Sawyer Inn reeked of pipe smoke and the odor of strong ale.  The building itself was quite large and more of a banquet hall than a drinking establishment.  With my hand on his arm, Branford led me to the right where there were several ladies with their respective knights as well as Lord and Lady Sawyer.  I glanced to the left, which appeared to be primarily men who had obviously been at the drink for some time.

We sat at a round table with Ida and Parnell along with another knight from Seacrest and his wife, Sir Rylan and Lady Suzette.  Parnell’s parents were near us along with a host of other lords and ladies.  Tankards of ale were brought around, and I tried to sip mine respectfully though I did not enjoy the taste as did the knights, who seemed to finish their first mugs with a single gulp.

Lord and Lady Sawyer were quite pleasant toward me, and though Ida was right—Lady Sawyer did seem to like to hear the sound of her own voice—I did not mind listening to her talk about the upcoming wedding of Parnell and Ida as well as talks of the mischief both Parnell and Branford got into as young boys.

“…and then Parnell ran inside, his face and clothes simply covered in mud, screaming that Branford had thrown him down,” she said with a laugh.  “Branford stormed in afterwards, instructing him on how he should have held his ‘sword,’ which of course was only a stick, in order to defend himself!”

“Mother, I really wish—” Parnell tried for the tenth time to silence her but to no avail.

“And here they are, half a lifetime later, still doing the exact same thing!”  She laughed again, and her honey-blonde hair shook with her shoulders.  “Every time they compete in a tournament, they spend the next week telling each other what they should have done instead.”

“It is not as if they speak of such things only after tournaments.”  Ida laughed this time as well.  “You would think there was nothing more to their lives apart from the games.”

“There is always you to consider,” Parnell said as he leaned to kiss Ida’s cheek.  “I could speak about you for hours, but Branford only rolls his eyes at me.  I thought it was always best to stick with other topics lest I feel the need to defend my fiancée’s honor from her own brother.”

“Well, now at least he can bore you with talk of Alexandra,” Ida said with a smirk in my direction.

I blushed, of course, and looked down at my hands as the conversation continued.

Though the area of the inn where we sat was relatively subdued, the group on the far side continued to increase in volume the longer we were there.  I tried not to look over that way, for I feared what—or rather who—I might see.  Sir Leland and his group had planned to be here, and I suspected they would be on that side of the hall.  I did not wish to see them, so I tried not to look.

Unfortunately, averting one’s eyes is easier than averting one’s ears.

I heard Sir Leland’s voice and recognized the laughter from them all.  I did not look but felt my shoulders tense, which seemed to catch Branford’s attention.  He glanced over his shoulder as a group of men walked behind us and over in the direction of the rowdy crowd.

“Get me ale, girl!”  I heard Sir Leland call out.  From the corner of my eye, I could see the slave girl, Janet, as she rushed to do her master’s bidding.  His voice sent further chills down my back.

Branford began to tap the tips of his fingers on the table in a short, rhythmic pattern.  I looked to his face, but he kept his eyes on his fingers and did not look at me.  Sir Rylan leaned over and asked Branford a question about hunting, which Branford answered but then went silent.  Again, Sir Rylan tried to engage Branford in a conversation about the horses bred at Sawyer, which were apparently the finest anywhere, but Branford was polite only, his eyes and presumably his mind kept returning to the group of men across the room.

I took a sip of my ale and cringed as I heard the all too familiar laughter again.  I dared glance in their direction and saw Sir Leland shove at Janet’s back, causing her to spill the tankards she carried.

“Stupid girl!” Sir Leland yelled.  “Look at that mess!”

I closed my eyes briefly and then looked up to find my husband’s gaze focused on my face.  As he looked at me, I tried to understand his expression.  He seemed hesitant about something, and I wasn’t sure if I should say anything to him or not.  Before I could take any action, Branford mumbled under his breath and looked away from me.  He ran his hand through his hair and then huffed out a long breath.  Branford grabbed his tankard, drained it completely, and then shoved the chair back as he stood.  He took one more look at me and then stomped over to the far side of the tavern, where many of the other knights were becoming even louder and more raucous.  He walked with purpose to the very table where Sir Leland sat with his group.

I tried not to look directly at them, but I craned my neck and tried to tune out all other sounds but their talking.  I had no idea what Branford planned to do or say, and my tension continued to grow as he spoke to the other knight.

“Sir Branford!” Sir Leland called out.  “Good to see you here!  I thought you might have gone home early.”

Laughter ensued.

“Good eve, Leland,” Branford said.  I could hear the sharp edge in his voice.  “Congratulations on making it as far as you did.  I cannot recall the last time you made it past the first trials.”

More laughter.

They went back and forth in their seemingly good-natured banter for a while until some of the other knights began to engage in other conversation.  I glanced to see Branford as he leaned close to Sir Leland.

“I would like to discuss a business transaction with you,” Branford said simply.

“And what would that be?”

“I want to buy your slave girl,” Branford said as my heart began to beat faster.

“She is not for sale,” Sir Leland responded.  “Besides, you would not want her.”

“I would not?”

“Nay,” Sir Leland said.  I saw him lean closer to Branford, though he did not lower his voice.  “She cries every time I stick her.  She just does not seem to get used to her place—on her hands and knees, servicing my sword!”

As Sir Leland ended his sentence with a hearty, drunken laugh, I felt my stomach clench, and my eyes closed of their own volition.  Ida touched my arm, asking if I was all right, but I could only nod my head and wave her off her concerns, claiming the ale was just not to my liking.

“I am still interested in the purchase,” Branford finally replied.

“You know what?” Sir Leland exclaimed.  I glanced at their table from the corner of my eye and watched Sir Leland stand up.  Branford followed.  “I think what we really need here is a wager!”

“A wager?”

“Of course!”  Sir Leland placed his meaty hand on Branford’s shoulder.  “I was truly looking forward to hand-to-hand combat with you, Sir Branford.  And you knocked yourself out of the running too quickly for that, did you not?”

Branford grumbled in response.

“So how about we fight tomorrow morning, hmm?”

“With your slave as the prize?”

“Exactly!”

“And if, by some small miracle, you should best me with sword?”

“Then I get your horse.”

Sir Leland’s grin rivaled those of lunatic jesters.

“Are you insane?” Branford scoffed and took a step backwards.

“No, I am making a bet,” the other knight said as he stepped closer to my husband.  “I will bet you my slave for your horse that I can best you with sword tomorrow morning.”

“Bet one of the finest stallions in Silverhelm for some slave?”  Branford said.  “Ridiculous!”

Sir Leland’s eyes widened and he laughed, stumbling slightly to one side.

“Take it or leave it!”

I looked to Branford then, and for the first time since he had walked to the other side of the room, he stole a glance at me.  I could see it in his eyes as soon as they met mine—he would not risk Romero.  Whether he thought he could beat this man or not, he would not take such a chance with his horse.

“I suppose I will leave it, then,” Branford said quietly enough that I could only barely make out his words.  He turned from Sir Leland and walked back to our table.  He dropped himself down in his seat without looking toward me at all.

“I tried,” he said simply.

“Branford—”

“Not Romero!” His voice raised in volume.  “Not for some slave girl.”

“What are you doing, Branford?” Ida asked.

“It is none of your concern, Ida.”  He growled as he picked up his mug and drank deeply.  His gaze shifted over to me briefly as he mumbled.  “I did what I could.”

“Everything all right?” Sir Parnell asked.

“Fine,” Branford said to his cousin suddenly.  “Now will you find someone else to harass?”

All those at our table sat silent as Parnell and Branford locked stares.  Ida’s eyes were wide, and she looked for a moment like she would say something when we were interrupted from the other side of the hall.

“Oh, all right, Sir Branford!”  Sir Leland yelled from across the room.  “Your second horse, then.”

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

“Vanquish?” Branford asked.

“Is that the white stallion?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have nothing to prove,” Parnell said.

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

“Apparently I do.”

*****

In silence, I poured Branford his evening tea.

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am sorry,” I repeated.  Branford ran his hand over my cheek and shook his head at me again.

“You have no need to apologize, Alexandra,” he said.  “I should apologize for giving you that impression.  Come now.  The hour is quite late.”

He stood and took both of my hands in his as he pulled me to my feet and led me to the bed.  We quickly changed into our nightclothes, and Branford pulled back the quilt and crawled underneath, patting the bed beside him.  He lay back against the pillows, and I moved over closer to him.  He wrapped his arm around my shoulders and hugged me to his chest.

“I did not realize you would fight with him,” I said quietly.  “It was not my intent to have you in danger.”

“I am not in danger,” Branford said with a snort.  I dropped my head to his shoulder and felt his hand run up my back.  His tone softened somewhat.  “Truly, my wife.  I shall be fine.”

“But this is not the same as other tournament games, is it?”

“Not exactly,” Branford said.  “There will be no judges.”

“Which means what?”

“There will be no one there to determine if the rules have been met.”

His simple answer was enough to set me further on edge.  Obviously he meant there would be no rules followed, and I knew the level of danger would be greater for him.  I did not expect Sir Leland to follow rules if the possibility of ignoring them were an option.

“You did not have to agree to such a thing,” I whispered into the darkness.  “I did not mean to ask for you to jeopardize yourself in helping Janet.”

“You did not ask for that,” Branford corrected me.  “You asked me if there was any way I could help, and I agreed to try to find a way.  The way I chose to help was my decision, not yours.”

“You could be hurt,” I whispered again.  I felt Branford’s hand on my cheek and looked up at him.

“I will be fine,” he said, insisting.  “I have fought with Sir Leland before and been victorious.”

“But the joust…”

“The joust was a lucky happenstance for him.” Branford growled.  “It is not the same as the sword at all.”

This I did realize, for the likelihood of Branford being injured in a sword fight seemed much greater to me.  Again, words intended to reassure me had the opposite effect.  I wrapped my arm around his middle and pulled myself closer to him.

“Sleep now, Alexandra.”  Branford kissed the top of my head.  “We must rise early tomorrow, and I need to locate someone to be with you during the contest.”

“I will not be with you?”

“I know how you feel about it.  There is no reason for you to have to watch and be uncomfortable.”

I sat up slightly and looked down at him.

“I want to be there,” I said.  “If I were not, I would only be worrying about you.”

“You are not required,” Branford repeated.  “I do not wish you to be frightened.”

I shook my head emphatically as a new panic arose within me.  Seeing him fighting would be horrible, but being elsewhere while he fought because of my own request was simply unthinkable.

“I asked for this,” I finally said.  “I will be there with you to see it to its end.”

Branford’s gaze stayed locked with mine until I felt myself begin to squirm under his intense stare.  I was sure he was not going to permit me to be there, and I was not planning on backing down from my stance.  His eventual answer surprised me.

“If that is your wish,” Branford said as he acquiesced.  “You shall be there to witness as well.”

“Who else will watch?” I asked.

“Parnell and Michael will be there.”  His voice darkened when he mentioned the young page.  “You are not to speak to him.  Is that clear?”

“Yes, Branford.”  He was being ridiculous, but I was not about to argue with him over it.

“Sir Rylan will also be there to act as middleman.”

“What does that mean?”

“He will hold Vanquish and the slave during the contest so no one can back out of the wager when he has lost.  There may be the odd spectator, but those are all the names of consequence.”

Branford kissed the top of my head and gripped me tighter for a moment.

“You need to sleep now,” he said.  “It is late.  You have had a very distressing day, and we will need to rise shortly after daybreak.”

I nodded and rested my head on the pillow beside him as he shifted and rolled over to face me.  He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close before closing his eyes.  As Branford fell into slumber, I realized this was the first time since the night we consummated our marriage that he did not take me before sleep.  As I lay my head against his chest, I felt strangely empty, and not just in the literal sense.  It was some time before my mind allowed sleep to come to me, and then my sleep was far from restful.  I kept waking, wondering and worrying about Branford’s fight in the morning and feeling horribly guilty about forcing him into such a situation.  I remembered Parnell telling him he had nothing to prove and Branford’s look as he answered his cousin.  He felt he had something to prove to me as if I wanted him to put himself in danger.

I did not.  I never wanted him to consider engaging in a contest to help Janet.  I only wanted to get her away from the horrible man who treated her so abusively.  I looked up into Branford’s sleeping face, so quiet and peaceful.  He hardly moved when he slept except to tighten his grip around me or to roll slowly from his back to his side.  Even when I reached up to touch him, as I did now, he never stirred.  I stroked my fingers over his forehead and jaw, smiling at his beauty.

Remembering we had not taken pleasure with each other the night before, I was also reminded of Branford’s words regarding what he would do if I had no nightdresses.  I bit my lip softly as an idea came to me, and I slowly pulled away from my sleeping husband.  His arm dropped to the bed as his face tightened in sleep.  He did not stir any further, so I carefully stood, removed my nightdress entirely, and then lay down beside him again.

I had never felt so wanton as I brushed my hand over the light hair on his stomach, trailing my fingers lower until they reached the top of his sleep trousers.  I knew something was a little different, for usually when I reached for him, I could feel the end of his flesh at the top of his trousers, yet it was not there.  I glanced toward his face, but he remained asleep, so I slipped my fingers underneath the cloth and reached farther down.

When I discovered his male flesh with my hand, I was surprised at how soft and pliable it was and how easily my fingers could reach around it.  When he still did not stir, I ran my fingers from the tip down to the base, back again, and then wrapped them all the way around.

Though the rest of my husband’s body did not awaken, this part of him did.  I could feel it twitch and grow in my palm as I stroked him the way he had showed me in the meadow.  Soon, I could no longer reach all the way around with my fingers as his flesh grew and pulsed in my hand.

With a low moan, Branford’s hips bucked up against me, and his arm grasped at my shoulders.

“Alexandra!” he exclaimed.  “Wha-what are you…oh…God…”

I could not contain my smile as I heard his low moan and felt his fingers grip tightly onto my skin on the top part of my arm.  His other hand reached for mine, holding my fingers around his and guiding my strokes.  His breathing turned quickly to panting, and he murmured my name over and over again.  After only a minute or so, he pulled my hand from him and gripped both of my arms as he dragged my body up his.  He brought my mouth to his, and I felt his tongue reached out to me.  I returned the gesture, running my tongue over his as he held my bare body against the warmth of his chest.

Quite awake now, Branford wrapped his arms around me and rolled until he was on top of me, pushing my legs apart quickly.  He slid into me steadily with another loud groan and began his intoxicating rhythm inside of my body.

He found my breasts with his hands and held them up to his lips.  His tongue caressed my nipples, and as he took the first in his mouth and sucked hard, I lifted my body up to his.  I moaned softly and wrapped my fingers through his hair to hold him against me.  He moved from one breast to the other, his licks and kisses moving in time with his gentle strokes.

I was completely captivated by him—his touch, the sight of his eyes, the smell of his skin as he labored to bring us both such pleasure.  I felt my mouth turn up in a smile when I thought of how frightened I had been in my innocence and compared it to how I felt now, just a few short days later.  I marveled in the feeling of his soft hair around my fingertips as he pulled away from my breasts and held himself above me and pushed slowly inside of me, holding himself up by his arms.

I traced the strong muscles of his arms and shoulders before trailing my fingertips over his chest.  I felt his skin quiver slightly as I brushed over his nipples, and I wondered how it felt to him when I touched them.  Feeling strangely bold for so early in the morning, I lifted myself off the bed just enough to place a kiss over one of them.

“Alexandra!”  Branford sucked in a sharp breath, and I looked up to find his darkened stare.  As I kept my gaze on his to further watch his expression, I reached out with my tongue and ran it over the small, flat nub.  He closed his eyes and tightened his fingers against my sides.  Branford moaned out loud as his hand reached for my hair and entwined the strands in his fingers.  I kissed his nipple again and smiled to myself before wrapping both of my arms around his shoulders as he pressed his hips against mine, continuing his steady rhythm.  Our lips met, and the taste of his tongue filled my mouth.  He slid his hand between us, finding the spot above where we were joined and attending to it until I screamed out for him.

As my body dropped against the mattress, I felt his gentle but urgent touch all over my skin—from my breasts, to my shoulders and arms, back down to my sides, and over my thighs.  His hand slipped around my hip and gripped my behind, pulling my hips to his as he brought forth his pleasure with a series of quick thrusts into my body.  I felt his seed pour into me as he groaned loudly.

“Oh…Alexandra…my wife…”  His head dropped to my shoulder, where he licked and sucked at my skin.  It made me smile, for it was something he had done almost every time he had taken me.  I had come to anticipate the feeling of his lips and tongue on my neck and the rough scratch of his jaw as it brushed across my skin.

Branford rose up on his elbows and he held my face in his hands, kissing my lips, my chin, and my jaw up to my ear.  He moved down to suck at the skin of my neck again before rising up and looking into my face.  His full smile bore down on me, and I felt heat rise to my face.

“And what reason accounts for this early display?” he asked quietly, causing my blush to deepen.  He stroked my cheekbone with his thumb and tilted his head to one side, raising his eyebrows as he awaited my answer.

“We did not…you did not…last night…” My words were a garbled mess, and Branford’s smile widened.

“It was late, and we both needed our sleep.”  He traced from my temple to my ear, pushing my hair away from my neck.  “Did I disappoint you by not taking you in the evening?”

“No, you did not disappoint,” I answered, “but I did miss it.”

He stilled and looked down on me a moment before rolling to his side.  I rolled with him, and he stroked the side of my face.

“I would not have expected such brazenness from you, Alexandra.”  His eyes smiled at me.  “It was quite enjoyable.”

I blushed again, naturally, and tucked my head against his shoulder so he would not see my embarrassment.

“I was not sure if I should…if I should do such a thing,” I told him.  “I was not sure if you would approve.”

“I most certainly approve, my beautiful wife.”  He cupped the side of my face and held me against his skin as he kissed the top of my head.  “I approve most wholeheartedly.  Anytime you wish.”

Again I was unable to help but smile as he held me close to him and continued to place soft kisses against my forehead.  I turned my head to kiss his jaw, not at all minding the feeling of his rough cheek on my sensitive lips.  The sun was beginning to come through the window crack, and I was disappointed to realize there would not be enough time to shave him.

Then I remembered why.

“What is wrong?” Branford asked, sensing my distress.

“I am afraid you will be hurt,” I said.  Branford huffed through his nose.

“I shall be fine.”

“But you could be injured.  With no judge, you could even be…be…”

I could not bring myself to say the word.

“You do not have to worry about such things,” Branford told me.  “If something were to happen to me, you would not lose your station.  You would still be treated as my wife.  You would not ever have to leave the castle.  You would still sleep in the same bed, in the same rooms.”

I looked up at him, my eyes wide with shock.  Is this what he thought my concern to be?

“But you would not be there,” I whispered to him as tears filled my eyes  “I cannot imagine trying to sleep in that bed without you there with me.”

As soon as I said it, I realized how true it really was.  Though I had spent most of my life sleeping in a communal room with many other servants, the idea of returning to that life was not abhorrent to me.  I might have even preferred it.  But to sleep in our marital bed without my husband there by my side?

Branford’s thumb brushed over a tear as it trailed down my cheek.

“Please, Alexandra,” he said softly, “do not cry.  Tonight you and I will be back in our rooms, together, and I will stay by your side throughout the night, holding you close to me and keeping you safe.”

I nodded and sniffed.

“You do not have to…have to prove anything to me!”  Tears burst forth, and I sobbed against his chest as he held me tightly.  He ran his hand over my hair—stroking with his long fingers from the top of my head down to my waist.  His soft kisses against my cheek eventually calmed me, and when my tears stopped, he turned me to look at him.  After taking a long breath, I repeated my sentiment.  “You do not have anything to prove.”

“Yes, Alexandra, I do.”  Branford took my face in his hands and peered at me intently.  “I have to prove to you that I am worthy of a woman with such a kind heart that she would risk anything to help a girl she does not know just because she knows it is the right thing to do.  If I can be worthy of that woman—if I can be worthy of you—then perhaps someday I can be worthy of the crown.”

*****

Ida and I stood off to the side as Parnell assisted Branford with the light chain mail he was going to wear for the fight.  He told me it allowed more maneuverability with close combat, but that information did not allow my worry to dissipate.  He looked so much more vulnerable than he did in the plate armor he wore for jousting.  There was nothing but leather protecting most of his body, and I was quite sure a sword could cut right through it.

My nerves did not calm as Michael led Vanquish over to an area beside the arena and handed the reins to Sir Rylan, who would hold the wagers until the contest was complete.  Janet stood beside the horse, looking very much like the commodity she was—confused and unsure as to what was happening.  Sir Leland’s page had already completed suiting up the other knight and was now off to the side as Sir Leland began swinging his sword in practice.

“Come along, Sir Branford!” he called out.  “Quit stalling and prepare to be defeated again!”

He laughed as Branford ignored his taunts.  Sir Parnell finished with the last touches of Branford’s battle attire and took a step back.  He spoke low into Branford’s ear, and I saw my husband nod in return and take possession of his sword.  They were ready to begin.

Ida gripped my hand as Branford stepped into the arena.

Branford’s face was completely expressionless as he walked with purpose toward the center of the arena.  His gaze was trained on Sir Leland as he made an arc in the sand.  I could see the muscles of his arms flex through the tightly linked chains of his mail shirt and the strain of the tendons in his neck as he stretched it from one side to the other.

Sir Leland walked in from the other side with a wide grin on his face.  He swung his sword from side to side in broad, menacing strokes.  I felt Ida’s fingers tighten around mine.  She had not been nervous during the tournament games, and her reaction to the confrontation was actually making it more difficult for me.  It confirmed the situation was as I expected and far more dangerous than Branford had divulged.

They approached each other slowly with swords drawn but Branford’s not yet risen.  Sir Leland continued to hurl laughter and insults at Branford, who remained silent.  Eventually, Sir Leland must have grown tired of his taunts, and without warning, he lunged at Branford.

My husband’s blade neatly blocked the attack, and Sir Leland danced backwards.

“Is that all?” Branford asked bluntly.

Sir Leland came at him again, all taunting forgotten as the sound of their swords striking hard rang through the morning air.  I barely had time to draw a breath before they had gone from standing nearly still to an incredible frenzy of metal and flesh against the backdrop of the sandy battle arena.

Sir Leland swung low, and Branford pulled his sword across his body to block it before countering with a quick swipe toward Sir Leland’s head.  Branford neatly dodged his opponent’s blade as he turned to the side, and they struck swords with a mighty clang.  Again and again, their swords thrust together, pulled apart, parried, and thrust again.  There seemed to be no end to it.

As my own panic regarding Branford’s safety heightened, Sir Leland stepped forward, swinging low as Branford jumped over his opponent’s blade and countered with a swing to his head.  He missed but came right back again, swinging, dancing easily to the side to avoid another blow and then swinging again.  It was then I heard the sharp clang of metal on metal and then the sudden intake of breath as Sir Leland’s foot hit Branford in the stomach, and he went flying backwards, landing a few feet away in the sand.  He kept his sword in his hand, and when Sir Leland moved to stab toward Branford’s side, Branford blocked it neatly with the flat edge of his blade.  He rolled to his side, righted himself, and lunged at Sir Leland, knocking him off his feet and spinning him to the ground.

From where I stood off to the side, I could see Sir Leland’s hand as he ran it through the sand and filled his palm with the grains.  I immediately knew his intent though there was no time to either do or say anything.  He took his handful of sand and threw it into Branford’s face as he turned back around.  Branford dropped, his hand over his eyes, rubbing at them as he tried to blink and see his opponent while Sir Leland stalked to one side of him.  Branford held his sword out in Sir Leland’s direction, still obviously unable to see but listening to the footsteps in the sand.

A small noise escaped from my throat, and Ida’s free hand reached over and grabbed mine.  She held both of my hands tightly.  I couldn’t look at her—my eyes would not leave Branford.  His hand still covered his eyes, swiping at them with near desperate movements to remove the grit as he swung out blindly in Sir Leland’s direction.  He could not find his mark.

With a kick into Branford’s face, Sir Leland was suddenly on top of him, and his boot stepped down hard on Branford’s wrist, pinning his sword to the ground.  The strain in Branford’s voice was apparent as he tried to free himself and failed.

I heard Sir Leland’s dark laugh—the same one I had heard inside the stables—as he stood over Branford with his sword pointed at Branford’s throat.  I pulled my hand from Ida’s grip and took several steps toward the arena before I felt Parnell grab my arm.

“Release me,” I said, though there was little command in my voice.

“Not this time, Lady Alexandra,” he said softly.

I knew he was right though it did not make me want any less to go to my husband.  I looked quickly to Parnell.  His eyes had moved back to the fight, his worry apparent on his face.  I tried to swallow, but my throat was unwilling.  I looked back to Branford where he lay on the ground with Sir Leland’s sword so dangerously close to his flesh.

“Maybe you are not quite the man you think you are,” I heard Sir Leland yell out.  “Maybe I will have to show your lovely new wife what a man is really—”

Everything occurred so quickly and all at once, it was hard to determine exactly what happened first.  I heard what could only be described as a roar coming out of Branford’s mouth.  Sir Leland’s malicious grin dropped quickly from his face, and blood began to drip to the ground.

“Dear God,” Parnell muttered under his breath.

Sir Leland’s wide eyes looked at the blade of his sword, which was firmly grasped in Branford’s left hand.  Branford twisted it sideways as blood poured over his wrist and arm.  He pulled it toward himself and off to one side, dragging Sir Leland off balance as he fell toward Branford’s supine body.  Branford’s feet rose up and kicked at Sir Leland’s middle, and the knight toppled to the ground with an audible thud.  A moment later, with his bloodied hand still holding the wrong end of his opponent’s sword, Branford was on top of him.  Sir Leland tried to grab the hilt of the sword, but Branford grasped the sword in both of his hands as he held the blade across Sir Leland’s throat.  Sir Leland could only grip Branford’s wrists to stop the blade from entering his neck.

“Surrender!” I heard Branford yell down at him.  “Surrender of your own will now, or I will kill you where you lie.”

Both men were completely still, the only movement from their bodies, the rise and fall of their chests as they breathed heavily.  Sir Leland stared up at Branford for a long moment before he released his grip on Branford’s wrists and dropped his head back into the sandy ground.

“I surrender to you, Sir Branford.”

Branford pushed back from the defeated knight and stood up tall, his shoulders rising and falling with his exertion. I watched his left hand as the fingers slowly uncurled from the blade of the sword before Branford tossed it far to the side.  He kicked once at the dirt near Sir Leland’s face, tossing dust into the air around his eyes, and then walked backwards a few paces to retrieve his own sword from the ground. He sheathed it as he turned and walked out of the arena.

With his head tilted forward as he trudged away from a battered Sir Leland, I felt as unsure about what to do as I had on our wedding night.  Branford’s eyes looked glazed as he stared at the ground, and blood from the gash across his hand continued to fall in drops to the dirt below.  Michael approached hesitantly with a strip of cloth, which Branford snatched away from the page and then wrapped it loosely around the wound.  He used the back of his other hand to wipe the blood off the cut on his lip.

I desperately wished to throw my arms around him, but I was not sure if that was the proper course of action, and there was no time to ask Ida for advice before he was near us again, telling Michael to get Vanquish back to the stables and prepare both him and Romero for the journey home.  Our eyes met only briefly before he looked away again.

Unable to stop myself, I reached out and brushed my fingers over his mail-clad arm.  He looked down at my hand and then back up to my eyes.

“Branford…”  I did not know what to say and instead reached to his face and touched his battered lip with my fingertips.  He did not flinch but pressed his lips lightly to my fingers.

He seemed about to speak when footsteps came from behind him, and we both turned to look.  I tensed as Sir Leland approach but noticed his shoulders were slumped somewhat.  His sword was sheathed, and his look was one of chagrin.  As he walked past Sir Rylan, he grabbed at Janet and dragged her behind him.

“Here,” Sir Leland said, his free hand still rubbing at his own bloodied face.  He took Janet by the shoulders and shoved her in Branford’s direction.  “She is all yours.”

“Master?” Janet looked at him, then back to Branford.

“Not anymore,” Sir Leland grumbled.

The girl looked back and forth a few times, confusion clouding her expression.  Sir Leland had obviously told her nothing about the possible outcome of the competition.  She slowly moved over toward Branford and dropped down to her knees.

“Am I yours now?” she asked quietly.

“Hrmph.” Branford grumbled.  He did not look down at her but watched Sir Leland and his entourage as they gathered up their belongings and left the arena.  Branford took a long, slow breath and then looked down to the girl at his feet.  “I have no need for slaves.”

He turned and walked away from her.

“Master?” she called after him.

“I am not your master,” Branford said, snapping at the girl.  “You are free to do as you will.”

“Free?”

“Yes, free,” he said again.  “I have acquired you and done with you as I will, and that was to set you free.  You may…”—he waved his hand around in the air—“do as you wish.”

Branford walked over toward Vanquish and Michael, and Janet’s gaze met mine.

“What do I do?” she asked, her eyes wide.  “Where do I go?”

My mouth opened and closed soundlessly, for I had no words to give her.  I shook my head slowly and watched her look over to Sir Leland’s retreating form with longing.  I wondered if she would truly consider returning to that horrid man if she had no other options.

Janet walked slowly away from us as I wondered what the answers to her questions would be.  Where she would go, and what she would do, indeed?  My thoughts all along had been to save her from her abusive master, but what would life bring her next?  What would even stop Sir Leland or another equally vile man from taking her again?

After Branford’s wounds were attended to and pronounced to be not as bad as they appeared, Branford gathered up his belongings and began walking back to the castle.  It would soon be time to return to Silverhelm, and he seemed to be wasting no time getting ready to leave.  I walked quickly to catch up with his long strides and reached for his arm.  He stopped and turned toward me.

“Branford, we cannot just leave her here,” I said as he began walking again.

“Why not?”

My eyes widened, and I was surprised by his lack of understanding of her plight.

“Where will she go?  What will she do?”

“That is not my concern,” he replied with a short shake of his head.

“She is one of your subjects.”

“Only in the most general way, Alexandra,” he said with a sigh.  “She can find work here somewhere if anyone can look past her former status.”

“And what if they cannot?  What will she do then?”

Branford stopped walking and put his hands on his hips as he looked to the ground.

“What else is it you think I should do?”

“She could…” I paused.  I was almost afraid to utter the words.  “She could come back to Silverhelm with us.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why, Branford?” I asked as I reached out and wrapped my fingers around his arm.  “Why can we not find work for her there?”

“I know nothing of her, Alexandra,” he said.  “From where does she even hail?”

“We could ask her,” I suggested.  “Can we just give her a chance?  If you decide she is not what you want, we could at least—”

“For the love of God,” Branford suddenly yelled, and I took a step back, releasing his arm and preparing for the worst.  He gripped his hair, and his eyes narrowed and darkened at me.  He then let out a heavy breath through his nose and closed his eyes for a moment.  “Fine.”

He stomped over toward the stands where Janet still sat, her hands in her lap and her head bowed.  Branford approached and stared down at her.  She looked up in trepidation and worry.

“My wife is in need of a handmaid,” he said.  “Can you perform such duties?”

“Y…y…yes!  Yes, sire!” the girl exclaimed.

“Then you may return to Silverhelm with us.”

Janet scrambled off the bench and dropped down to her knees in front of Branford, her hands reaching out for his feet.

“Thank you…thank you, master!”

“I am not your master,” Branford said as he yanked his leg from her reach.  “You will not serve me.  You will serve my wife.  In that respect you are to be her servant and will have to work hard for your wage and boarding.  Is that understood?”

“I will…I will still be free?”

“That is what I just told you.”

She looked up at my husband, awestruck and dazed.

“Yes, please, Sir Branford.”

And that was how Janet came to our household.