The Warlord Claims His Bride Read online

  “Da, this isn’t a farmer living beside us but the warlord that reclaimed his land. The body count alone that was left in his wake is frighteningly large.” Another shiver worked through her. She realized she had many of those instances where a shiver took control of her, when seeing or even thinking about Bronson. How could a man she had never even spoken to have this kind of effect on her?

  “I kno’, lass, and that is why I want ye tae wed him.”

  She shook her head, not knowing what to say. She was brought up not to argue and to always obey, and if her father hadn’t approved of her refusing her one and only marriage proposal, she would be a farmer’s wife right now. But this instance made her want to lash back with words. Her moving away, even if just to the manor in their village, was not the best thing right now. “I am happy with this life, Da. I want tae stay here, tae be with ye and make sure ye’re taken care of.” She smiled at her father, knowing that seeing him alone would tear her up inside.

  “Sweetheart, I am a grown man, have lived my life, and now it is time for ye tae live yours.”

  “And if I said I donna want this? Will ye still make me?” The look he gave her wasn’t cruel or heartless, because her father was one of the gentlest men she knew. He looked at her like a father that was desperate for his daughter to have a better life.

  “Lord Bronson Lyon can protect ye, make ye happy, of that I am sure. He will provide for ye, child.” Her father cleared his throat, and she heard the emotion in his words. “Staying with yer da is not a proper life for a woman of yer age. Ye need tae create a family of yer own, lass.”

  Now she was crying big, fat tears, and she grew angry at not being able to control her emotions. “Da, and what if he donna want me? I am not thin and beautiful like the other women that surely he wants. I have also led a life on the farm. Ye kno’ the women that will want Lord Bronson will be of upper-class. ” She reached out and held his hand. “I love working with ye and the animals, and wouldn’t want it any other way.” She looked down at the table. “The chance he may not want me is verra big.”

  Her father scoffed. “Bollocks. He would have to be insane not to want a beauty like ye.” Her da reached a scarred, dirt stained hand out, and brushed a lock of hair away that had fallen across her face. “Ye look just like yer Ma.” Her father smiled. “With the fiery red hair and the stunning green eyes.” He let go of her hair. “O’ course he will want you, lass, and if no’ then he is no’ worthy of ye.” Her father stood, grabbed his straw hat, and looked at her once more. “In a fortnight we will go to the lord’s manor, so put on yer prettiest dress, and smile, darlin’. Bronson does no’ want a wealthy brought up wife. He wants a woman that is a peasant and has had tae work for the life she has.” And then her father left, and Genevieve knew that was it. Her life and future could shift drastically with one word from Bronson, and that one word was “Mine”.

  ****

  It had been a fortnight since Bronson had announced to the small village of Landonston that he would be searching for a bride to help him to carry on the Lyon namesake. There were villages around Landonston: Harrowsworth, Kellerstell, Finnertystall, and Bluendot. All five villages had once been Lyon territory until a group of savages had come and taken that away from his family. It was a land that had once been filled with livestock, hardworking men wanting to take care of their wives and children, farming, and with happy families that were loyal to the Lyons. But after his father had been killed on the battlefield, the Lyon territory had been given to different men by Dawson McCarrick. Even thinking of the name of the man that murdered his father had a red rage covering his entire body. Over the many, many years of the land not being claimed by Clan Lyon everything had declined until it was desolate villages that were scrounging to survive.

  No longer would that be the case. Now that Bronson had secured all five territories, it would stay Clan Lyon land until time’s end.

  He sat behind the scarred, but well used, table in the dining hall, and watched as the women from the villages were ushered in. He had four of his highest warriors sitting beside him, and although tonight was about him finding a bride, that wasn’t to say the other men were not also ready for more than just bloodshed and war, and occasionally rutting between a wench’s thighs. The women continued to come forth. Although there were only so many women in the five villages, and they certainly were not from high standings, Bronson had purposefully decreed it so. He wanted a woman who knew the meaning of hard work, and could give as well as receive. If he were to wed a woman of social standing such as his own, one who had never tended to an animal or a field, or had never known what it was like to lose something important, how could he expect to have children with her that were strong and had good values? No, he wanted a peasant wife, one that could give as well as could receive. But even though his desires for a wife had been known, there had still been offers by other lords to give their daughters to Bronson.

  When the last woman was ushered in with their escorts stationed behind them, Bronson stood from his seat and moved down the platform to stand before them. The scent of where they came from still lingered around them even though they were freshly cleaned and clothed. He liked that, though. Bronson wasn’t a man that wanted flowery and sweet smelling aromas to hide who they really were. He had death and blood, dirt and anger that constantly surrounded him. It was engrained in his skin, his heart and soul. After they were wed he would have her scented for his pleasure, but only for that first time, only to arouse every sense that they had. When he had his bride in his bed and displayed for his pleasure, he would run his lips and hands over every inch of her body. His cock became hard at those thoughts.

  He started at one end and looked at each woman. The majority of them were of the same slender build. Bronson had always liked the thicker female form. The woman he chose this day would not only be his to look after, but he would make sure her family was also taken care of. If he was a cruel leader he wouldn’t have cared about the people that resided under his territory, but Bronson was far from cruel when it came to others he considered under his protection. He glanced at each woman thoroughly. Tall, short, hair the color of honey, and some a deep muddy color like the bottom of the loch that surrounded Landonston. But then there was the sight of a woman with her head downcast, her hands behind her back, and her hair the color of the hottest fires that he had ever seen. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, couldn’t look at anyone else but her. Her body was wrapped in a deep emerald colored dress, a striking complement to the shade of her hair. The material also hugged her curves so he didn’t have to visualize her body, as her endowments were on full display for him to see. Bronson liked a woman with curves and flesh on them that he could hold onto as he plunged in and out of their bodies. He wanted a woman that could handle the type of passion he gave her, and this woman, with the hair the color of flames, looked like she could hold her own between his sheets.

  He moved toward her, and when he stood right in front of her he inhaled deeply. She smelled fruity, yet of the earth. She still had yet to meet his gaze, so he placed his finger under her chin and slowly lifted her head.

  “Lass, look at me.” And then he was staring into the greenest eyes he had ever seen, ones the color of the new and fresh moss that grew along the rocks of the Landonston Loch. He didn’t need to look at any of the other women to know this was the one he wanted. He knew it as well as he knew he needed to take his next breath and where every scar he’d earned on the battlefield was located on his body. This young little lass was exactly what he wanted, and she was who he would claim as a bride.

  Chapter Two

  Genevieve stared up at the massive man standing before her. She imagined him all those times she had seen him, how he had made her feel, and what she had wanted to do with him. He would be riding on his black stallion, his tartan waving in the air as his men held it high and proud. He was a controlled man, and one that was patient. It was all those things, but so much more, that made a good leader,
and as she looked into his icy blue eyes, she knew he was one of those. She knew nothing about the man in front of her aside from what was rumored about his fierceness when taking down his enemy. It had taken him all those years to conquer all and reclaim what was his. But now that she was so close to him, seeing his bare chest that was so hard and defined, but also littered with scars from his battles, she knew that this man could very well be her downfall. How was it possible to want a man as much as she wanted him, but have never said one word to him? His shoulders were so broad, and blocked out everything behind him so she felt like it was just the two of them right here and now.

  “What is yer name, lass?” He spoke so deeply, so intimately almost, that she felt as if he had reached out and stroked his big, weathered and scarred hands along her body.

  She didn’t want to make a fool out of herself or of her family because she couldn’t control herself. “Genevieve McNoland, my Lord.” She tried to sound stronger, but her voice was meek, timid, and probably appealing to a rugged warrior like him. He must like a woman to be submissive, to give herself to him with no fight. But then again Genevieve knew the women had to flock to him most willingly. He didn’t say anything after she spoke, but he did continue to stare at her. Genevieve couldn’t drag her gaze away from him either. His eyes were the color of the noon sky, light and blue, and crystal clear. His hair was dark as night, longer around his face, but still showed off the angular, hard, and square structure of his face. He was as masculine a man as she had ever seen, and again, as was every time he was near or she saw him, Genevieve felt tendrils of desire consume her. For the past twenty years she had been living on this world she had never felt the tingling sensation that started at the base of her spine, or the warmth that settled between her thighs in her nether region. That is, not until she had seen him on his mighty steed that very first time. The wetness that spilled from her had her cheeks feeling hot as the fire that the great dragons of the sky breathed. And she felt all of this because this warlord was staring at her in a way that made her feel like a woman nude right before him.

  “Yer hair, it is a verra beautiful color, one that I donna see verra often.” He slid his gaze to her hair, and then, causing her heart to beat an erratic tempo, he lifted his muscular arm, and picked up a strand of hair off her shoulder.

  Her heart pounded so very hard in her chest that she feared it would burst right through. Although she could imagine herself alone with this man, this interaction between Lord Bronson and herself made her very aware that there were others watching. She suddenly felt theirs gazes on her, so heavy and penetrating that gooseflesh popped out along her arms. Lord Bronson slid his gaze along her gown, lower and lower until she knew he was staring at her breasts. The dress had been her mother’s, the one she had stitched by hand before Genevieve was even born, but had never gotten to wear. Genevieve had been hesitant to put it on, but her father had insisted. And so here she was, wearing this gorgeous gown that had never seen the light of day. She was trying to entice a man that lived a life that both terrified her, and if she was being honest with herself … excited her.

  He took a step back and looked at her up and down, as if he could truly see through the materials that covered her form. Lord Bronson stood before her, a few feet back and looking every bit as intimidating as he truly was. As with the other warriors he wore only his knee length kilt in the blue and green design of his clan’s tartan. His black boots were worn from the life of a warlord that took what he wanted without caring about the consequences. His chest was bare, and the leather straps secured around his bulging biceps seemed to amplify his muscles. She lifted her gaze back to his face and watched as he slowly lifted the corner of his mouth. It was a smile of a man that knew what he wanted, and was about to take it.

  “Genevieve McNoland, I do believe ye will be my wife.”

  And with those words her fate was sealed.

  ****

  The wedding

  Genevieve smoothed her hands down her white gown and took a deep breath. She was only moments away from marrying Bronson Lyon of Clan Lyon, the fearsome warlord. Could she really do this? Was this really going to be her fate? Could she be the wife he needed her to be? Allow a man into her bed that had killed countless people? It was so strange to be standing here, knowing that just in a few moments she would be wed to the most powerful man in all of the five territories. She feared for many things, but all of them came back to her not being able to please him, and disgracing her family’s name. In reality it did not matter, because she was to marry him even if she was kicking and screaming her way through it. He had already declared that she was his, and because of that her fate was set in stone. This was what was to happen, but she never would have thought herself in this spot, on this day, all those years ago when she first saw him riding through the village.

  The ceremony was but a simple one, and certainly not extravagant in comparison to the celebrations that she knew the warlords from other lands had. But she was thankful, because she felt out of place at it was. Her handmaiden, Mattina, was but a young woman, and had just been brought in to work at the manor only days before. She was quiet, keeping to herself, but Genevieve wouldn’t have been in the mood for conversation right now anyway. She glanced at Mattina in the mirror that hung in the room Genevieve had been assigned to dress in. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen, if that. Although her handmaiden had been soft spoken and timid even to Genevieve, she couldn’t help but feel strange at having Mattina in her presence. Maybe it was nothing, and the prickling sensation she felt on the back of her neck was a combination of her upcoming nuptials and the fact that tonight she would no longer be an untouched female, but claimed by a warlord.

  “Have ye ever been so frightened ye wanted tae run and hide?” Genevieve hadn’t meant to say the words out loud, or maybe she did, because she was looking for a sympathetic ear?

  Mattina glanced at Genevieve, and this strange expression crossed her face. “No, milady, but I have felt verra frightened, and I can tell ye are verra scared.” Mattina glanced down and continued to smooth her hands down her gown. “But I am sure everything will be okay.”

  Genevieve nodded, but Mattina was no longer looking at her. She hoped things would be okay, but only time would tell that for sure. There was a knock at the chamber door, and then it was pushed open. One of the servants stepped inside.

  “Milady, everything is ready, if ye are finished with preparation.”

  Genevieve took a deep breath and nodded to her reflection. She was as ready as she would ever be, she supposed. She turned and faced the servant, and clenched her hands into tight fists. She followed the servant out and tried to control her breathing as she walked down the long stone corridor. She saw the open doorway to the room where she would be married in, and her pulse raced even faster. But then when she thought she would faint, her father stepped through the archway and smiled at her. They moved toward one another at the same time, and her father reached out and took her hands. This was certainly not a traditional high society wedding, but then again Bronson didn’t follow rules of any kind.

  “Ye’re beautiful, lass.”

  She smiled and willed herself not to cry tears of happiness.

  Her father squeezed her hands and moved to stand beside her, ready to give her away.

  “Child, are ye okay?” her father asked softly.

  She turned and looked at him, at the way his face was wrinkled from working out in the field during the summer days, at the age that covered him even more since her mother had passed. He had been her rock since the moment she had come into this world, but now he would have to step back and let another man care for her. She trusted her father implicitly, even if she was unsure of this path she would be taking, but she knew that everything he did was for her best interest. He may never want for anything ever again if he so chose it that way, but she knew that her father enjoyed the simple life. That was all either of them had ever known, and up until now she had never
seen herself in a different situation. “I’m okay, just verra nervous.”

  Her father wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to kiss her on the check. “I feel like this is a good match, sweetheart. I kno’ that Lord Bronson will treat ye honorably, lass.”

  She smiled and nodded, but even the smile felt forced. She trusted her gut, and her instincts told her this wasn’t a bad match, just a very scary one because it was new. She took a very deep breath, grabbed her father’s hand, and nodded. “I’m ready, Da.”

  He father smiled and nodded, and then they walked through the archway together, and into the great room that had been converted for their wedding. White flowers and the tartan of Clan Lyon adorned the hall, but it was hard to focus on anything else aside from the man that stood a few feet from her. Bronson stood in his Scottish ceremony wear. He wore his kilt, one that made him look so handsome but deadly at the same time. He was shirtless, and although he didn’t wear the official ceremonial wedding attire, he was dressed as a warrior should be. She swallowed her nervousness and looked at the golden, battle-scarred skin of his chest. The masculinity poured from him, and her fear took a backseat to her desire and female appreciation for him. Normally Bronson and his men would be dressed in their finest clothing, but these were not lords and princes that were trying to show their wealth. These men were of the warrior breed, and because of that they only wore their kilts and shoes, had their weapons strapped to them in a show of their dangerous air, and clearly did nothing in the traditional sense. Several men stood beside Bronson, their postures stiff, hardened, but all showing their respect. This was certainly not how a wedding ceremony was normally done, but she continued to tell herself that this hadn’t been normal courting. She just needed to accept how things went with Clan Lyon.