Warlord

“Bronson.” She breathed out his name, and her heart started pounding. He stood there, looking like a beast that crawled out from the very pits of fire. His breathing was erratic, and if she hadn’t known he would never harm her, she would have been frightened at that very moment. She noticed from the corner of her eye that McKenzie had gotten up and was heading toward the door. Before she could thank the healer, she was gone and had the door shut behind her, giving them the privacy they needed.

“Lass,” Bronson said in this hoarse, broken voice. And then he was striding forward and kneeling before her at the edge of the bed. Blood covered his bare chest and kilt, his face, and his hands, but even a dirty mess, she had never loved anyone more than him at that moment. “Gods, I feared ye were….” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Myran and Dorin told me what happened. Fook, lass, I wish I were here tae make sure ye were okay.” He had his hands cupping either side of her face.

“Bronson, please, I just want to bask in the fact that ye are truly here and that our child will have a father.” She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “McKenzie confirmed it earlier this evening.” Now she cried, just let the tears fall, because she could no longer stop them. They were ones of fear, happiness, worry, but most of all from the uncertainty of everything. Bronson rested his forehead on her belly and started murmuring endearments in Gaelic to her. For long moments, they did nothing but stay in that position, but she wouldn’t have changed it for anything in the world. It was times like this, when life and death were thrown upon someone, that she realized the importance of living in this world, instead of just existing.

He pulled back and kissed her hard. They were surrounded by darkness on a daily basis, of threats and evil that wanted to see them gone. It wasn’t just because she was Bronson’s bride now. Even as a peasant, she had been faced with starvation, death from disease, and the harshness of the seasons. This was life, and she was glad she had someone she could be with who knew how hard but real it really was.

“I will never let anyone hurt ye again, lass,” he murmured against her belly. He pushed the hide away from her and lifted her gown over her stomach. “And I will make sure this wee one will never kno’ pain or be frightened either.” He tightened his hold on her. “I have let ye down.”

She shook her head. “No, Bronson, ye didn’t let anyone down.” She cried harder, because no one had ever wanted to care for her the way this man did. Her father loved her, but the kind of affection Bronson gave her was something else altogether. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his thick, dark hair and didn’t care that he was a filthy mess. He was here with her, alive, and there was nothing on this planet that could take this moment away from her. “I kno’ ye will, Bronson.”

He lifted his head, and she saw this raw vulnerability reflected in his face. “I love ye, lass.”

She smiled, placed her hand over his that was still on her belly, and said, “And I love ye.”

Epilogue One

Nine months later

“My wee wife.” Genevieve heard her husband’s voice through the pain she felt. “So strong, so beautiful, love.”

Her heart was thundering in her ears, and she felt damp with sweat, every inch of her. Pain unlike anything she’d ever felt claimed her… or tried to. But she knew it was all worth it. Their child would be here soon enough, and all of this would seem like a long dream.

More pushing. More pain, but then their child was born.

Tristian. That’s what they’d call him.

It was as if the heavens opened up and gave them the greatest gift of all.

The little cry that came from their son was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. She cried happy tears, the wetness sliding down her cheeks as she was given their child for the first time.

And as she looked down at their wee babe, she knew he’d be strong, just like his da.

“A son,” Bronson said, and the pride she heard in her husband’s voice had her looking up and smiling.

“A strong son,” she replied. “Listen to his wails.”

Bronson grinned. “Aye, strong indeed.”

She gave their wee child a kiss on his tiny head then handed him over to Bronson. Her husband was so gentle as he took the wrapped babe, and their son looked so tiny in his massive arms. Bronson sat beside her on the pallet, and it was clear he couldn’t stop smiling.