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“It is too soon to say,” I replied, my voice still quiet. I bit my lip as tears brimmed over my eyes and down my cheeks.
Branford’s eyes widened, and his gaze dropped to my stomach.
“You are,” he said quietly, and his voice was full of wonder. When his gaze met mine again, his eyes sparkled like green emeralds with their intensity, and the smile that slowly spread across his face made them glow. “You are carrying my son.”
And that is when I knew I was with child.
Chapter 3—Ecstatically Prepare
“It might not be a boy, you know.”
I felt Branford’s arms wrap around my waist as he leaned his chest against my back and kissed my ear.
“It could be a girl,” he said quietly, “but the child is a boy.”
He rested his hands on my hips, and he reached around and wiggled his fingers at my sides. I laughed and pushed his hands away so I could finish dressing. Once I had the dress up around my shoulders, Branford quickly laced up the back of the bodice—a chore which he had adopted since I had yet to find a new handmaid. In reality, he had become as adept at tying up the laces of my dresses as he was at untying them. As he finished, he trailed his fingers around to my front where they gently rubbed my belly.
As soon as Branford had overcome his shock the previous night, he had carried me to our rooms and lay me down in the bed. For hours afterwards, he held me and stroked his hand over my stomach though there was not yet any visible evidence of what we presumed was hidden inside my womb.
Branford turned me around and placed his lips on my forehead.
“I will love our child, be it boy or girl,” Branford said as he looked down at me. “It is not so much that I have a true preference though a male heir must come eventually. I will cherish any child from your body, regardless. I just…I feel that he is my son. I am sure of it.”
I raised my eyebrows a little as I examined his expression. There was no doubting the sincerity of his words. I only wondered how he could be so sure and hoped he would not be too disappointed if our first child was a girl. I reached up to place my fingers against his cheek, and Branford turned his head to kiss my hand. As I watched my husband’s eyes, they became intense and dark though seemingly with worry and not desire. He took my face in his hands and leaned forward to press his lips against my mouth, kissing me deeply for a long moment as I wrapped my arms around his neck. When he broke away, there was still anxiety in his eyes.
“Branford, what troubles you?”
“Do you know how tempting it is now,” he said softly as his fingers brushed over my cheek, “to lock you away in some tower where no harm can come to you? It will take all of my strength to stop myself from doing just that.”
His gaze settled on my stomach for a moment before it met my eyes again.
“Though Silverhelm does not, Sterling Castle has such a tower. At least, it did before Edgar tore it apart. Perhaps it is best I have no control over it, for if it were still in my possession, I would undoubtedly make use of it.”
I worried my lip, biting it and tasting Branford on me in the process. I considered his words and wondered if he truly meant them. By the look in his eye, I had to admit I would not have been shocked to have him consider such an action quite seriously. I tried to push the thought from my mind and distract him from such ponderings as well, for the idea of being locked up in a high tower in such a way caused a shiver to run through my body.
“Did someone live there?” I asked.
“That is where our guards—my mentors—lived,” Branford said. “The ones who betrayed my family.”
He lowered his hand down my body until it reached my midsection, and he placed the palm of his hand over my stomach as I covered his fingers with my own.
“I did not think you could become more precious to me,” Branford said, “but you have.”
His lips brushed mine once more.
“I love you, Alexandra.”
“I love you, Branford,” I replied.
Branford smiled and took my hand before leading me first to breakfast and then to the practice field. I took along my sewing and spent most of the day working on a shirt I was making for my husband out of the green silk he had purchased for me when we were first ma
rried. He had bought so much fabric, I wondered if I would ever use it all. Then it occurred to me that I would now have someone else to whom I could devote my sewing skills. I smiled as I held up Branford’s shirt, already considering how I would make one to match in a much smaller size.
I touched my belly as I leaned back and looked out over the field. A young recruit from the borderlands swung his sword haphazardly at Parnell as the experienced knight danced away effortlessly. Branford further instructed the young man though the novice did not appear to be grasping the proper movements, and I could see my husband’s frustration in his stance.
Eventually, he waved the young man away, drew his own sword, and attacked Parnell. The two went at it for several minutes, and I must admit I found it hard not to watch the muscles in Branford’s arms and back as he swung his sword. I found myself daydreaming of the previous night as the same hands had caressed my body so gently.
A call from the road distracted Branford from his battle and me from my fantasy. All eyes in the field turned as Sir Rylan rode up on his steed with a farmer’s cart behind him, a pair of slow mares pulling it steadily over the muddy road. Sir Rylan’s arm waved in the air, and I stood to accompany Branford to where the knight had brought his horse to a halt.
