Warlord

He’d kill for her, maim and break bones, and would never stop until she was protected.

He threw his head back and roared out his release, buried his dick deep inside her, and came so hard he saw stars. When the tremors stopped and he was able to think again, he slowly pulled out of her. He loved that she gasped, and he felt this renewed arousal empower him that he had filled her with his cum. It was the brand of his ownership, one he hoped made her big with his child. He wanted as many children as he could have with Genevieve, wanted to watch them grow, and wanted them to be by each other’s side until old age took them. After he fixed her gowns and lifted her easily into his arms, he carried her back to their chamber, laid her upon the bed, and stripped naked.

He slipped in bed beside her, curled his arm around her body, and pulled her close. She smelled sweet and floral, and he groaned against her neck. And then he moved his hand over her belly, spanned his fingers out, and prayed to the gods that a little babe was growing inside her.

“Now more than ever, it’s imperative that I fight, lass.” He kissed the side of her neck, knowing she was already asleep, but having to say those words regardless. He wanted his children to look upon him as their father who defeated their enemies to make their lives better, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Chapter Fifteen

Genevieve had been staring out her window for the last several moments, gazing off into the distance and the direction in which Bronson and his men had traveled. Since his departure, she prayed hard that everything would look upon him and Clan Lyon in favor. They had left last evening, and although he needed to plan and plot with his men and she hadn’t seen much of him, when he did come to her, they had spent every moment together wrapped in each other’s arms.

She wanted that closeness, because there was a part of her that worried this would be the last time she would see him. She had no timeframe on how long it would take to defeat the other clan. Would he come back to her whole? She had positive thoughts that things would be okay, because he was a skilled and trained warrior, but of course he was also human.

“Milady?”

She turned and saw Mattina standing in her doorway.

Her handmaiden bowed her head. “Lady Genevieve, the healer is here tae examine you.”

An older man stepped through the door.

“Yer no’ Healer McKenzie,” Genevieve stated bluntly. The healer who had checked on everyone in the village was an older woman, one she trusted with her life and the life she had growing inside her.

“No, milady, but I am more skilled than a healer from a peasant village,” the man said. He held up his leather bag. “I have been sent specifically by Lord Bronson for my skill. If I may proceed in checking ye?”

She shook her head, knowing this didn’t feel right at all. Bronson would have told her he was sending someone.

“Mattina, where are Myran and Dorin?” The two warriors who Bronson had made stay behind to guard her specifically should have been right on the other side of the door.

“They stepped away tae give ye privacy, milady,” Mattina said in this strange, void voice.

Genevieve shook her head again. “Please fetch them. I would feel more comfortable with them here.” She stared at the healer, but there was something about the way he watched her, as if there was this darkness that covered him, that made her feel like a rabbit caught in a trap.

Mattina finally nodded, but there was this strange expression on her face. She didn’t move for a moment, and right when Genevieve was about to ask what was wrong, Mattina turned and left her alone in the room.

“Please wait outside my chambers until they return,” she said to the healer. This man was a stranger, and one who had her instincts flaring in warning. She just couldn’t shake this feeling inside her that something was definitely wrong. The healer turned to leave, but instead of walking out the door, he shut and locked it, sealing them inside together.

“What are ye doing?”

The man turned back around, set the bag on the ground, and removed his brown robe. Underneath, he wore a kilt and a leather vest, but this wasn’t a Clan Lyon tartan.

“Who are ye?” She moved a step back and glanced at the door.

“I am a man who has come tae make it known that ye donna steal from the great Dawson McCarrick.” He bared his gnarled and discolored teeth at her. “I come in the name of Clan McCarrick.”