The Warlord Claims His Bride (9 page)

Bronson pressed his upper body more firmly against hers, took her mouth with his again, and thrust all the way into her. The pain was there, and she knew that she might never get used to his size. They’d had sex too many times to count since they wed, and each time she felt as though he was splitting her in two. But that pain felt good, felt incredible even, and he always had her screaming out in pleasure by the end of their coupling.

****

Bronson pulled out so the tip was barely lodged inside of her. His cock jerked at the sight of her pink pussy lips, swollen and wet from her arousal. He loved the fiery red hair that covered her mound. Her clit was engorged and ruby red from his ministrations. He looked at Genevieve, knowing his eyes reflected the lust he felt. Thrusting back inside of her, he closed his eyes and groaned out roughly. Her muscles tightened around his cock, gripping him like an iron fist. He started fucking her rough and hard, not caring who walked by and saw him claiming his bride. But he knew no one would dare come this way. It wasn’t a part of the manor that was used frequently, and that was why he had brought her down this way. He wanted something that was out of the norm for her, that had excitement rushing through her veins, and had her begging him to do this to her all the time. He kissed her over and over again, never stopping his thrusting. He needed to hear her scream out in pleasure, wanted to feel her wetness coat his cock as she came, and wanted to fill her with his seed until his cum slid out of her body. He wanted her smelling like him, so that anyone that didn’t already know she was his wife, would know that she was already taken. He’d kill for her, maim and break bones, and would never stop until she was protected.

He threw his head back and roared out his release, buried his dick deep inside of her, and came so hard he saw stars. When the tremors stopped and he was able to think again, he slowly pulled out of her. He loved that she gasped, and he felt this renewed arousal empower him that he had filled her with his cum. It was the brand of his ownership, and one that he hoped made her big with his child. He wanted as many children as he could have with Genevieve, wanted to watch them grow, and wanted them to be by each other’s side until old age took them. After he fixed her gowns and lifted her easily into his arms, he carried her back to their chamber, laid her upon the bed, and stripped naked. He slipped in bed beside her, curled his arm around her body, and pulled her close. She smelled sweet and floral, and he groaned against her neck. And then he moved his hand over her belly, spanned his fingers out, and prayed to the gods that a little babe was growing inside of her.

“Now more than ever it is imperative that I fight, lass.” He kissed the side of her neck, knowing she was already asleep, but having to say those words regardless. He wanted his children to look upon him as their father that defeated their enemies to make their lives better, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Chapter Eight

Genevieve had been staring out her window for the last several moments, staring off into the distance and the direction where Bronson and his men had traveled toward. Since his departure she had prayed hard that everything would look upon him and Clan Lyon in favor. They had left last evening, and although he had needed to plan and plot with his men, and she hadn’t seen much of him, when he did come to her they had spent every moment together wrapped in each other’s arms. She wanted that closeness, because there was a part of her that worried this would be the last time she would see him. She had no time frame on how long this would take to defeat the other clan. Would he come back to her whole? She had positive thoughts that things would be okay because he was a skilled and trained warrior, but of course he was also human.

“Milady?”

She turned and saw Mattina standing in her doorway.

Her handmaiden bowed her head. “Milady Genevieve, the healer is here tae examine you.”

An older man stepped through the door. “Yer no’ healer McKenzie,” Genevieve stated bluntly. The healer that had checked on everyone in the village was an older woman, one she trusted with her life, and the life she had growing inside of her.

“No, milady, but I am more skilled than a healer from a peasant village,” the man said. He held up his leather bag. “I have been sent specifically by Lord Bronson for my skill. If I may proceed in checking ye?”

She shook her head, knowing this didn’t feel right at all. Bronson would have told her he was sending someone.

“Mattina, where are Myran and Dorin?” The two warriors that Bronson had made stay behind to guard her specifically should have been right on the other side of the door.

“They stepped away tae give ye privacy, milady,” Mattina said in this strange, void voice.

Genevieve shook her head again. “Please fetch them. I would feel more comfortable with them here.” She stared at the healer, but there was something about the way he watched her, as if there was this darkness that covered him, that made her feel like a rabbit caught in a trap.

Mattina finally nodded, but there was this strange expression on her face. She didn’t move for a moment, and right when Genevieve was about to ask what was wrong, Mattina turned and left her alone in the room.

“Please wait outside my chambers until they return,” she said to the healer. This man was a stranger, and one that had her instincts flaring in warning. She just couldn’t shake this feeling inside of her that something was definitely wrong. The healer turned to leave, but instead of walking out the door, he shut and locked it, sealing them inside together.

“What are ye doing?”

The healer turned back around, set the bag on the ground, and removed his brown robe. Underneath he wore a kilt and a leather vest, but this wasn’t a Clan Lyon tartan.

“Who are ye?” She moved a step back and glanced at the door.

“I am a man that has come tae make it known that ye donna steal from the great Dawson McCarrick.” He bared his gnarled and discolored teeth at her. “I come in the name of Clan McCarrick.”

She knew that clan, knew that they had been the first to lose the battle with Bronson. Her enemy, and the Lyons’ enemy, was now trapped inside her chambers, and intent on killing her. That much was clear. “I donna kno’ how ye plan tae make it known since I am just a woman. I am nothing but the wife of a warrior. Nothing more.” Maybe if he saw her as a lowly female he might take pity and realize this was a mistake? “But my husband will be here any minute.”

He chuckled and reached behind him. “Ye may just be a woman, but ye are Bronson’s woman, and yer death will bring that bastard down to his knees before us.”

Her heart pounded hard and fast when she saw him pull out a dagger. “What are ye doing?” She glanced at the knife he held. Oh, she wasn’t a fool, but she also knew that she needed to play this smart.

“Come on now, wee thing, are ye really that dense no’ tae know what I plan on doing?” He took a step closer and held the knife tightly in his hand.

She glanced around the room, knowing that if she didn’t act quickly she would be dead. It had only been a few minutes since Mattina had left, but it felt like an eternity. She spotted the iron rod by the fire, and right when the man charged forward she ducked, crawled over the bed, and lunged for the piece of metal. It slipped from her grasp and slid across the stone and into the fire. She looked over her shoulder, saw him coming forward with murder in his eyes, and grabbed for the iron rod again. Now having her hands wrapped tightly around it, she rolled onto her back and swung out blindly. He was already coming toward her, but she had caught him off guard with her quick movement. She thought back to the time she and her father had trained the mare, that time she’d had to make quick decisions when the horse was wild and crazed. This was another instance where she needed to be faster and smarter than the animal.

The sound of pounding footsteps came through the wood, and she felt her pulse race.  She knew that was help on its way, but would it come in time? Her attacker had scars littering his face and neck and a nasty scowl on his face.

“Ye stupid, peasant whore.” He charged forward again, and this time she connected the iron with his side. He grunted and fell to the side, and the knife he held skittered to the ground. She had either gotten very lucky, or he had been stupid enough to think she would just submit and let him harm her. Either way she wasn’t about to stand there and see how long it took him to rise. She ran toward the door, but he reached out, grabbed her ankle, and pulled her forward. She fell to the ground, and the iron rod slipped from her grasp. She shook her head, trying to clear the sudden ringing in her ears, and kicked out. He grunted from behind her just as he let go, and she wasted no time moving toward the door. But it crashed open a second later, and there stood the two men that Bronson had left in charge. One sported bruising around his eyes, and the other had a trail of blood down his temple. One of them also held Mattina in an unyielding hold.

The one not holding Mattina moved past her, and she watched as he hauled her attacker up in a deadly grip. He started speaking to him in harsh, cruel Gaelic, and hauled him out of the room faster than she could even comprehend.

“Mattina?”

“Milady, this traitor allowed that assassin into the manor through the servant quarters under the impression that he was the healer.”

Genevieve’s heart pounded so fast and hard at hearing that. Had she heard right? “Mattina, ye betrayed me?” How had she not known? The young girl may have only been her handmaiden for a short time, but Genevieve should have seen the signs of her distrust: the clipped phrases, lack of expression, and the way Genevieve felt off-balance around the young girl.

“I loved him,” Mattina said in a voice that didn’t show any remorse for the horror she had caused.

Genevieve didn’t even care who Mattina claimed to have loved, because the fact was she had betrayed Clan Lyon.

“If I helped them take down yer clan, then I could avenge my love.” There were fat tears that fell from Mattina’s face, but Genevieve could tell they were from anger and not sadness.

Genevieve turned away, feeling sick and frightened, and wishing that Bronson was here. “Ye meant tae have me killed, tae have my unborn child killed.” She curled her hands into fists at her sides. “Take her away. I need tae be alone.” She breathed out when she heard the retreating footsteps. She knew what they did to traitors, but she felt no remorse. Mattina knew the consequences if she was caught, knew what happened to people that went against a lord, and she would pay the price however Bronson saw fit.

When she felt she was alone, she turned and shut her door. She wanted Bronson, and she wanted her father, but right now she needed to be alone. There was a knock on her bedroom door moments later, and then the sound of Dorin’s voice came through the thick wood.

“My lady, may I have a word with ye?”

She opened the door and saw the massive Scot standing on the other side.

“I kno’ ye said ye wanted to be left alone, but I must stay out here tae make sure ye are okay.”

She nodded. “I kno’.”

He nodded. “There has already been word sent out to Lord Bronson about the situation, and someone has been sent to fetch McKenzie for ye.” He lowered his eyes to her belly, and she instinctively covered her stomach with her hand.

“Thank you.”

He nodded again and turned, but blocked the door with his big body. He held his sword close to his chest, and she closed the door and went over to her bed. She wasn’t hurt, as far as she could tell, but she was suddenly very exhausted. Sleep would not ease her worries though. She knew all she would do was lie there and wait for things to go back to normal when Bronson came back. Although, who knew if that would even happen, or if Bronson would even come back alive? If there was an attempt on her life, who was to say they hadn’t already killed her warlord?

Chapter Nine

Bronson swung his sword with a mighty roar and sliced it clean through his enemy’s throat. Another body fell to the ground. His clan had made a surprise attack on Clan McCarrick, and now there were bodies of their enemies lying around the makeshift campground they had erected. Bronson loved a good fight, but what he didn’t care for was the fact McCarrick was far closer to the Lyon Manor than he was comfortable with. It had taken them no time at all to get to them, and in fact if he stood on the tallest hill he could see his home where his bride slept. But Dawson McCarrick had been smart when he planned his ambush, and kept toward the backwoods that were not inhabited by the villagers surrounding his territory. And by the time people did spot them McCarrick’s men would have already been at Bronson’s gate. All hell would have broken loose then.

He cut down another man coming after him with one mighty swing of his sword. All around him there were men fighting, roaring out in triumph, pain, and defeat, but in the end it was the Lyons that ruled over all. And then there he was, standing in the center of the field, and staring right at Dawson McCarrick. The other clan leader stood with blood covering him and his sword raised high. A gust of wind picked up and moved Bronson’s kilt across his shins and his hair across his cheeks. With the violence still surrounding them, Bronson focused on the man that would soon taste the tip of his sword. They moved forward at the same time, charging each other, death coming from them, and their voices ringing out loud and clear. Their swords clashed together in a ring of metal against metal, and their grunts matched in intensity and fierceness.

“Ye actually thought tae take my land again, McCarrick?” Bronson gritted out and moved back a step. He swung out, but McCarrick was a skilled fighter, and matched him in power and strength. Bronson grunted and growled out, wanting this man to lie lifeless beneath his feet like the other men that thought they could take what was his.

“Yer clan lost this land, and rightfully so when yer da could no’ longer hold it.” McCarrick grinned. “When I slew him he proved too weak tae hold his own.” McCarrick swung his sword and grunted when Bronson blocked the move.