Warlord

Genevieve took a deep breath and stared at the 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 passed.

“I apologize. That was an improper question.” Genevieve 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 told her 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 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 wedding him would ensure 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 in this life, but most of all to please her father and make sure to uphold her family’s honor.

Chapter Seven

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 who 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 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.

They 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 hearts, and shouted in Gaelic about how proud they were to lay their lives down for her.