current state of the demesne. Julia asked permission to stay and hear it, as she was curious how things had fared since her father's death and her departure.
Julia had already given Bronson an overview of the various manors and who was lord of each, but the steward launched into his own outline of the demesne. Julia hadn't been listening until she overheard, “Sir Roland is overdue his rent by two years.”
“It may be time to find a new lord, then,” said Bronson.
“But you can't do that,” she exclaimed snapping to attention. “Sir Roland's been there forever!”
Bronson raised one eyebrow at her with a look that turned her cold. The knights were all carefully looking away. “You may certainly offer me your suggestions on the matter, Lady Julia,” Bronson said with exaggerated politeness.
Julia flushed. “Forgive me, I did not mean to overstep.”
“I'm sure it will be strange for everyone here to get used to the changes I may make,” he said, smoothing over his public correction of her. She felt a tightening in her gut and she realized how little she knew this man who was now her lord and husband.
That night in their chambers, Bronson sat on the edge of the bed. “Julia.”
“My lord?”
“You may question me and my decisions about the demesne all you like in private, but never in front of others. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Bronson,” she said, her voice sounding wispy to her ears.
“Come here,” he said.
She slowly crossed the room to him, fearing he planned to chastise her. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, but it wasn't to punish— instead he bent his mouth to her breast, gently teasing her nipple through her thin linen shift with his teeth. “Did you want to argue Sir Roland's case to me?”
Suddenly Sir Roland and his plight seemed very unimportant to her. She leaned into his arms, grateful for a chance to release the awkwardness between them in a constructive way. And they did.
But she found it was not so easy for her to remember when to speak and when not to. Bronson was so lenient with her in many ways. He clearly enjoyed her company, taking her with him when he went out on demesne business.
When one of his squires asked if he was going to allow her to dress as a page again and join their troops the next time the king called him to battle, he laughed and said, “I would be delighted to have 'Jake' back in troops, he was easier on the eye than the rest of you louts. Not a bad archer, either.” Then he looked at her and grew serious, “Nay, my heart nearly failed when I couldn't find her after that last battle. I'm sorry, love, you'll have to stay home next time.”
“Will I stay here?” she asked. After all, he had three demesnes— hers, Pembridge and Montmore. Many lords never had to see their wives more than a few times a year if they kept her at a different castle than the one where they passed their time.
“If you like. But you'll be wherever I am if I'm not at war. Is that what you're asking?”
She rewarded him with her most brilliant smile as an answer and he chuckled and touched her cheek with affection.
So it was that several weeks later at the dining table, when Bronson was discussing the need for finding a new lord for one of the manors by way of a husband for the deceased lord's widow, Julia cut in, remembering her own betrothal trauma, “Surely you'll give the widow at least some small consideration in this equation?”
When she saw the raised eyebrow, she knew immediately that she'd done it again. Her fear of punishment made her feel defensive, though. “You could offer her a choice of men,” she said sullenly, knowing full well she sounded like a child.
After supper Bronson held her wrist as she started to stand up from the table, pulling her firmly back down next to him and dismissing everyone else so that the two of them were left there alone. His face
Julia had already given Bronson an overview of the various manors and who was lord of each, but the steward launched into his own outline of the demesne. Julia hadn't been listening until she overheard, “Sir Roland is overdue his rent by two years.”
“It may be time to find a new lord, then,” said Bronson.
“But you can't do that,” she exclaimed snapping to attention. “Sir Roland's been there forever!”
Bronson raised one eyebrow at her with a look that turned her cold. The knights were all carefully looking away. “You may certainly offer me your suggestions on the matter, Lady Julia,” Bronson said with exaggerated politeness.
Julia flushed. “Forgive me, I did not mean to overstep.”
“I'm sure it will be strange for everyone here to get used to the changes I may make,” he said, smoothing over his public correction of her. She felt a tightening in her gut and she realized how little she knew this man who was now her lord and husband.
That night in their chambers, Bronson sat on the edge of the bed. “Julia.”
“My lord?”
“You may question me and my decisions about the demesne all you like in private, but never in front of others. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Bronson,” she said, her voice sounding wispy to her ears.
“Come here,” he said.
She slowly crossed the room to him, fearing he planned to chastise her. He put an arm around her waist and pulled her close to him, but it wasn't to punish— instead he bent his mouth to her breast, gently teasing her nipple through her thin linen shift with his teeth. “Did you want to argue Sir Roland's case to me?”
Suddenly Sir Roland and his plight seemed very unimportant to her. She leaned into his arms, grateful for a chance to release the awkwardness between them in a constructive way. And they did.
But she found it was not so easy for her to remember when to speak and when not to. Bronson was so lenient with her in many ways. He clearly enjoyed her company, taking her with him when he went out on demesne business.
When one of his squires asked if he was going to allow her to dress as a page again and join their troops the next time the king called him to battle, he laughed and said, “I would be delighted to have 'Jake' back in troops, he was easier on the eye than the rest of you louts. Not a bad archer, either.” Then he looked at her and grew serious, “Nay, my heart nearly failed when I couldn't find her after that last battle. I'm sorry, love, you'll have to stay home next time.”
“Will I stay here?” she asked. After all, he had three demesnes— hers, Pembridge and Montmore. Many lords never had to see their wives more than a few times a year if they kept her at a different castle than the one where they passed their time.
“If you like. But you'll be wherever I am if I'm not at war. Is that what you're asking?”
She rewarded him with her most brilliant smile as an answer and he chuckled and touched her cheek with affection.
So it was that several weeks later at the dining table, when Bronson was discussing the need for finding a new lord for one of the manors by way of a husband for the deceased lord's widow, Julia cut in, remembering her own betrothal trauma, “Surely you'll give the widow at least some small consideration in this equation?”
When she saw the raised eyebrow, she knew immediately that she'd done it again. Her fear of punishment made her feel defensive, though. “You could offer her a choice of men,” she said sullenly, knowing full well she sounded like a child.
After supper Bronson held her wrist as she started to stand up from the table, pulling her firmly back down next to him and dismissing everyone else so that the two of them were left there alone. His face
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