The Devastation (Unexpected Circumstances #7)(6)

“Branford,” I said without thinking. My eyes moved to hers, and I smiled a half smile. “Is it not obvious?”

Alexandra bit into her lower lip to stifle her laugh. She knew me and my pride all too well.

“And if we have a daughter?” she asked with her eyebrows raised.

I knew when she did that, she was—at least in a way—either challenging me or even jesting with me. There had been others who had paid for such insolence, but with Alexandra, everything was different, and I felt no ire toward her for the expression.

“When we do have a daughter,” I told my wife, “you may name her. This one, however”—I stretched my fingers over her belly—“is a son.”

I could not say exactly how I knew Alexandra carried my son—Branford the Third. I just felt it in my being, somewhere deep inside of me. I was sure the child was a boy and my heir.

“Could we name her…?” Alexandra paused for a moment, casting her eyes downward as she took a breath. “Could we name her Everleigh?”

Her gaze moved back to mine, and for a moment, I could not speak. I would have expected Alexandra to choose a name from her own family, not to choose the name of my mother. I rarely spoke it and was a little surprised she remembered though I considered she had likely heard the name more often from Ida or Sunniva.

“You would want that?” I asked. I knew well the propensity of my wife to do things in the manner she believed I favored. “You would really wish to use my mother’s name, not your own mother’s?”

“I do not remember my mother,” she said. She tucked her forehead against my shoulder, which she often did when she felt anxious or nervous about what she was going to say. “You loved yours so, and I do love the name Everleigh.”

I touched her chin with my finger and tilted her face to look at me. The beauty of her deep, brown eyes captivated me as it often did. They were the eyes that held the soul of the most important creature in my world, and I had learned to read them so well these past few months. They told me when she was happy, sad, or simply trying to appease me.

There was no doubt in them now.

“Everleigh she will be, then,” I replied softly. I kissed the smile that graced her face and lit up those beautiful eyes, and Alexandra’s hand grasped mine before she held it against her abdomen.

“Can you feel that?” she asked.

For nearly a week, Alexandra had felt our son turn inside of her, but I never seemed to have my hand in the right place at the right time. She pressed my hand further against her belly. Just then, right underneath the palm of my hand, I felt the smallest of bumps. The slight movement underneath her skin poked me for a moment before retreating again.

“I felt him!” I whispered in awe as her smile made my heart pound faster. “I felt him inside of you…”

With a gasp, my eyes opened and I was alone in the bed. I felt a nudge against my hand and looked down to see Amarra’s nose nudging me. I reached out and touched her head before I rolled over onto my back. My stomach clenched so hard, I nearly sat up straight as images of Alexandra streamed continuously through my head.

The look in her eyes as I first reached for her hand and pulled her to my horse.

The soft brush against her lips as we were pronounced man and wife.

That place on her neck I loved to kiss when I brought her pleasure.

The way her brow would knit when she worked on her embroidery.

The ire in her eyes when she realized I was teasing her.

The feel of her stomach as it grew with our child.

She was gone.

Now I genuinely knew pain.

*****

Though I tried, knowing how much I would need my strength the next day, I could not sleep. Not in that room, in that bed, without her beside me. If I did not get to her in time, I would never sleep peacefully again.

I rose from the mattress before the sun bothered to wake, dressed myself quickly, and made my way down to the kitchens. There were fresh biscuits, and I tried to force one of them down my dry, unyielding throat. I swallowed a cupful of water and headed immediately out to the stables as my mind contemplated the lost life of my young page for the first time since I had seen his body in the road.

Michael had served me well though I did not always treat him as the trusted servant he was. I hoped Parnell or someone had made sure he and the other guards were brought back to Silverhelm for a proper burial. I simply could not think about anything but my single goal at this time.

Alexandra.

“I am coming,” I whispered into the morning breeze.

“King Branford?” a timid voice called out.

I turned to see a young, black-haired boy of twelve years or so. I scowled at him, trying to remember the lad’s name, for I knew I had seen him before.

“Sir Parnell sent me to assist you,” the boy said, “if you will permit it. I’ve already polished your armor, and I know how to prepare your steed—I have tended Sawyer’s horses many times.”

I took a deep breath as I recalled exactly where I had seen him before—he had been Parnell’s stable hand when he was a child.

“Erik, is that your name?”

“Yes, my king!” he said with a smile.

“Prepare my horse,” I said with a sigh. Romero snorted and shook his head as the boy with the unfamiliar face walked over to him. I could hear the lad speaking softly as he reached into his pocket to offer the horse a treat. Easily won over by such bribes, Romero allowed the boy to ready him for battle as I pulled out my recently shined armor and laid it out on a bale of straw.