Warlord

“It will be one fine day when there are wee ones running around the farm.”

She glanced down, feeling her smile fade as she thought about that. “And what if I canna have babes, Da?” She looked at him again. “What if I am like—”

He held up his hand to stop her from continuing. “Yer mother wanted many children, but the gods didn’t bless us with a brood. But that donna mean ye canna have many, Genevieve.”

She nodded, knowing he was right, but still worrying.

“It’s early, lass, and many things can happen. Donna worry.”

“Ye’re right, Da.”

He reached out and took hold of her hand. “Ye go back tae the manor and clean up.” He patted her hand and smiled. “I have a lot of work to finish anyway.”

“Da, why don’t ye come tae the manor and live with us?”

He shook his head. “Child, ye know I canna do that. I love this farm, love that I have memories here that will last me a lifetime.”

She knew her father would say no… for the second time. But she needed to ask him again, to at least put it out there that if he chose to, he didn’t need to work so hard to survive. What was the point of having a status like she had if she couldn’t share it with others? She already started bringing food to the villagers, and although most everyone fended for themselves and were surviving, she wanted to be able to help them so things weren’t so hard. She had known these villagers her whole life, and this was the least she could do now that she had the means to help.

“Lass, go on back tae the manor, clean up, and spend time with yer new husband and not an old man.” He smiled and started chuckling. They both stood at the same time, and after she gave her father a hug and headed out of his cottage, she made her way back toward the estate. Her life had certainly changed in such a short amount of time, but she was enjoying every minute of it.

Chapter Twelve

Bronson sat beside his men at the meeting table. The map spread out on the center of the scarred wood showed them the land that belonged to Clan Lyon.

“Bronson, Dawson McCarrick is gathering his men as we speak, thinking tae take back the land he thinks is his,” Dian, one of many strong warriors in Bronson’s clan, said from right beside him.

Bronson did not say anything for several seconds. All of his men were like brothers to him and had stuck with him from the very beginning. They were not men of wealth or status, but then again, when his father lost their land to the savages that rampaged, raped, and killed, Bronson had been nothing more than the once-heir to the Lyon wealth.

The McCarrick Clan were the Scots who had taken over the first part of Bronson’s land after his father had been slain, and the first he had defeated when he decided now was the time to reclaim what was rightfully his. That battle had been the most grueling and bloody fight in all the battles he had been in. And when he had been victorious, it had been all the sweeter. But Dawson McCarrick had not been involved with the fight since he was in another territory. Bronson had known Dawson wouldn’t have given up that easily, and it looked as though Dawson waited until Bronson defeated all his enemies before coming back at him full force.

“He thinks tae take back what is no’ his,” Landon said from the other side of Bronson.

“He can think what he wants. No one will take what is ours ever again.” Bronson stood, braced his hands on the table, and stared down at the map. There was a mighty roar, and his men started pounding their hands on the table in acknowledgment. “We worked too hard for a bastard tae try and come back with swords raised. We will show him what it means tae lose tae Clan Lyon again, and this time, I will bring my sword down upon Dawson’s neck.” Another mighty roar filled the meeting room, and he felt it deep in his bones. He continued to look at the map and reached out to run his fingers over the outline of the Gaelina Mountains that separated Clan Lyon territory and the Clandestelle Kingdom.

“The scouts that we have stationed on the edge of the territory said they saw McCarrick and his men over the Angelin Pass. Their fire burned brightly, so they ventured forth and saw his army being gathered.”

“How close did they get?” Bronson asked Cal. He turned his head and stared at the blond-haired, blue-eyed warrior. Cal had a nasty scar that moved from the top of his hairline down to his chin. He was lucky he still had his eye after that wound.