Warlord

“Sweetheart, I am a grown man, have lived my life, and now it is time for ye tae live yers.”

“And if I said I donna want this? Will ye still make me?” The look he gave her wasn’t cruel or heartless, because her father was one of the gentlest men she knew. He looked at her like a father desperate for his daughter to have a better life.

“Lord Bronson Lyon can protect ye, make ye happy; of that, I am sure. He will provide for ye, child.” Her father cleared his throat, and she heard the emotion in his words. “Staying with yer da is not a proper life for a woman of yer age. Ye need tae create a family of yer own, lass.”

Now she was crying big, fat tears, and she grew angry at not being able to control her emotions. “Da, and what if he donna want me? I am not thin and beautiful like the other women he surely wants. I have also led a life on the farm. Ye kno’ the women who will want Lord Bronson will be of upper-class.” She reached out and held his hand. “I love working with ye and the animals and wouldn’t want it any other way.” She looked down at the table. “The fact that he may not want me is verra big.”

Her father scoffed. “Bollocks. He would have to be insane not to want a beauty like ye.” Her dad reached a scarred, dirt-stained hand out and brushed a lock of hair away that had fallen across her face. “Ye look just like yer ma.” Her father smiled. “With the fiery red hair and the stunning green eyes.” He let go of her hair. “O’ course he will want you, lass, and if no’, then he is no’ worthy of ye.” Her father stood, grabbed his straw hat, and looked at her once more. “In a fortnight, we will go to the lord’s manor, so put on yer prettiest dress and smile, darlin’. Bronson does no’ want a wealthy brought-up wife. He wants a woman who is a peasant and has had tae work for the life they have.”

And then her father left, and Genevieve knew that was it. Her life and future could shift drastically with one word from Bronson, and that one word was “Mine.”

Chapter Three

It had been a fortnight since Bronson announced to the small village of Landonston that he would be searching for a bride to help him carry on the Lyon namesake. There were villages around Landonston: Harrowsworth, Kellerstell, Finnertystall, and Bluendot. All five villages had once been Lyon territory until a group of savages had come and taken that away from his family. It was a land that had once been filled with livestock, hardworking men wanting to take care of their wives and children, and farming, with happy families who were loyal to the Lyons.

But after his father had been killed on the battlefield, the Lyon territory had been given to different men by Dawson McCarrick. Even thinking the name of the man who murdered his father had a red rage covering his entire body. Over the many, many years of the land not being claimed by Clan Lyon, everything had declined until it was desolate villages that were scrounging to survive.

No longer would that be the case. Now that Bronson secured all five territories, it would stay Clan Lyon land until time’s end.

He sat behind the scarred but well used table in the dining hall and watched as the women from the villages were ushered in. He had four of his highest-ranking warriors sitting beside him, and although tonight was about him finding a bride, he knew these warriors were here to find a partner for the night.

He, on the other hand, hadn’t taken a female in longer than he’d ever willingly admit. He focused on war, on taking back his ancestral lands. He had no time for love or romance, or hell, even pleasure in the sexual sense.

The women continued to come forth. Although there were only so many women in the five villages, and they certainly were not from high standings, Bronson had purposefully decreed it so. He wanted a woman who knew the meaning of hard work and could give as well as receive. If he were to wed a woman of social standing such as his own, one who had never tended to an animal or field, or knew what it was like to lose something important, how could he expect to have children with her that were strong and had good values?

No, he wanted a peasant wife, but even though his desires for that detail had been known, there had still been offers by other lords to give their daughters to Bronson.

When the last woman was ushered in with their escorts stationed behind them, Bronson stood from his seat and moved down the platform to stand before them. The scent of where they came from still lingered around them, even though they were freshly cleaned and clothed. He liked that though. Bronson wasn’t a man who wanted sugary-and-sweet-smelling aromas to hide who they really were. He had death and blood, dirt and anger that constantly surrounded him, that covered him. It was engrained in his skin, his heart and soul.