Warlord

“No’ close. They would have been spotted, but they overheard two of McCarrick’s men bullshitting aboot taking over the marsh.”

Bronson curled his hands into fists and clenched his jaw. He had only been wed for a full moon’s time, and already shite was happening to where he couldn’t even enjoy being with his bride. Even faced with this impending battle, all he could think about was Genevieve. “Fooking hell,” he gritted out. He straightened and ran a hand over his face. “More shite, because these fooking arseholes canna understand they stole this land from us in the first place.” He slammed his fist on the table hard enough that their mugs tipped over. “I will ruin them and make McCarrick wish he had buried himself under a rock.” He glanced at the six men that sat around the table with him. Cal, Landon, Dian, Ky, Earc, and Osgar. These were the six men he trusted more than anyone else. He had hundreds who stood and fought beside him, many who had joined his side and rallied with him for the greater good. They were all family, all fighting for the same cause, and that cause was making sure their land was kept with them.

“Bronson, how should we proceed?” Cal asked.

He didn’t respond right away and instead stared at the map, contemplated, plotted, and thought about how he wanted to have this go down. “We need tae surprise them, tae attack when they donna see us coming.” He ran his gaze over the land where McCarrick was said to be. “We leave the night after next, once the sun has gone down.” He looked at his men once more, saw their hard but fierce and commanding expressions. “Aye?”

“Aye,” they all said in unison. A fierce battle would commence, and he wouldn’t stop swinging his sword until bodies littered the ground at his feet and his kilt was soaking with the blood of his enemies.

Chapter Thirteen

Genevieve closed her eyes and breathed out. The bath water steamed around her, smelling of flowers and softening her flesh. The sound of Mattina laying out her gown had Genevieve opening her eyes and staring at the young woman. “Do ye miss yer home, Mattina?”

The handmaiden looked at her with this ever-present blank expression on her face. “Pardon, milady?”

Genevieve sat up straighter and smiled. “I was only told that ye came from a neighboring village, but nothing else really.” She didn’t mention that Mattina didn’t seem to like to converse. “Ye seem happy, so I just assumed life back home may no’ have been the best?”

Mattina walked over to her and handed Genevieve a cloth to wash herself with.

“Sit, speak with me,” Genevieve said and smiled once again. She knew servants were not to speak so boldly or openly with their charges, so perhaps that was why her handmaiden didn’t care to talk. But Genevieve also didn’t know anything about being a lady. She’d only had this title for a short amount of time, and at heart she was no different than Mattina. The other woman sat on the stool beside the basin of water Genevieve was in. It took her a moment to speak, but she didn’t press Mattina. If the woman wanted to share, Genevieve was more than willing to listen.

“No, my life back home was no’ the best, but we made do with what we had.” Mattina looked at her, but there was no emotion on her face. “I was forced tae leave the man I loved behind.”

“Oh, Mattina, I am verra sorry. Maybe we can call for him, and he can work at the manor?” Genevieve didn’t even know if that was something she could promise, but she was a lady now, Bronson Lyon’s wife. That had to mean she had some leverage and power of her own, right?

Mattina shook her head. “It isn’t that, milady. The man I loved was called tae battle before I left.” This hard, angry look covered Mattina’s face before she quickly put on a neutral expression. She turned and stared right at Genevieve. “This world is no’ meant for the lowly like myself. We canna even have the one thing that we crave the most … tae be with the man we love.” Mattina stood and went over to the small table. “I’ll leave ye, milady, tae finish.” Mattina looked over her shoulder. “Unless ye need me?” There was this strange tone in her voice, one that spoke of distance and even hatred.

Genevieve shook her head. “No, I’m okay. Thank you.”

Mattina nodded and let herself out.

Genevieve slipped out of the bathwater and covered herself with the cloth Mattina had left for her. The small enclosure was warm and foggy from her bath. Once she was dry, she dressed in a gown, and even after this time of being Bronson’s wife and staying in luxury, she could never get used to these things. She was used to the rags she worked in, of the bath that never smelled of flowers and was only lukewarm, if she was lucky enough to get to it in time. And she certainly didn’t have people helping. Having servants was not something Genevieve cared much about, but she supposed it was no different from her working out in the fields and helping her father. Work was work, and they had to do what kept them alive.