Two days after the consummation of our marriage, I attended my first tournament as Sir Branford’s wife.

The sounds of the trumpets were deafening as the line of knights entered the arena one at a time, circled their horses around the perimeter, and eventually ended up on one side of the arena—the side closest to where I stood with Ida and the rest of Sawyer’s kingdom.

The sound of the horns brought me back to my thankfully uneventful presentation to the court before dinner on the evening of Kimberly and Nelle’s exile.  After spending the afternoon with Ida in the Women’s Room, I had been properly attired.  My hair adorned the top of my head, and the new necklace Branford had purchased for me had been around my neck.  After Ida’s tutelage on etiquette, I had been moderately sure of myself when I walked through the huge double doors at the end of the hall.  I had walked down the aisle and kept my eyes on my husband at the far end and not on all the lords and ladies of the court.  Between the horn blasts, all the people had not just looked upon me but had bowed down before me. I had become quite anxious and froze for a moment in the middle of the grand hall.  Noticing my hesitancy, Branford had come to my side, taken my arm, and had then led me to each of the members of the court.  Every one of them bowed down to me and addressed me as Lady Alexandra.

Since my habit was always to look down around nobility, Branford had to remind me with a gentle finger on my chin and a whisper in my ear that I was always to hold my head high as his wife.  I was most uncomfortable with this new bearing, but I did as he told me to do, and the evening had gone smoothly.  In the night, Branford laid me on the bed and brought those feelings from me again but refused to indulge himself, claiming he needed to let me recover for a night.

Ida nudged me and pointed across the field, bringing me out of my reverie and forcing me to focus on the knight with a red dragon painted on his breastplate.  It was her fiancé, Sir Parnell.  Branford rode behind him, circling the field, clad in his copper-colored armor.  When Branford passed by, I clapped as loud as I could though I could not quite bring myself to cheer as loud as my husband’s sister did for Sir Parnell.  A few of the noblewomen turned to look at me when I clapped, and I could see them lean toward each other to whisper.

“They are all trying to decide if you are the one they heard about,” Ida whispered into my ear.  “Naturally, they have all heard Branford had married, and they are wondering if he brought his new wife to the tournament.  You are unfamiliar, so they are bound to make their guesses.”

“I thought they were probably talking about me,” I admitted.

“Do not be nervous,” Ida said with a gentle hand on my arm.  “They just want to get a look at you, and you look completely striking, if I do say so myself.”

Ida had me whisked away to her private room in Sawyer castle as soon as our carriage had arrived in the area.  She had then proceeded to spend the next several hours dressing me and making my hair curl, wrapping it around the heated leg bones of a small animal.  Then she had nearly covered my head in gold and black ribbons to match my gown.  I wore the necklace Branford had bought for me as well.

“They are going insane with jealousy,” Ida said with a smirk.

“Jealousy?”

“Of course!  Every one of that bunch had her eyes on Branford at some point in her life—even those who have since been wed.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Are you blind?” Ida asked with a laugh.  “He is my own brother, yet I can still see why the women of any kingdom fawn over him.”

I blushed, embarrassed that I had not really considered it.  Of course, I thought he was wonderfully stunning, especially when he looked at me with laughter and light in his sparkling green eyes.  I hadn’t really considered how much other women must look at him and possibly want to be with him.  I wondered again about the nine royal women Branford had previously bedded and contemplated whether any of the women seated near us now might be one of them.  He had promised to tell me if there was, but he said he did not know exactly who would be at this tournament, only that Princess Whitney certainly would not be.  Hadebrand was never invited to tournaments in Sawyer’s lands.  Lord Sawyer took Branford’s stance on the death of the Sterlings.

“He is very…handsome,” I finally said.

“And it is you he takes to his bed after supper,” Ida whispered conspiratorially.  “They would give their last piece of jewelry to trade places with you for a single night.”

I looked up at Ida, shocked.

“I would never trade Branford for someone’s jewelry!” I exclaimed.

Ida laughed.

“It is just an expression, Alexandra,” she said as she patted my arm.  I let out a slow breath.  “I know you would not wish to share my brother.”

I nodded.

“You actually care for him, do you not?” Ida asked quietly.  Another blare from the trumpeters nearly drowned out her voice.  I nodded as I looked out to where he stood to the side of the arena, preparing for the next joust.  Ida squeezed my shoulder.  “I am very glad of that.”

Ida and I looked at each other, and I could not help but smile.  Her love and concern for her brother was obvious in her eyes.  Feeling somewhat embarrassed, I turned my attention back to the arena where I saw the first two knights line up and prepare to joust.  One had a blue griffon on his breastplate, and the other’s knight’s armor was shiny silver but without any additional markings.  Looking again to the side of the arena, I could see Branford with his page, Michael, as he checked the end of his lance and bent over so Michael could place his helm on his head.

The knight with the blue griffon on his chest defeated the other handily and raced his horse once around the inside edge of the arena as his fans cheered him on.  He stopped below the platform where Lord and Lady Sawyer were seated.  She stood as he held the end of his broken lance toward her, and she tied a red ribbon around the end of the weapon before he rode off and took his place off to the side.

My breath caught in my throat as I watched Branford at the end of the arena shift his position atop Romero.  At the trumpeters’ call, he jabbed his heels into the horse’s flanks and sped forward, straight for a knight with a red plume on top of his helm.  As Branford’s lance crashed and splintered against the opposing knight’s chest, the other knight missed Branford entirely.  I breathed a sigh of relief.

“A perfect hit!” Ida exclaimed.  “Branford will win as long as he is not knocked from his horse.”

Two more passes went by, and Branford was declared victorious.  As he rode to the edge of the field, and Lady Sawyer placed a red ribbon on the end of his lance, signifying his win, I felt relief flood through my veins.  I was not relieved that he had won the contest, only that he had done so without injury.

What surprised me was that my thoughts were not solely directed toward my own fate if something were to happen to my husband.  From the beginning, I had feared what would become of me if something were to happen to him, but what I felt now was something different.  In my mind, I thought of returning to our rooms, alone.  I thought of looking at the kettle and not having Branford there to ask him if he wanted tea.  I wondered how empty the water basin would look in the evenings were he not standing there, pulling his shirt over his head and preparing for the night.  And lastly, I thought of the bed—our bed—and though I had spent very few nights lying beside him, I could not fathom sleeping without the warmth of his arms around me now.

The very thought sent a chill up my backbone and through my arms.

“Is he done now?” I asked Ida, hoping this might be the end of the games but still knowing it was only the beginning.  She shook her head.

“This is the first of three jousting trials,” she explained.  “If he bests the other two knights, he will compete for the title tomorrow in hand-to-hand combat.”

Several other knights took their turns before Branford was up again, this time challenged by the blue griffon knight.  Branford was lined up at the side closest to where Ida and I sat, and I saw his head turn toward us before the trumpet blew.  He nodded in our direction, and Ida cheered and waved at him as he took off, riding close to the dividing barrier between his horse and his opponent.  The knight with the blue griffon symbol on his chest urged his horse faster as he neared Branford, and they clashed together with a horrific sound, and both were awarded one point.

Again, the horses raced toward each other, and my attention was suddenly diverted to the construction of Branford’s helmet.  With the front drawn down, his head and face were completely protected except for a small slit across his eyes.  I looked to the end of the lances and speculated that there may be just enough room for the end of a lance to enter the eye slot.  I had to fight the urge to look away again as they clashed, the tip of Branford’s lace smashing against the very edge of the other knight’s shield.  At nearly the same instant, Branford’s opposition managed to position his lance at Branford’s chest, knocking him around in the saddle.

The entire crowd stood and began chanting and waving in the air either the pennants of their preferred knight or their tankards of ale.  I stood with them—my eyes focused on my husband as he shook his head sharply to the side, adjusted his helm, and took a third lance from Michael.  Branford hefted the lance and took a moment to position it before nodding his head, and the knights were off again.

Romero sped forward as Branford leaned into the steed’s neck and held the lance up high before swinging it over and across his body, aimed right at the head of the griffon on his opponent’s chest.  The lance seemed to be ready to hit its goal when Branford’s opponent shifted to the side, and Branford’s lance missed its target.  At the same time, his competitor’s lance hit Branford square in the chest, knocking him sideways and completely out of his saddle.

I couldn’t breathe as I watched Branford fall from the horse and land with a heavy thud on the sandy ground below.  His helmet flew off into the sand, and his left arm was crushed underneath him.  There were both gasps and cheers from the onlookers as the other knight was awarded the victory, and Michael ran out to Branford’s body, lying still on the ground.

I covered my eyes with my hands.  My mind raced—so many different thoughts cramming together all at once.  How badly was he hurt?  What if he lived but his arm was broken?  If I wanted to pray to his God, where would I begin?  I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“No, no, no,” I heard myself whispering through ragged breaths.  The hand on my shoulder began to shake me.

“Alexandra, look!” Ida’s voice was forceful.  “He’s walking off the field on his own. He’s even yelling at his page.  He is fine, Alexandra!  He is fine!”

“Fine?” I whispered as I dared open my eyes.  Ida was correct.  When I looked down on the field, I could see Branford stomping off, shoving Michael out of his way as he did.  He held his left arm out away from his body, his face in a grimace.  Air finally filled my lungs again.

“I want to go to him,” I said as I turned to her.  Ida narrowed her eyes, and her lips smashed into a hard line.  She seemed to debate for a moment before nodding and grabbing my hand in hers.  She turned and pulled me into the crowd behind us as they pushed in the opposite direction, trying to get a better view of the victor.  I followed, my hand grasped in Ida’s tiny fingers as she dragged me down the steps at the back of the stands and around the edge of the arena walls.  On the far side, she spied Sir Parnell and quickly brought me over to him.

“Ida, what are you doing here?” Sir Parnell inquired as we approached.  “You should be up in the stands.  I shall be competing next, and you know this is no place for a lady.”

He smiled and stroked her cheek with his gloved thumb.

“Alexandra wanted to find Branford.”

Sir Parnell’s eyes narrowed slightly, though not unkindly, as he shook his head.  He glanced off into the distance where the outer wall of the castle displayed an open arch leading to a field and trees beyond.  I let go of Ida’s hand and started in the direction of the arch.

“No, Alexandra,” Sir Parnell said.  His hand coiled around my arm, and he held me back.  “You do not want to be near him right now.”

“He is hurt!”

“Let him be.”

I looked down at my arm and saw Sir Parnell’s gloved fingers encircling it while flashes of Branford’s obviously pained face invaded my mind.

“Release me.”  I could hardly hear myself speak.

“You are not going down there,” Sir Parnell said again.  “I know of which I speak.  He does not want or need anyone near him right after he has been bested.  You need to—”

“I said, release me!” I shouted at him.  Sir Parnell’s eyes went wide, and I was not sure which of us was more surprised by my outburst.  I felt his fingers relax and pull away from me a second later.

“Yes, my lady,” he said quietly as he bowed his head.  “Please forgive me.  I meant no disrespect.  I have known Branford all my life, and he will not be…‘pleasant’ at the moment.  He will want his privacy.”

“Once I know he is not badly injured, he can have it!” I turned and held up my skirts so I could walk quickly down the wooden steps to the edge of the arena then around the side of the castle wall until I reached the opening where Branford had disappeared.  I walked through the gate and up a path leading to the buildings that housed the animals.  I saw movement next to a high stone wall covered in vines and quickened my pace as I made my way toward it.

Branford was seated on a stone bench with his sword propped up against the wall and his helmet beside him.  Two large trees grew close to the wall where he sat, their roots making a tangled mess around the bench.  He held his left arm away from his body while the right one gripped his hair.  His eyes were closed and his mouth drawn into a vicious looking scowl.  Sir Parnell’s warning ran through my head, but I shook the thought away.  If Branford was badly hurt, it was better to help him as quickly as possible.

Lifting my skirts again, I closed the distance between us.  When a dry branch snapped under my foot, he looked up, alerted to my presence.  My husband’s eyes opened, and I heard myself gasp as he glared at me.   His green eyes looked black with his fury.

“Get away from me!” His voice was a snarl.

“I wanted to make sure you were all right,” I replied.  I felt my teeth sink into my lip, and I looked down at the ground near his plate-encased feet.

“I said, ‘Get away!’” he screamed as he stood abruptly and took a step closer.  The fingers of his right hand clenched as he leaned toward me, his fist drawn back.  I saw the muscles in his left hand also twitch to form a fist, but his fingers did not comply, and I saw my husband wince in pain.

“Give me your hand,” I said.  I tried to keep my voice low and calm.  Branford’s entire body seemed to strain against itself, like he was having trouble keeping his muscles bound within his skin.  His jaw was tight, his nostrils flared, and I could have sworn I heard a low growl in the back of his throat.

“You need to leave,” my husband said through clenched teeth.  “Now.”

“I am not leaving until you let me look at it!”  Again, my own outburst seemed to startle me as much as it did Branford.  His eyes went wide for a moment as he looked upon me with mouth agape.  The fire was still in his eyes.

“Please,” I whispered.  I took another tentative step toward him. “Let me make sure you are all right.”

He glared at me and shook his head as he dropped back down to the hard bench with a clang of metal against stone.  His right hand ran through his hair again, and it splayed out over his forehead in tangled, sweaty lines.

“It is nothing,” Branford said.  “It is not even my sword arm.  Go back to the stands.  I do not wish to speak with you or anyone else!”

Taking the remaining steps needed to reach his side, I slowly knelt beside the stone bench and reached for his hand anyway.  At first, he drew it away from my grasp but eventually sighed and allowed me to look at it.  The edge of his hand and wrist were already turning purple with bruises though there was no blood.  I ran my fingers lightly over his hand and arm as I knelt by his side.  Though it did look like a bad bruise, it did not appear to be too grave.  His arm was straight with no indication of a break.

“Are you able to make your hand into a fist?” I asked.

“What difference does it make?” Branford asked, still growling but not as harshly as he had been.

“I want to see if your fingers are broken.”

Branford mumbled under his breath but still complied.  He hissed as his hand clenched, and though it was obviously painful, he did make a proper fist, and the bones appeared to be intact.

“I told you,” he said again, “it is nothing.”

I glanced up at him and found his dark and glaring gaze trained to mine, full of the angry tyrant that lived inside of him.  I refused to look aside, determined not to allow him to push me away when he was hurt unless I was sure he would be all right.  I tried to breathe normally as I held his gaze, but it was difficult.

Slowly, the fire in his eyes dimmed, and he sighed heavily.  His expression turned strangely shy as he looked away from me to the ground near his feet.  I traced my fingers slowly over the edge of his battered arm.  His gaze swiveled back to mine and widened for a moment, and I was sure he was holding his breath.  He parted his lips as if he were going to speak but closed them again before he had uttered a sound, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.  He reached out slowly with his right hand and touched my cheek, his thumb running tenderly across my cheekbone.  The expression on his face was so strange, and I didn’t know what to make of it.

“What is wrong, Branford?”

He shook his head, dropped his hand from my face, and closed his eyes.  The unusual look in his eyes was gone when he looked back to me again.

“I want to win…for you,” he finally admitted.  He sighed deeply.  “I wanted to present you with whatever the prize may be, and I managed to not even make it through the first trial.”

“It does not matter to me if you win,” I said, “I only want you unhurt.”

Our gazes met again, and I could not understand his expression as he looked down at me.  Branford closed his eyes and shook his head.

“He should not have bested me,” Branford said as he narrowed his eyes.  “I have beaten him before both with lance and sword.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Sir Leland,” Branford said.  “He is not a particularly pleasant fellow, and you are not to go near him if you see him.”

“I would not know his face,” I told him.  “I would only know him if he was wearing that same armor—with the griffon on the front.”

“He is young,” Branford said.  “Younger than I—maybe nineteen years.  His hair is blond and trimmed short, the same color as Michael’s.  Just…I do not want you walking around on your own.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, my Branford.”

I looked over his arm again, making sure I had not missed anything important.

“How do you know of the care of wounds?  Did someone teach you?”

“Edith taught me some things,” I replied.  “I do not have much knowledge, but there was a boy in Hadebrand who fell from a tree and broke his arm.  I helped her care for it to make sure it healed straight.  He was almost as good as new afterwards.  She told me to keep a cut covered up, and it would heal faster and sometimes not even scar.  Your arm is not broken though. I think it is just a bruise.”

“As I already told you, I am perfectly fine,” he said as he raised his eyebrows.

“I think so,” I replied.  I ducked my head down to my chin as the realization washed over me that I had outwardly defied him by not respecting his wishes.  I ran my fingers over his arm and hand a final time.  I heard Branford huff through his nose.

“Have my injuries been sufficiently examined, wife?” he asked sharply.

I looked up and found his eyes, if not his words, had softened.  I traced the edge of the bruise with my fingertips, careful not to put pressure on the wound.  I nodded once more and released his hand.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.  “I just wanted to know you were all right.”

“Come here,” he said as he patted his hand against his legs.  I stood, and Branford reached out with his right arm to pull me onto his lap.  I placed my hands on the cold, smooth breastplate of his bronze armor as he pulled me closer and wrapped his fingers around my hair.  Our lips met, and he kissed me softly.  When he backed away, I could see the hunger in his eyes, and his look made my stomach tighten.

He stared at me for a long moment without speaking, and I did not wish to interrupt his thoughts.  The cold metal of his plate armor was uncomfortable as a seat, but I did not fidget or complain.  I watched as he took a deep breath and leaned in to give me one more, quick kiss.

“I need to make sure Romero has been properly secured for the evening,” Branford finally said.  “Come with me.”

“Of course,” I responded as I stood.  Branford sheathed his sword and grabbed his helm.  I took his right arm, and he led me back toward the arch, turning sharply once we were back inside the wall, and we headed to the stables.

The building was huge, the largest abode for horses I had ever seen.  Branford explained that Lord Sawyer bred the very best horses in the entire realm, which is why the building was so large.  Romero, as well as most of Branford’s other horses, had come from Sawyer.  One of these, a sleek, white stallion named Vanquish, was Branford’s alternate steed and had accompanied us to the tournament.  Both of Branford’s horses were at the end of the building—the farthest away from where we had entered.

“Michael!” Branford called out as we walked between the rows of mostly empty stalls.  The young blond boy looked up quickly from where he held a bucket of water for Branford’s horse.  Branford dropped his hand from my arm, and captured my hand with his, lacing our fingers together.  He began to walk faster, pulling me along.  “Make sure the farrier checks his left back hoof.  I think the shoe might be loose.”

“Yes, Sir Branford,” Michael responded.  His eyes met mine for the briefest of moments before he looked away again.

“Alexandra, I realize you have not been properly introduced before,” Branford said.  “This is Michael, my page.  Michael, this is my wife, Lady Alexandra.”

“An honor, my lady,” the young man said quietly as he bowed to me.  His blond hair hung down to his eyes, and he looked to be around my age.  I nodded back, biting my lip.  Branford released my hand and ran his fingers over Romero’s neck for a moment before ordering Michael to help him remove his armor.  Bits of metal seemed to end up everywhere, and Michael began to gather it all as Branford went back to his horse.

I smiled as I watched my husband’s fingers gently massage the proud stallion’s neck and mane, glad to see the handsome boy make an appearance in his eyes for a moment.  When I looked over to Michael again, I felt a little uncomfortable with the look in his eyes as he glanced at me and smiled behind Branford’s back.  Branford started to bark out instructions to the page, but I had the feeling Michael might not have been listening as intently as he should have.  I looked away toward the door to the barn.

Suddenly, Michael’s sharp cry of pain echoed through the building.  I turned in time to see Branford hauling him off the ground, his lip bleeding.  Branford grabbed the young man by his shoulders and shoved him against the wall of the stall.

“If I ever see you gawking at my wife like that again, I will tear your eyes from their sockets!” Branford yelled.  He coiled his fingers around Michael’s neck.  “That is, right before I gut you on the ground.  Am I perfectly clear?”

“Yes…sire…” Michael gasped as he tried to draw breath into his lungs.

Branford released his grip, and Michael fell to the ground.

“Get out!  Go find out when the farrier is available, and do not come anywhere near me again tonight!”

“Yes…yes, Sir Branford!” Michael cried as he dragged himself from the ground and raced out of our sight.

Everything had happened so fast, I had not even had time to process it before it was over.  Branford stood with both hands in tight fists—which had to be painful for the left one—as he stared at the retreating page.  I stood frozen as I watched his shoulders rise and fall with his deep breaths as he tried to regain his senses.  He growled out a curse and turned back to me, his eyes full of fury again.  He reached out and pulled me to him, his lips crashing against mine and his tongue pushing its way into my mouth.

He moved his hands from my hips to my hair, then to my shoulders and down my arms before he grasped my hips again and held me tight.  His mouth continued its assault until I was completely out of breath from the kisses and the suddenness of his actions.  Finally allowing me to breathe, he moved to my jaw and then my neck.

“I need you, Alexandra.” Branford panted hotly into my ear.  “Right now.  Right here.”

“Here?” I heard myself repeat in disbelief.

“Here,” he said again.  He wrapped his forearm around my waist, and he pulled me with him as he walked backwards through the doorway of Romero’s stall.  I found myself against the inside wall, Branford’s strong arms holding me off the ground as his mouth covered mine again.  He released his grip on me and let my feet touch the ground and moved his hands up to cup my breasts as his mouth latched on to my throat.  “Please.”

My heart pounded in my chest as I felt my husband’s hot desire pressed tightly against my stomach.  “I will attempt to seduce you in the stables at midday,” he had said.  Apparently, that was also not a jest though this did not resemble seduction, either.  This was exactly what he had called it.  This was need.  I did not understand it, but I would not deny him.  Lifting my arms to reach him, I tangled my fingers into his hair and guided his mouth to mine, pushing my tongue into his mouth this time as he grunted his acceptance.  He found my face with his hands and pulled me back for a moment.

“You are mine,” he said, his voice sounding desperate.  “My wife.”

I nodded quickly.

“Take me,” I whispered.

I felt the muscles in his shoulders and arms relax for a moment as his eyelids drifted closed, and he drew in a long breath.  His hands still cupped my face, gentle at first as if he were trying to hold back, but soon his need was again apparent as his tongue ran over mine, and he used his hands to roam over my body again.  He pulled back, panting.

“Pull up your skirts,” Branford commanded.  “Hold them out of the way.”

I complied, hefting the bunched up fabric around my waist as I felt Branford’s hands slide up the outside of my thighs and grip my undergarment.  He pulled at the sides, and it fell to my ankles.  I heard the clink of his sword as he loosened the clasp, and it fell to the ground.  He grabbed my hips and pulled me up against his flesh and took a step forward, anchoring me with a thud against the wall of Romero’s stall.  He grabbed my legs and placed them over his hips, and I tightened my grip around his waist.

The horse nickered softly, and I found myself blushing and hoping he was far too busy with his bucket of oats to pay attention.  The thought left my mind as quickly as it had arrived as Branford reached around and gripped my backside, and I felt him at my entrance.

“Ahh!” I cried out as he entered me swiftly while moaning softly into my ear.  He pulled with his hands as he thrust, grinding himself so deeply inside me, I could not help but cry out until his mouth stifled my sounds.  I wrapped my hands around his neck and held him tightly as he thrust upwards, practically impaling me against the wall.

This was so different than our nights in our bed.  This was raw, fast, and primitive.  There was nothing gentle about it at all.  At the same time, I did not think I had ever felt so desired by him as I had at that very moment.  Whatever the reason for this change in his behavior—his defeat, his injury, or Michael’s inappropriate gaze—the tyrant was now taking my body with quick, brutal strokes as retaliation.

And it was wonderful.

I felt my body respond to his motions, tightening up around him and rippling quickly from my core and outward though my legs.  My moans were again muffled by my husband’s kisses.  As I slumped against the wall, Branford released my mouth, tucked his forehead against my shoulder, and increased his relentless motions.

“My wife.”  He snarled against the skin of my throat, his hot, wet breaths making me shiver as he spoke in time with his movements.  “My wife…my wife…mine…mine…mine…”

He shoved hard one last time, and I had to hold him tightly for fear of being knocked right through the thin, wooden wall as he moaned loud and long, filling me more deeply than he had before.

Warm, panting breaths alternated with kisses against the skin of my neck as he slowly calmed and then slipped out of me.  He did not look me in the eye as he lowered my feet to the straw and reached down to help me pull up my discarded undergarment.

“Forgive me, Alexandra,” Branford whispered softly, his eyes finally meeting mine.  “I never intended to be so…so quick with you.”

“Branford,” I whispered back to him and shook my head.  I took his face between my hands, as he had done so often with me, and kissed his lips gently.  “There is no reason for your apology.”

“I was rough with you.”

“I am not injured.”

“I did not…I was not even thinking of your needs.”

“Yet you met them anyway.”

He stared at me again, and the strange look in his eyes, last evident on the stone bench as I examined his hand, returned.  He stroked my cheek, kissed me back, and straightened his own clothes.  He looked to his injured hand and flexed the muscles a couple of times and winced, then leaned close to me again and kissed along my jaw.

“I am undoubtedly the luckiest man to ever live,” Branford hummed into my ear.  “I promise I will make this up to you tonight.”

“There is no need,” I responded, still breathless.

“I shall do it anyway.”

That evening, Branford made good on his promise.

*****

Branford joined Ida and me in the stands the next day to watch the tournament.  His mood did seem to improve markedly in tandem with the number of times he partook of my flesh.  He was still somewhat aloof and…well…surly, especially when Sir Leland, the knight with the blue griffon symbol, was fighting and winning more matches.  Sir Parnell managed to win the final joust and would go on to the final round of hand-to-hand combat in the morning along with Sir Leland and another knight from Peaks—Sir Rylan.  Ida was beside herself with pride, especially since Parnell was competing in his own lands.  The home crowd cheered their lord as he rode around the edge of the arena, and Ida held her pennant up high, waving it frantically as he took off his helm and blew her a kiss.  She squealed, earning her many disparaging looks from the other nobles near us, but she did not seem to care or even take notice.

“I want to check on Romero,” Branford said, “but I will first congratulate Parnell on his win.”

“I have his carrots here,” I said.  “I would like to get away from the crowds for a while.  I could meet you at his stall.”

“Ida, would you accompany Alexandra to the stables?  I would rather not have her wandering around alone.  I shall be there shortly.”

“Of course,” Ida said with a smile.  Branford leaned over and kissed my cheek before taking his leave of us.  Ida and I made our way through the crowd and down the platform’s wooden stairs.

“Oh!  My pennant!” Ida suddenly exclaimed.  “I left it on the bench.”

“Go ahead and retrieve it before it is lost,” I said.  “We can meet in the stables.”

“Are you sure?  You could come with me.”

“I would rather not go back through the crowds,” I explained.  “I can already see the stable door from here, and I will be perfectly fine for a few minutes.”

“I will be quick,” she promised and then disappeared back into the crowd.

I walked into the barn and was immediately assaulted by the intense smells surrounding the horses.  I had entered the opposite side of the building this time, and Romero's stall was at the end closest to me.  I could not help but smile at his impatient nicker when he saw my approach.  I reached out and stroked his nose as he gobbled the carrots out of my hand.

As Romero enjoyed his treat, I became aware of a group of three men at the far end of the barn.  There were so many stalls, and the barn was so long, I could not hear what they were saying, but I could see the three of them tilting back tankards of—presumably—ale and laughing loudly.  One tall man with short cropped, blond hair seemed to be directing the others in conversation and laughing the loudest.  He leaned against the side wall of the stall, facing my direction.   The other two had dark hair and were older than the first.  They were likely all competing knights though I could not see them well enough to identify them.  I assumed they were celebrating the outcome of today’s games.  They quaffed their drinks and looked inside the very last stall on the same side of the barn as Romero’s quarters.  As they peered inside the stall, they would laugh heartily and often.

I tried to ignore them though I did notice they seemed to glance over at me frequently.  I tried to keep my focus on Romero as I fed him his snack and wondered what was taking Ida so long to join me.  The knights were still speaking to each other as they stood near the opening to the last stall in the row, but I still couldn’t make out any of their words.  Their laughter grew suddenly louder, and I let myself look over to them.

As I looked, another knight—one I had not seen before, with long brown hair tied at his neck—rose from the stall where he had been hidden behind the dividing wall.  He stood there a moment, staring at the ground before laughing loudly and taking a few steps backwards.  I could tell his hands were moving, but the wall of the stall blocked my view, and I could not see exactly what he was doing.  The tall, blond knight leaning against the wall of the stall clapped one of the dark-haired knights on the back.  The knight quickly removed his sword and scabbard from around his waist and then entered the stall, dropping down below the edge of the wall and out of my view.  Laughter and cheering ensued again.

Confused, I tried to ignore the rowdy group as Romero finished his carrots and nuzzled his fuzzy nose against my palm, looking for more.  It tickled my skin, and I squelched a giggle.  He allowed me to scratch the top of his nose and run my hand over the smooth hair along his neck before he bored of me and went back to his bucket of oats.  I took a step back from the stall gate and looked down to the laughing knights again.

All four of them were now standing outside the stall, and the dark-haired knight was again donning his sword.  They spoke louder now, and I could make out some talk about meeting at Sawyer Inn later in the evening.  With their plans made, three of the four left, but the blond one stayed behind.  He was still looking into the stall.  At once, he finished his drink and threw the tankard into the straw.

“Make yourself presentable,” the knight said, seemingly addressing the ground inside the stall.  “Then fetch my horse from the farrier.”

With that he turned on his heel, briefly glanced at me through narrowed eyes, and walked out of the stable.

As my curiosity got the better of me, I walked slowly down the line of mostly empty stalls. When I reached the last one, I looked inside and gasped at the sight before me.

There was an angelic-faced girl there, perhaps two years younger than I.  Her short, dark hair was hanging in her eyes, and her face was covered in sweat.  Her simple dress was torn in the front, exposing one of her young, rounded breasts.  She was curled up on her side and used one hand to try to cover the top half of her while the other worked to pull the skirts of her dress down to cover her bare thighs.  I could see the remnants of what must have been her undergarment, torn into shreds on a pile of dirty straw.  Tears were streaming down her face.

And that is when I realized what the knights had been doing.