Warlord

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 farther 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 also moved toward her until they were so close to one another she could feel his breath along her temple.

“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, her father a few spots down. 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’d seen him in a long time. She glanced around the table at all the luxuries 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 she didn’t know where to start. It seemed Bronson 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 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 she supposed it ran in her blood as well. He was a good man like that, and she was pleased the man she 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 who were not of Clan Lyon wore peasant-style clothing, items a farmer would wear. It had been the clothing she 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 more she felt so small in comparison. 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?

“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. She knew she probably acted and seemed very out of place here.

“I am?” She closed her eyes for a moment 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.