more—the spoiled-brat princess in another kingdom or the man whose bed you share?”

I felt heat in my face and turned away from his look, but he would have none of it.  He released the reins, grasped my chin with his fingers, and brought me to face his blazing eyes.

“Whose?” he asked, demanding my answer.

“Yours,” I said quietly, sheepishly.  I felt his chest push against my back as he took another breath.

“Don’t forget that,” he said though his tone was not as harsh.  I nodded, and he released my chin, and we rode in silence.

“I will have to ask Sunniva what I will need to teach you, aside from reading,” Branford said after we had crossed the small creek.  After a moment, he looked at me.  “Do you wish to learn?”

“Learn to read?” I gasped.

“Yes.”

“I never…I never considered it.”

“You should know how to read,” Branford said quietly.  “Someday you will need to know.”

“Why?”

“Because you will be my queen,” Branford said as his voice turned more serious.  “If you need to send a message to me or to another kingdom, you will need to be able to write it yourself.”

“Couldn’t someone write it for me?” I asked.

“It may be a private message,” he said.  “Even if it is not, how will you know for sure if the messenger has written what you actually said?”

“Why would they not?  I mean…wouldn’t they, um…have to write what I said?  I mean, if I were the queen?”

“If they were loyal, yes,” Branford said with a nod, “but if they knew you could not read, they could take advantage of you.  I don’t want to take that risk.”

The whole idea of disloyalty was so foreign to me, I didn’t truly understand.  For as long as I could remember, anything even remotely disloyal meant death.  Why would anyone risk such a thing?  Branford had obviously felt such betrayal, and though I knew of some who were angry enough at nobles to voice their opinions, I never would have thought to act on it.  But if Branford was concerned, then I would have to accept that it could happen, and I would have to take steps to make sure I would never jeopardize the security of Silverhelm or my husband.

“Then I will have to learn.”

Branford sat up and adjusted his seating in the saddle, pulling me closer to him in the process.  I tucked my legs to the side and smoothed out my dress.  He pulled at the reins and Romero slowed as we went down a steep incline.  Once we were at the bottom, Branford leaned to the side and placed his cheek against mine.

“I’m sorry, my wife,” he said suddenly.

“For what?”

“For not knowing what you need to know,” he said, “and for assuming too much.  I have been bred for this life, this position, and you have not.  Even then, I don’t know what a queen should know, only what I need to know.  I’m not even sure how much of what I have learned since I was a babe in arms would be taught to you as well.  More than I think, I would guess.”

He settled back and pulled me tightly against his chest, adjusting my riding cloak so it was securely around my shoulders.  I tensed a little, suddenly aware of our closeness as he moved his hips against my back.  He began stroking my stomach, and the warm sun sneaking through the leaves of the trees was making me feel sleepy again.  I relaxed against his broad chest.

“Alexandra?”  The tip of his nose touched the edge of my ear.

“Yes, Branford?”

He tilted his head to look at me from the side, and I turned my head to face him.

“I truly wish to know you,” he said.  “Not just because our queen demanded it.  Even the very first time I looked at you—when I was in the arena and you blushed so beautifully—I wanted to know more about you.”

“I will tell you anything you wish to know.”

“I know you will.” He nodded.  “But I don’t always know what questions to ask.  I will learn, my wife.  I promise you that.  I am not going to fail you again.”

The ride back down the hill was more difficult for both us and the horse.  Branford gripped me tightly, only occasionally slowing enough to press his lips to my cheek or hair.  My head was still filled with sleep, and my long nap, combined with Branford’s warm arms and the steady movement of the horse, almost lulled me back into slumber.  Though it must have taken nearly as much time to return, it seemed like the castle walls were in view in almost no time at all.

Branford tightened his arm around me and leaned close to kiss my cheek.

“We’re almost home,” he said.

I looked up to the towering walls of the castle, and I could see the shadowy figures of archers as they patrolled the wall-walks.  The stables emitted the sounds of horses as they came in for the night, and in the distance, I could hear the bark of Branford’s hunting dogs.  The red and golden hues from the sun’s lowered rays across the fields were breathtaking.

And that is when I knew I wished to call Castle Silverhelm my home.