The Warlord Claims His Bride (3 page)

“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.

She stopped in front of him, and Bronson took her hand. The ceremony went rather quickly, with not many guests in attendance for the actual ceremony. But afterwards she knew they would walk the streets of the village with pipers leading the way, and then everyone would follow them back to the manor for a grand celebration. But none of that mattered right now, because Genevieve found herself transfixed to the sight of her soon-to-be husband. Blessings were said, and then they ripped their wedding plaids in half, and tied them together as a symbolism of uniting their families together.

“Ye are mine, little lass,” Bronson said in his rough voice, and stared right in his eyes. He then slipped a Celtic knot gold band along her finger, sealing their marriage.

****

“Milady, the gown is stunning,” Mattina said, her gaze running along the dark green dress Bronson had delivered to Genevieve after the wedding.

Genevieve looked down at herself, not sure if she could walk out there wearing the gown Bronson had picked for her. They were married now, and although it had been a very quick and informal ceremony, it was still a legal union. Apparently Bronson was in a hurry to start trying to produce heirs, given the fact the way he looked at her felt like he undressed her with his gaze alone. But she supposed a man at his age wasn’t getting any younger. There was a part of her that was glad the ceremony hadn’t been anything grand or dragged out, because she was ready to settle into this new role of hers.

She was now the wife of the fierce and frightening warlord Bronson Lyon of the great and powerful Clan Lyon. She might have only been wed this morning, handed off by her father to this man that could crush her with his sheer strength alone, but this was the way of her people, and of the time.

“Lord Bronson will be most pleased with ye,” Mattina said, and gave one more mighty pull of the satin laces that secured the corset around Genevieve and stepped away. The handmaiden clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. “Aye, he will be verra pleased.”

Genevieve looked at her reflection again. She was back in the same room where she had dressed for her wedding, but now she was a wedded woman, a lady of the manor, and Lord Bronson Lyon’s wife. A shiver worked through her at that thought. Surely he would crush her with his weight alone? The man was a force to be reckoned with, and his towering height and massive build showed her that the rumors of his conquests in the field and in bed were not fables. The tartan of green and blue plaid was a sash right under her bodice, and tied into a bow in the back. The silk felt smooth and soft against her bare flesh, which she was underneath the gown. Again, that was another request of the lord of the manor, and the uncomfortable sensation of having no undergarments on startled her and embarrassed her immensely. She shifted, and this flush stole over her as she moved forward an inch, and her innermost private parts pressed together. She stared at her reflection once more as the handmaiden moved over to the table and gathered supplies. The front of the gown dipped low, and because it was strapless her shoulders were completely on display. She had never exposed so much flesh before, least of all to a room full of warriors and the villagers she had grown up with.

She was to dine with Bronson and his clan today, as well as all of her village. It was a grand feast, the biggest one her small village had ever been involved with, and to say she was frightened was an understatement. Mattina returned with a vial of sweet smelling perfume and started to apply it to Genevieve’s pulse points. After the wedding and walk through the village, Genevieve had been led back to the bathing chamber. There she had washed in water smelling of bog myrtle. It was a scent that reminded her of the highlands, loved by most, hated by some. Genevieve was one that loved the beautiful yellow flowers on it, and the scent that reminded her of home. The oils that had also been in her bath made her flesh as smooth as the silk she wore. And then Mattina and several other servants had entered to wash her body until her flesh turned red and she had grown drowsy. Her nudity had never been put on display like that, but her discomfort needed to be extinguished because if this was how they ran things she needed to put her modesty in the back of her mind.

“Milady, the lord of the manor will be most pleased with yer appearance this night.”

Genevieve didn’t respond because she really didn’t know what to say. She knew what the servant was implying, that after the meal would be when Lord Lyon brought her back to his chambers and took her innocence. That would be the final step that cemented the fact she was now the wife, the property, and the future mother of the children of Warlord Bronson Lyon of Clan Lyon. Her hands started to shake uncontrollably.