With a brush of his lips against my forehead, Branford rose effortlessly with me still cradled in his arms and carried me to our bed.  He sat me down on the edge, kissing me gently on the lips before bringing a group of candles over and setting them on the nightstand.  He closed the shutters and tossed two more logs on the fire before returning to the side of the bed.  He reached out and touched my hair with the ends of his fingers.

His gaze was so intense, I had to look away.  I didn’t understand why he would look upon me with such an expression of desire.  I possessed no great beauty as I had been told by Princess Whitney on many occasions.  Such elegance and glamor were reserved for women of noble blood.

“I do not know exactly what she said to you,” he said, “but she was lying.  You are beautiful.”

My eyes widened as he spoke the words.  How could he know what I was thinking?  I looked down and bit my lip, knowing I was undoubtedly red in the face again and having no idea how to respond to him.  Princess Whitney had always made it clear to me I was nothing but plain and that I should consider it a blessing.  Since none of the knights would ever want me, I would not end up as Shelly had—used and worthless.

Branford’s fingers brushed under my chin, and he tilted my head up to look at him.

“You are,” he whispered.

“Should I not put on my nightdress?” I asked, wanting to divert his thoughts from this topic.  My stomach already felt like it was rife with dancing jesters.

“I don’t think there would be much point in the act, my wife,” Branford said with a sly grin.  “I could help you out of the dress you are wearing now, if you like.”

He bent at the knees to bring himself down to my eye level.  With his fingertips poised on the edge of my jaw, he tilted his head to one side and looked at me.

“You are truly magnificent to look upon, my wife,” he said quietly.  “I have never learned the flowery words of bards, but the vision of you today in the meadow—with your soft, beautiful skin in the sunlight—was such a glorious sight, I might have to learn some of those words so I can express myself adequately.”

I felt heat climb back into my cheeks, and Branford brushed his thumb over my cheekbone.

“Lovely,” he whispered as he stood up again.  I watched him moisten his lips with the tip of his tongue, and I looked down at the floor.  I heard him take a deep breath, which he let out slowly before speaking again.  “You are sure you want this, Alexandra?  I will not turn you away if you wish to wait.”

Looking up into his bright green eyes, I knew he meant what he said.  I thought about what we were about to do and wondered if I was ready for this.  I remembered that every time he had touched me—save that one, horrible moment when he dragged me from the dining room—he had been gentle.  Indeed, his hands had brought forth feelings in my body I did not know I could even experience.  Twice he had made me feel such wonders, and now that I knew what the sensations he craved for himself were, I regretted that he had not felt them when I did.  I wanted to feel like that again, and I wanted Branford to feel the same way.  He said he would only feel that way when he was inside of me, and even though thoughts of Shelly still lingered in my head, Branford was not Sir Remy.  He hadn’t forced me when I was not ready, and he was clearly not going to force me now.

“You can tell me no, Alexandra,” he said quietly.  “I will not be angry with you.  I want to wait until you want me, too.”

I stood up slowly, and Branford took a step back from me.  When I looked up to his eyes, I could see his apprehension and uncertainty and found it ironic.  The idea that he, the deflowerer of a dozen princesses, would feel nervous with me seemed ridiculous.  I reclaimed the space between us, stepping close to him and rising up on my toes as I wrapped my arms around his neck.  I watched him run his tongue quickly over his lips again before I reached up high enough to kiss him.

His lips were soft and warm against mine, and he moved them slowly, molding them around my mouth and sucking my lower lip gently between his.  I turned my head to the side, kissing him from another angle as I felt his hand wrap around my back and hold me close to his body.  The fingers of his other hand cupped my face for a moment before he released me.

“I do want you,” I said as blood rose to my cheeks.  With his hand, he brushed under the edge of my jaw, tilting my face back up to his.  His eyes were wide, and he glanced rapidly between mine, seeking confirmation that I meant what I said.  I nodded and tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes were so intense, so beautiful, I found it hard to keep looking at them.  My heart was still pounding in my chest, making it difficult to breathe deeply as he kept his eyes focused on mine until he nodded almost imperceptibly, perhaps satisfied with what he saw.

“Thank you, God,” Branford mumbled as his hands reached into my hair and his mouth descended on me again.  I felt his tongue pressing against my lips, and I opened my mouth to him.  As he touched and tasted me with his tongue, he slid his hands down my sides to my waist and pulled my body closer to his.  I could feel him—hard, long, and wanting—pushed firmly against my stomach.  I gasped into his mouth, and he pulled back from me.  “I have wanted you so much.  It has been so difficult to hold back, but I want you to want this.  I need you to want me.”

“I do,” I repeated.  “I want to be yours…truly yours.”

He dropped his hands from my face and slowly reached up to his neck, releasing the ties around the top of his shirt and slowly bringing it over his head.  He dropped it to his feet without ceremony, and I looked upon his bare chest.  My hand twitched, wanting to touch him but still unsure.  He saw my hesitancy, took my hand in his, and placed it over his heart.  I could feel it beating rapidly, matching the pace of my own.  He released my hand, and I let myself feel his skin, running my fingers over the lines surrounding the strong muscles of his chest and shoulders.  The outlines danced in the pale candlelight, and I let my finger trace the shadows I found there.  His skin shuddered under my touch, and I looked up to find him smiling at me.

As my hands touched his chest and stomach, he reached over to unlace the top of my dress, leisurely pulling the laces from their holes until it was loose around me.  He gripped the edge of my skirts and pulled the whole thing over my head, leaving me completely bare except for my lower undergarment.  The dress joined his shirt on the floor, and he lowered himself down to the ground, looking up at me as he lifted each of my feet to remove my shoes as I held his shoulders for balance.  His hands traveled up the outside of my legs, reaching the top of the undergarment and then pulling it slowly down.  I stepped out of it and stood bare before him.

“So beautiful,” he whispered as his eyes moved over me.  He stood again, kissed my mouth, and then loosened his trousers to let them drop around his ankles.  I allowed myself the briefest of glances downward, seeing how his body was responding to my nakedness and feeling strangely proud that I could evoke such a response from him.  Again I wondered how something so large could fit inside of me and felt my breath catch in my throat at the thought.  He touched my jaw again before he bent down to remove his boots, and then he kicked everything off to the side.  He took my hands in his and guided me backwards to the bed.

He lay me on my back, my head resting on the pile of pillows at the top of the bed, and crawled over me.  He placed his mouth on my shoulder, making a trail of light kisses from there to my neck as his hands moved up my sides. I felt his thumbs brush the sides of my breasts and felt his hardness pressing against my thigh.

He cupped my breasts with both hands, lifting them higher as he looked down at them hungrily.  He captured first one and then the other with his mouth.  I gasped at the sensation as he sucked my nipples between his lips, running his warm tongue over them.  He released them, kissed the top of both mounds before finding my lips with his.  He kissed me over and over, his tongue running along mine until I was gasping for air and the strange sensation—the feeling of wanting to be touched—began to build between my legs.  I shifted under him, and he smiled down at me.

“Do you want my touch?” he asked playfully.  He caressed my skin, running his fingers from my breast to my stomach, then around my hip, and down the outside of my leg.  He watched his hand as he ran it over the top of my knee and then slowly up the inside of my thigh, pushing my legs apart so he could reach me.  I felt the brush of his long fingers over my most sensitive flesh.  They slid against my folds, parting them and stroking slowly and deliberately as I groaned softly into my own hand.  Branford shook his head and took my hand away from my mouth, placing it next to my head.

“I want to hear you,” he whispered into my ear as he moved my hand above my head.  “The sounds you make are so beautiful, and they make me hunger for you.”

I was glad I wasn’t looking into his eyes when I thought about what he meant and felt his stiffened flesh rub against my thigh again.  He found my opening with his fingers, teasing it briefly before pushing inside just a little ways.  He found the swollen nub at the top with his thumb and began to slowly push against it.  With his other hand, he pushed against the inside of my thigh, effectively placing me on display for him as he looked down.  He looked for only a moment before turning his gaze to focus on my face.  He examined me briefly until he seemed to be distracted by the sight of my breasts and turned his attention toward them—first with his free hand and then with his mouth.  I grasped his shoulder and he looked up, his eyes sparkling.

He ran his tongue first over one nipple, then the other, while his thumb and fingers continued touching between my legs and making my hips rise up of their own accord.  Branford’s fingers dipped farther inside of me, and I felt them curl up as I stiffened and cried out in short, panting breaths.  His fingers retreated quickly, leaving me suddenly empty and somewhat confused.

At the same time, he released my breast from his lips and made a light trail down the center of my body, stopping at my navel.  My fingers moved from his shoulder to his hair, and I let the wonderfully soft strands glide between my fingers.  Branford’s gaze tilted upwards, looking at me, smiling his half smile, and making my stomach clench inside.  While his eyes were still locked with mine, he reached out with his tongue and ran the edge of it around my navel, and I shivered.  Branford grinned, kissed the skin just below the little indentation, then started moving farther down.  Much farther down.

“What are you doing?” I breathed, my eyes wide.

“Kissing you,” he responded with an arch of his brow.  He tilted his head and kissed first one hipbone, then the other.  He slid his hand down my side, over my hip, down my leg, and then curled around my knee.  He lifted my leg, laying it over his shoulder while he continued to watch my face.  As his intent became clearer to me, my breath caught in my throat, and I whimpered.

“Branford…”

“Shh…”

I felt his lips brush softly over the skin of my inner thigh, and he slowly continued a line of kisses up the inside of my leg while I lay back, horrified at what he was doing.  I remembered the feeling of his fingers between my legs, stroking and fondling me until I was screaming out for him in the middle of the forest, and I remembered the feeling of his tongue across my bare nipples.

My breath escaped me in gasps as his tongue reached out and took a long lick from my opening to the tiny, intense spot at the top of my folds.  His darkened eyes stayed trained to mine as he swirled the tip of his tongue in a small circle around the little nub.  I whimpered, panted, and grasped at the blanket below me as his lips joined his tongue, wrapping around my flesh—licking and sucking as he had done to my breasts only moments before.  An instant later, his fingers joined his mouth, and I felt him slide them slowly back into me—moving in and out leisurely as his tongue circled and pressed against me.

It was no more than a second later when I was screaming out for him.

“Branford!  Branford!”

My body shuddered and clamped down on his fingers.  I heard his own gasp as I wrapped my fingers into his hair and held his mouth against me as his tongue continued its fervent motions.  My head thrashed from side to side as he kept up his steady rhythm until I forced my entire body still—suddenly horrified at what I had just done.  I glanced down as I released Branford’s hair quickly, only to find his dark eyes and half smile shining up at me with his eyebrows raised.  I felt my blush cover my skin, which only seemed to make him smile more.  He placed a final kiss between my legs before he raised himself up and began to crawl over the top of me.

I felt his kisses make a line from my hipbone to my stomach, then up between my breasts, to the side up my neck, up over my chin, and finally to my mouth.  While he kissed me slowly, my own taste still clinging to his lips, I felt warm, wet pressure between my legs as Branford brought our hips together, and his hard length pressed against that most sensitive spot.  Light, tickling sensations traveled down my side as his fingers brushed along my skin.  When he reached my knee, he pulled my leg up and held it against his hip, opening my legs more for him.

This was it.  He was going to take me now.  Without warning, Shelly’s bruised and battered face, the blood, and the sound of her crying entered my head.

“Shh, my wife,” he whispered against my ear.  “I will make you feel it again—I will make you feel that pleasure again, Alexandra.  Do you want that?”

“You already did,” I told him, my voice shaking.  I was trying to keep the worry out of my tone but was quite sure I was failing.  He rested his hand against the side of my face and his lips brushed softly against mine.

“I’m not done making you feel good,” he said with confidence.  He stared into my eyes again.  “I want you to feel like that every time I join with you, starting with tonight.”

I nodded quickly, trying to tell myself to stop this nonsense—I was being ridiculous.  He had made me feel wonderful, and he had not hurt me at all.  It had been as he said it would be—gentle and slow—but I could not stop my mind from recalling the hurt Shelly had described to me and Branford’s own admission that there would be some pain.

“Look at me,” Branford said.  His voice was so quiet, I could barely hear him over my own panicked breathing.  The backs of his fingers ran down my cheek as I tried to comply and look up at him.  He kept his gaze on me, whispering soft words until my breathing slowed to match the unhurried pace of the kisses he left on my skin.  “Wrap your arms around my shoulders.  Hold on as tight as you wish.”

I placed my hands on his shoulders, gripping the hard muscles under his skin.  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm my body and remember how many times he had told me he would be gentle—that he wouldn’t hurt me unnecessarily.  Branford stilled a moment, and when I looked up, his eyes were closed and his expression intense behind the closed lids.  He opened his eyes as his lips parted, and I thought I heard him whisper “Amen” before he kissed me once more.

With his body poised above me and one hand still cupping my cheek, Branford leaned forward.   He used his hand to guide himself directly to his goal and pushed slowly.  I could feel myself spreading open—allowing his body to enter mine—as the end of him was engulfed by my body.  The pressure was strange—more so than the feeling of his fingers inside of me—but it didn’t hurt.  He pulled back, and I felt him leave me for the briefest of moments before he was inside of me again, this time pushing just a little more, and another inch of him was encompassed by my flesh.

His eyes closed a moment and his lips touched mine.  Again, he pulled back, but not as far as he had the last time, and leaned forward once more.  I could feel my body stretching to accommodate him.  When I looked up, I saw his sparkling green eyes fixed on my face, watching me intently as he repeated the movement over and over—each time entering me just a fraction more—until he stopped abruptly, and I felt a strange increase in pressure deep inside of me.  He was only halfway in, and the feeling had turned briefly into a strange pinching sensation, and I gasped.

“Just for a moment, Alexandra—I swear to you.”  Branford’s look was intense, and I could only nod in response.  I tried to make my body relax again, but it was difficult.  Branford rocked back and forth slowly, his breathing no longer as fixed and steady as it had been.  “Hold on to me.”

I complied, wrapping my arms under his and tightening my grip around his shoulders.  He leaned in close, his lips against my neck and shoulder as he continued his short, gentle moves inside of me.  He dropped his hand from my face, over my shoulder, and back to my breast.  He captured it in his hand and ran his thumb over the nipple, and I heard a moan escape my mouth as the combined sensations of his hand and his penetration overwhelmed me.  My fingers tightened on his shoulders for a moment as he pinched the sensitive flesh of my nipple, and I gasped.  It didn’t hurt exactly—but it was unexpected.  He released it almost immediately, and as I felt warmth cover where his fingers had been, my grip on him relaxed, and I let out a short breath.

Branford moved—faster than before.  He thrust upwards and hard against me, and his hips became flush with mine. I felt my body give way to him completely as a strange twinge of unfamiliar pain rippled inside of me before quickly fading away.

I cried out—more in surprise than pain—and Branford’s hands were on my face, his mouth kissing me and whispering to me.

“It is all right, my wife…”

“Are you…are you…?”

“I am all the way inside of you.”  Branford smiled and nodded.

I couldn’t identify the emotions that swept through me.  It was as if something that had been tightly bound inside of me was suddenly released, finally allowing me to truly breathe deeply for the first time since I took his hand and agreed to become his wife.  We were joined—really, truly joined as man and wife.

“Am I yours?”  I could barely whisper the words.

“You are mine,” he said, his confirmation reassuring me.  “Always.”

I looked up at him and felt myself smile.  He kissed the corners of my mouth, one at a time, and then raised himself up to look down on me.

“Are you well?” he asked.  “Does it still hurt?”

Shaking my head, I looked to his eyes, and then glanced down between us.  I couldn’t really see where we were connected—the candlelight was too dim.  I felt oddly full, stretched and hot, but it no longer hurt.  My husband was on top of me, inside of me, and the heat from his body felt wonderful against my skin.  His hips rose up, and the glorious pressure was abruptly gone.  I looked to Branford’s eyes, worried something was wrong, for I was sure he had not felt his pleasure yet.  Much to my relief, he paused with half his length still inside of me.  With his hands on either side of my head, he braced himself and slowly pushed back into me, filling me completely as I gasped and moaned beneath him.

Holding himself against me, Branford shifted his weight to one arm, leaving his other hand free to roam over the skin of my shoulder, arm, and breasts.  He cupped and lifted my nipple up to his mouth and sucked at it greedily.  His moans caused my skin to vibrate, and he started moving inside of me slowly as his tongue ran over my pebbled nipple.

I moved my hands from his shoulders to his hair.  I held him to my breast and whispered his name between breaths as he sucked and licked and touched me.  When he released my breast, his darkened gaze bore into me for a second before his lips crashed to mine.  His hand slid across my stomach and gripped my hip, pulling me against him as he continued his short, gentle thrusts inside of me.  He moved his mouth to my neck, sucking on my skin from the bottom of my ear down to where my neck met my shoulder.  He pushed hard against me with his hips, rotating them in a small half circle and hitting that magical spot near where his body entered mine.  Instinctively, my hips rose up to meet his, and as they did, Branford’s hand moved from my hip to the place right above where we joined.  He began a slow, relentless circling with his thumb, and my back arched against the pressure.

“Do you like that?” He panted into my ear as his thumb circled again.

“Yes,” I moaned back, barely able to find enough air to speak.

“It feels so good inside of you,” he whispered.  He moved slowly, steadily—setting up a deep, wondrous rhythm that matched the movement of his thumb.  “Three days have never taken so long, but you are so warm…so worth waiting for this night…”

I dug my fingertips into the skin over his shoulder blades as he pulled back and entered me again.  I pressed my forehead against his shoulder and muffled my cries against his flesh.  He found the edge of my jaw with his mouth and kissed his way up to my temple.  I felt his warm breath in my hair.

“Wrap your legs around my waist,” he murmured into my ear.  I complied, locking my ankles together at the base of his back.  As soon as I did, the pressure changed and intensified as Branford moved deeper inside of me, groaning his pleasure.  “Oh, yes…”

“Branford!” I cried out, and his mouth covered mine as he moved his thumb faster against me.  The muscles in my legs constricted, and delicious warmth traveled from my stomach down, out, and through my legs.  I cried out again, the sound muffled against my husband’s lips as my body tensed, screamed in ecstasy, and released.

“Oh, Alexandra.”  Branford pulled back from my mouth and turned his head to the side.  His body tensed as well, but only for a moment before he let out a long breath and opened his eyes again.  “Hold on to me.”

I tightened my grip using both my legs around his waist and my arms around his shoulders.  He pulled back and then thrust into me, causing my body to push against the mattress as it shifted underneath him.  I felt him slide almost out of me again before he thrust forward with more intensity, and I cried out.

“Does it hurt?” he asked into my ear.  He reached into the hair at the back of my neck and he turned me toward him.  I shook my head quickly—not wanting him to pause even for a moment.  He moved again—long, drawn-out strokes as he pulled out of me, then quick thrusts as he sheathed himself in me completely.  Gradually, the pace increased along with the beating of his heart, which I could feel against my breasts when he pressed his chest against them.  My fingers became slick with the sweat on his back as he moved more and more rapidly and with more and more intensity.  Branford’s breath was hot and covered the skin of my neck in short, quick bursts.  Under his breath, I could hear his grunts and moans in between actual words.

“So good…ugh…ugh…he was right…oh, he was right!  Ugh…ugh…so, so much better…my wife…my wife…so good…”

He twisted his fingers tighter into my hair, pulling a little.  Though it didn’t exactly hurt, it was surprising as he pulled my head backwards, arching my neck and grinding my head into the mattress.  With his other hand, he gripped my hip, holding me tight against him as he thrust inside of me over and over again.  He moaned—loud and long—and his own neck arched and his closed eyes pointed toward the ceiling.  He stilled, deep inside of me, and I felt warmth spread throughout my womb.

Branford collapsed on top of me, his forehead tucked against the space between my neck and my shoulder, and panted into my skin.  He brushed my neck with his lips, kissing me between his labored breaths.  My whole body was shaking, and I couldn’t make it stop.  I held on tightly to my husband—my real, true, consummated husband—as my breath escaped in gasps and tears poured from the corners of my eyes, dripped down across my face, and into the pillow below my head.

Branford raised his head and clasped the sides of my head with his hands.  With his thumbs, he brushed the moisture from my eyes.

“Are you all right?” he asked in a breathless whisper.

“Yes,” I half-sobbed as I tightened my grip on him and pulled my head to his shoulder, hiding my eyes against his neck.  Branford shifted, pulling out of me and leaving me with a sudden feeling of cold emptiness.  He grasped the sides of my head tighter, pulling me away from his shoulder and back against the bed.  Branford hovered over me, his eyes full of concern and confusion.

“I hurt you,” he said, his tone matter of fact.  “God, Alexandra, I am sorry—I was trying to go slow…”

“It did not hurt,” I whimpered.  “It is just…”

“Just what?”

“We are really married now,” I whispered as I looked up into his eyes.  I reached out and brushed the edge of my husband’s jaw with my fingertips.  “I am really your wife.”

“This makes you sad?”  His voice rose in pitch, sounding desperate.

“No.” I shook my head and took a deep breath, trying to control myself again.  Resting my head against the pillow, I continued to look up at him, my finger slowly tracing the shadowy patterns the candlelight made on his chin.

“Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted.  I closed my eyes and sighed.  When I glanced back up at him, his brows were knitted together as he looked down at me.  “It didn’t hurt, not very much, anyway.  Just for a moment when you…when you went all the way in.”

“It could not be helped,” he said with his voice quiet and full of remorse.  The pads of his fingers wiped more tears away from my eyes, and he leaned over to kiss my closed lids.

“It is all right,” I whispered as I kept touching the side of his face, feeling the rough stubble of his cheek.

“Then why are you sad?” he asked, his voice nearly begging for an answer.

“I am not sad,” I told him.  “I am just…relieved.”

“Relieved?”

“That you…um…you seemed to like it.”

“Like it?” Branford huffed and then let out a single, sharp laugh.  “Alexandra, that was simply incredible.”  He brushed strands of hair from my forehead.  “Did you think I would not?”

“I didn’t know,” I said with a shrug of my shoulders.  “I had never…been with a man in such a way.”

He played with the strand of my hair caught between his fingers, and his lips mashed together as he scowled at the lock, making me wonder if he was somehow angry with the stray piece of hair.  He released it, and sighed heavily.

“I am pleased that I will be the only man to ever touch you in this way,” he said suddenly.  “If someone had taken you before me, I would have overlooked it, but I am very glad that is not the case.  I think I would be inclined to seek out anyone who may have touched you, and at least make sure I was the only living man to have had you.”

I turned and looked into his eyes, trying to determine if he meant the words as a joke.  I knew immediately that he did not, and I shuddered.  Branford tilted my chin upward, and he looked down at me.

“I know your virginity belongs to me,” Branford said, his words becoming somewhat desperate, “but tell me—did any man ever lay a hand on you at all?  Touched you?  Kissed you?  Anything?”

I shook my head.

“Only you.”

“Good,” he murmured.  “For the sake of us all, be sure it stays that way.”

I was confused for but a moment until I understood exactly what he was implying.  Horrified, I gripped his shoulders again, my eyes wide.

“I would not…I would never even consider such a thing,” I cried out, praying to whatever God he worshipped that he would believe me.  “You are my husband.  I belong to you alone.”

“If I knew another man looked at you, I would not take it well.”

I could only nod in response, having a pretty good idea what kind of reaction my husband might have.  He would kill for so much less.  It was not a sight I ever wished to see.

“In fact,” Branford said, “I have the feeling I might become quite infuriated with jealousy at the very thought.”

I turned to him, and his eyes were narrowed.

“I would never look to another.  Never, Branford.”

“I know you would not,” he said quickly, “but if another man were to dare approach you, you must tell me immediately.”

“I will,” I promised.

He looked at me before nodding his acceptance of my words.  He turned away from me for a moment, but I could still see his eyes in the candlelight—blazing like the fire across the room.  He mumbled something under his breath, but I could not understand his words.

“I am yours, Branford,” I told him again.

“I know,” he said quickly.  He looked back to me, and his eyes softened.  “And I am yours, Alexandra.  I will be faithful to you.”

My heart began to pound in my chest again.  I had not truly considered it, other than knowing I did not want him to spend his nights in the company of another woman.  I vaguely remembered something in the words he spoke to me in front of the altar regarding fidelity, but the entire day was difficult to remember in any specific sense.  But now he was promising me again, here alone where there was no one to judge his words, to remain faithful to me, his commoner wife.  And I wanted it.  I wanted him to be mine alone.

He touched my cheek with the edge of his hand and tilted his head as he gazed down at me.  He focused on his hand as his thumb brushed my chin and pulled my lower lip from my teeth.

“We may not have what Camden and Sunniva have now,” he said quietly, his eyes darting quickly to mine, “but we could—someday.  I know I will never be an easy man to live with, but I will be good to you.  I will try to control my temper with you and—God willing—I will have…have feelings for you…in time.”

As I looked up at the strong, handsome man lying on top of me and listened to him recount his own version of marital vows, I tried to understand what it actually meant to me.  Branford was asking me to truly be a wife to him—suggesting that someday we could be in love with each other.  I could not deny wanting such a thing, but despite our current position, I knew so little of the man who had taken my body.  Some of the things I did know of him frightened me terribly, but I had also seen not just a more tender side of him but the side of him that knew pain and suffering.

Could I also have feelings for this man, my husband?  Could I grow to even love him someday?

I wanted children.  I even wanted his children though the reasons in my head for the thought were unclear.  They would be beautiful; I was sure of that, but I could not be sure what other reason I may have had.  Perhaps because they would tie me to him in a way no one else would ever experience.  My children with my husband.

My mind drifted to the feelings he evoked inside of me as he entered me the first time.  I remembered the feeling of spreading warmth through my body as he found his pleasure inside of me.  I recalled the feeling of his hands in my hair and on my hip, holding me to him as he cried out, and the strange, incomprehensible meaning of his words as he thrust inside of me.

“I wish I knew what was going on in your head,” Branford said.  I startled and looked back to his eyes.  He did not appear to be agitated, just inquisitive.

“I was wondering about something you said.”  I bit down on my lip, wondering if I should ask.  What if it was something he did not want me to question?  I took a deep breath, and tried to give him the opportunity to refuse my queries.  We were not in our chair at the moment, and I was still unsure when I should ask him questions and when I should not.  “You do not have to answer if you would rather not.”

“What did you want to know?”

“You said, um…when you were…” I bit down on my lip, not sure how I should phrase it.  “You, um, you said, ‘He was right,’ and I wanted to ask what you meant.  You don’t have to tell me if you don’t wish to.”

Branford was silent for a moment before he let out a low chuckle.

“Something Father Tucker has told me on many occasions.”  Branford smiled sheepishly.

“Father Tucker?”

“He is the priest in the chapel near the castle,” Branford explained.  “I have…confessed to him.  He knows of my past transgressions, and he always told me if I would wait until I was wed—wait until the act was sanctified in the eyes of God—then the pleasure I felt would be so much better.”

I kept looking into his eyes, trying to understand exactly what he meant.

“Father Tucker was right,” Branford finally said.  “It felt so much better to be inside of you than it ever has before.  I honestly had not believed him before this night, but being with you…”

He stroked the side of my face with his knuckles, slowly dragging them over my skin as he followed the movement with his eyes.

“It felt right.”  His voice was soft, and I kept looking at his face, bathed in the light of the candles around us.  “It felt like I was supposed to be there.”

It had felt right, and I found myself feeling strangely empty now that he was no longer buried inside of me.  I remembered some of his words in the meadow—how he had said he had an appetite for such acts—and I wondered when he would take me again.  He had said earlier he would want me in the morning, but I was still not sure if he was serious or not.  If he was truly so insatiable, I thought I would likely be with child, his child, before the end of summer.  Then I realized it was entirely possible, however unlikely, I was carrying his child right at this moment.

“What are you thinking?” Branford asked.  He pushed a piece of hair away from my face and back behind my ear.

“I was thinking…or wondering, really…I know it is not very likely…”

“What is not likely?”

“I just wondered if you…if you might have, um…started a baby.”

Branford’s eyes became unfocused for a moment, and then he glanced down at my belly.  He shifted his weight and dropped to the bed at my side.  He pulled his arm back and he rested his warm fingers over my smooth, flat stomach.  The corners of his mouth turned up as his fingers danced over my skin.

“I would like that,” he said.  Branford stretched and slid his body down a little, resting his head against my shoulder while his hand caressed my belly.  The ends of his hair tickled my chin, so I brushed them aside, marveling again at how soft his hair felt in my fingers.  I watched the strands as my fingers ran through them.  Finally, Branford spoke again.

“Do you like children?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you say that only to appease me?”

“I’ve always liked children,” I repeated.  “I used to care for Hedda when her wet-nurse was busy with other tasks.  I liked taking care of her.”

Branford nodded, but his forehead was furrowed, and his mouth was turned down in a scowl.

“I will make sure we find plenty of trusted servants as wet-nurses and nannies—you won’t have to raise them yourself.”

Visions of the wet-nurses as they held Hedda and their own children to their breasts, talking, laughing, and caring for the little ones flowed through my head.  Though I had played with Hedda and the other children in Edgar’s castle, I remembered being somewhat envious that I could not nourish them as their nurses did.  Another vision came to me—one of a tiny baby boy with wisps of dark hair on the top of his head.  In my mind I saw a woman with an indiscernible face, holding him to her chest while I looked on, and I immediately frowned.

“I wouldn’t mind taking care of them,” I said quietly.  Branford turned and looked at me, his eyes wide and sparkling.  As the image faded from my head, I spoke again.  “I want to be the one to raise our children.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that.”  Branford tightened his arms around me, and I wondered how much he worried about having nannies around his children.  Tension in his shoulders I had not even realized was there released, and he relaxed against me with a slight smile displayed on his face.  Minutes went by in silence as he ran his fingers over my belly, and I stroked his hair back off of his forehead.  Eventually, he spoke again.

“How many children would you like to have?”  He turned his head and looked up at me, his fingers still tracing circles around my stomach.

My mind wandered for a moment, and I saw again the image of the dark-haired boy in the field, older this time and accompanied by a smaller girl-child with chestnut locks and bright green eyes.  In my mind, I saw myself with a baby resting in my arms atop my swollen belly.  I couldn’t help but smile at the image.

“As many as you will give me,” I finally replied.  Branford’s smile echoed my own.

“I cannot wait to see you with your belly round with my child,” he said quietly.

My body felt warm at the sound of his words.  His large hand splayed out over my stomach, twitching slightly and making a large circle.  I could almost see what it would look like when I was with child, and he was running his hand over my full belly.  I felt myself smile, and my thoughts focused.  I wanted to carry Branford’s child, and now that I knew what intimacy was like, I was not only unafraid of what it would take to make one, but I welcomed it.

I opened my eyes as I felt faint kisses up my arm and shoulder until Branford’s lips reached my neck.  He found the spot behind my ear and kissed it more firmly.

“Sleep, my beautiful wife,” Branford whispered into my ear as he rolled onto his back, pulling me with him.  I lay my head against his chest and listened to the steady thrum of his heart and tried to picture what he may have looked like as a child.   I quickly gave into the exhaustion of the day and closed my eyes.  Branford rubbed my back slowly, lulling me to sleep.  As I slept, images of children running in the fields, playing with the hunting dogs, and learning to ride on gentle ponies filled my dreams.

And that is how we consummated our marriage.