The Warlord Claims His Bride (4 page)

“Weakness is not an option now that you are wed to Bronson Lyon,” Mattina said in a voice a bit too hard for a servant to be using, but it was what Genevieve needed to hear, because she did calm.

Genevieve took a deep breath and stared at the other younger woman. Mattina was a very pretty girl, but even at that age she should have been married with a slew of children running around. “Ye have a husband, Mattina?”

A hard expression passed over Mattina’s face, but she covered it just as quickly as it had come.

“I apologize. That was an improper question.” Genevieve had never had servants to tend to her, but even so she knew a lady didn’t apologize to the help. But Genevieve wasn’t a lady, not by blood anyway. She’d always be a farmer’s daughter at heart.

“No apologies needed, milady, I have no’ had a husband, and have no children. One day I hope tae find a verra good man tae take care of me,” Mattina said in a monotone voice and pulled Genevieve’s hair away from her shoulders.

Genevieve glanced at herself in the mirror and then looked at Mattina’s reflection behind her. The raven-haired woman was smoothing her hands over Genevieve’s hair.

“Ye have verra beautiful hair, milady. It’s the color o’ the fire that the dragons breathe,” Mattina said and stared right in her eyes through the reflection, but there was this strange darkness that passed over Mattina’s face.

Genevieve felt her cheeks heat, and her reflection showed them as red as her hair. “Thank you, Mattina.” She took a deep breath. “I better no’ keep my husband waiting.”

Steeling herself for what the night brought, and what the rest of her life entailed, she gathered the bottom of her gown in her hands and turned to face the door. She was to go to the dining hall where a grand feast was being held in honor of her marriage. She was no longer Genevieve McNoland, daughter of Ernan McNoland, a humble farmer of sheep and poultry. She was now the lady of the manor, and wife to the fearsome Bronson Lyon. Her life certainly had changed in the span of a fortnight, and at this moment she didn’t know if it was for the better or not. The only thing that kept her spirits high was the thought that Bronson would be gentle with her. She also knew that wedding him would ensure that her father was always taken care of, and that made marrying someone she was not in love with a wee bit easier to stomach. She would make sure to be the perfect, submissive wife to her new husband, because he was very clearly a dominant man. She would make the most for herself of this life, but most of all to please her father, and make sure to uphold her family’s honor.

Chapter Three

Genevieve was escorted out of her room and then led to the dining hall by two of Bronson’s men, ones who were just as large, scarred, and intimidating as her new husband was. It wasn’t too long before she heard the loud sounds of male laughter, female voices, and even pipers playing in the near distance. The two warriors that stood beside her halted once they reached the large, wooden doors that led into where the feast was held. The men were still wearing their blue and green plaid kilts as they had during the ceremony, and their backs rippled with unsuppressed power as they reached out and opened a door each. There she stood, both men beside her once more and Mattina behind her.

The large dining hall was filled with Bronson’s men, servants, and even scantily clad women. Those women were tending to the warriors in very intimate manners. Genevieve looked away in embarrassment. She had never seen such lewd acts before, but she reminded herself that these men were not of the typical breed, and tended to do things by their own rules. The room itself was massively large, but rustic and hardened almost. This wasn’t a castle with gleaming gold and filigree accents, but dark stone, natural wood, and the biggest fireplace she had ever seen. The flames were monstrous and angry looking as they licked and ate at the wood. There were too many tables to count, but they were all filled. The villagers of Landonston were enjoying a grand meal of every kind of livestock imaginable. The mead flowed like water, the men groped and fondled the women serving the food and drink, and then there was her father, sitting at the table on the podium with her husband. But as her father ate more food than he probably ever had at one sitting Bronson had his focus trained right on her. She smoothed her hands down her dress and took a deep breath.

“My lady, Lord Lyon awaits ye,” one of the warriors said at the same time he turned and looked down at her. The warriors were several heads taller than she was, and compared to them she felt like she was a child’s height. She nodded and took a step inside. It seemed all noise ceased as her presence was noticed, and then as if someone had lifted every member of Clan Lyon, the warriors stood, placed their closed fists right over their heart, and shouted in Gaelic about how proud they were to lay their lives down for her. Their booming voices were loud enough that the rafters had to shake. Her husband was at the front of this welcoming roar, and she knew that for his people this was a gesture of great honor. They were welcoming her into their home, their land, and most importantly their family.

She moved further into the room, and as if the Clan’s roar had been the cue to commence, the people started eating and enjoying themselves once more. The only lighting that illuminated the room came from the roaring fire, the candles scattered sporadically throughout the room, and the one massive stained glass and horn accented chandelier that hung in the center. Even though the room had a gritty beauty to it, she couldn’t focus on anything but Bronson. He still watched her, and the closer she got the closer he moved toward her until they were only a few feet from one another.

“My wife. Ye’re beautiful as ever.” He reached out and took hold of her hands. He lifted her arms to the side and ran his gaze up and down her body. “Clan Lyon colors suit ye well, wife.” He let her arms go and gestured for her to lead up the platform to the banquet table that presided over the rest of the hall.

She moved behind the table and took her seat beside her father. Bronson took his seat beside her, too, and then she glanced at her da. He smiled, and although this whole situation was unusual for them and she felt very out of her element, she couldn’t help but smile back. Her father seemed happier and more at ease than she had seen him in a long time. She glanced around the table at all of the luxuries that she had never been able to enjoy herself. There were drinking goblets made from the horns of great animals, and metal platters and serving-ware that looked like a master craftsman had created it just for tonight, littered the table in abundance. And the food, the food was like nothing she had ever seen before, either. There was so much to choose from that she didn’t know where to start. It seemed Bronson had read her mind and starting heaping mountains of food on the platter before her.

“I want my wife to keep her curves,” he said.

Well, that certainly answered her inner question about why he felt the need to give her so much. And then before she could start eating he had a piece of chicken between his fingers and was bringing it to her mouth.

“Open for me, darlin’,” he said as he pressed the piece of meat against her lips.

She opened her mouth and stared into his eyes. For long moments Bronson fed her until she couldn’t eat anymore, and finally she was the one shaking her head and asking him stop.

“I’m full,” she said and glanced away, embarrassed when he smirked and leaned back marginally, as if he was immensely pleased with himself.

“I like tae know that my woman is well fed, lass.”

She smiled, pleased that he liked her fuller figure. A lot of the women were thinner, especially coming from poverty, but her father had made sure she was always well fed, even if that meant smaller portions for himself. Her mother also had been a bigger woman, so Genevieve supposed it ran in her blood as well. Her father was a good man like that, and she was pleased that the man she had married was the same way, at least in that respect. She turned away from Bronson’s penetrating stare and looked around the hall once more. The men that were not of Clan Lyon wore peasant style clothing, items that a farmer would wear. It had been the clothing she had owned when she was a farmer’s daughter, but anymore she would be dressed in flowing gowns that pleased her husband. Bronson lightly placed his hand on the small of her back, and she tensed, not from the touch, but because she instantly grew warm from the heavy weight.

Genevieve felt her arousal start to grow again. His hand nearly spanned her whole lower back, and once again she felt so small in comparison to him. Her father spoke to one of Bronson’s men, but she could tell that he felt out of his element, too. What could a farmer have to say to a man that was used to battle, pain, and killing enemies? She glanced around the room, saw the lewd acts of the women with the warriors, and even noticed how the villagers seemed to be uncomfortable as well. But she needed to remember this was her world now. A tough skin was needed for this life, and even more so because she was amongst warriors that were used to certain appetites.

“Lass, ye’re showing yer innocence.” Bronson had leaned in close, and she felt the tendrils of his warm breath, smelling of the honey from the mead he drank, smooth over her.

“I am?” She closed her eyes for a moment and then turned her head so she could look at her husband. “I’m sorry, Lord Bronson.”

He stared right into her eyes, and she felt the need to cover herself for some reason. This man’s focus was so penetrating that it stole her breath, put her on edge, and made her want to cower in a very sexual way. It was strange to feel that way, but she couldn’t help it, and didn’t know how to react. Genevieve had never been with a man in any intimate way, let alone felt this kind of sexual tension move between them.

Bronson was so unlike the men she saw around the village. They worked hard in a different way. Where they grew their own food, raised animals and slaughtered them for food, Bronson slaughtered men, rode atop his stallion, and had all others cower before him. He was a leader, and all he had to do was step into a room for that to be known. And now he was her husband, and the one that would take that innocence from her tonight as he had so easily mentioned just moments before.

“Ye donna need tae apologize, lass, and ye donna need tae call me Lord o’ anything. Ye are my wife now.” He held her stare for several more seconds. “And that innocence will soon be mine, lass, especially once I have ye in my bed.”

Gods, the way he said those things had her uncomfortably wet between her thighs, and with no undergarments to shield that sensation, she shifted on the chair. Her nipples grew hard and achy, and her thoughts went to very naughty things that she had never dreamed of envisioning. She feared that once she had a taste of Bronson, she would never be able to get enough. If she felt this way with a few soft touches and filthy words, would she even be able to come out of this unscathed once he was between her thighs? Did she really want to?

Women with dresses on that barely covered their breasts walked in with platters of more food. Genevieve looked away, not sure why showing off these women and their flesh was so important to these warriors.

“Because a woman’s body is a work of the gods, lass.”

She looked at Bronson, so humiliated because she had clearly said that out loud. “I…” She looked away, not sure how to finish that, because he said it not like a man with sex on the mind, but one that truly appreciated natural beauty when he saw it.

“But ye are the only woman that I will ever sate my lusts with, lovely. Ye are the only one that will ever kno’ my touch, my kiss,” he leaned in so close that only she heard him now, “and my cock.”

Her throat closed in at his words. But before she could respond more platters of game, poultry, and even whole pigs were set in the center of the tables. The warriors dug in like they were insatiable in their hunger.

“Donna look away, lass,” Bronson said, still having his mouth by her ear. He then grabbed her chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned her head gently so she was forced to watch one of the warriors that cupped a wench’s breasts.

A gasp left her at the sight, and she tried to look away. “It is inappropriate.” She said the words on a whisper, but couldn’t look away.

“This is life, sexuality, lass. Do ye want tae look away because ye are disgusted and uncomfortable, or because it arouses ye tae see the woman getting pleasured by a warrior?” Bronson asked in a low, deep voice that sent shivers right up her spine.

She didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to admit that she liked the way watching such an act made her feel.

“Answer me, lass.” He used his strength to gently turn her head so she was looking at him now. His eyes were so very blue, but the longer held her gaze the more his pupils dilated and ate up the vibrant color.

“It arouses me,” she said low, breathy, and couldn’t hide the fact she was turned on.

He made a low, animal-like sound, and she parted her lips involuntarily. He slid his gaze down to her mouth, and he leaned in another inch. “I’m going tae devour ye, lass,” he said on a growl. “I canna wait ‘til I have ye under me, surrendering that sweet body, and letting yer warrior husband claim ye.” He was breathing harder, and like before, everything faded away. “I want ye verra much, Genevieve, so much that I ache inside.”

And she wanted him, too, right then. The dinner was forgotten, and although she should feel embarrassed that her father was beside her, watching the same things she watched, all Genevieve could focus on was her husband, and the low things he whispered that only she could hear.

Bronson stood, took her hand, and led her out of the dining hall without saying a thing to anyone. No one stopped them. Then again, who in their right mind would stop a man like Bronson Lyon?

Chapter Four

Bronson led her out of the dining hall, through the corridors of the manor, and straight into his chambers. He had called for one of the servants to bring the priest, and when they arrived at his chamber the priest was already waiting to bless their marriage bed. He waited until the priest was finished, and once they were alone in the corridor, he picked up his wee wife and carried her over the threshold. When he had taken back Landonston for his own the manor had been run by a bastard of a man. St. Gerrard had ignored the pleas of the villagers and didn’t care that his people had no food or water, were dying of disease, or that the land was going to shite. The arsehole wanted nothing more than to enjoy the women he forced himself upon, gorge himself on food he stole from others, and grow big and fat before dying at the end of Bronson’s blade. For years Bronson had been fighting for the right to reclaim what was rightfully his, had killed many men to make that a possibility. But now he was claiming something very different, and something that he wanted almost nearly as badly as he had wanted his territory back. That said something monumental about this woman he now carried into his chambers. This passion that burned inside of him was bright and angry and alive, and he had never felt anything like it before.