by Jenika Snow
They went at this for several moments. Blood and sweat dripped into Bronson’s eyes, but he refused to stop, and he refused to respond to McCarrick’s words. He needed to focus. Bronson’s father had been a strong and powerful man, but even the strongest fall at times.
“Ye want this land?” Bronson swung his sword out and connected with McCarrick’s side. The other man grunted, and although he was of Scottish descent, he didn’t wear a kilt, but a full body suit of armor. Dawson’s horse had long since run off once the arsehole had fallen from the steed. Dawson was a traitor to his heritage, to his people, and soon would not be in this world any longer. Bronson sliced his blade through McCarrick’s side once more, and the other man fell to the ground. McCarrick went down to his knees, but he swung his sword out once more. “Ye’ve forgotten where ye have come from,” Bronson said in a low, deadly voice. Another man roared out from behind Bronson, and he turned just in time to bring his blade across the abdomen of the enemy coming toward him. Innards spewed forth from the now gaping wound Bronson had created, and the man fell to the ground. He turned back around and saw McCarrick lifting his sword. Bronson brought his blade down, and cut it clean through his enemy’s shoulder. McCarrick’s arm fell to the ground, severed and now lifeless as McCarrick soon would be. Blood gushed from the wound, and the man howled in pain. But that scream turned into a hysterical laugh.
“Ye stupid fool. Ye can kill me, and this land may stay yours, but yer pretty little new wife will be dead in the bed ye share with her.” He grinned, showing his bloody teeth, and chuckled again. That laugh turned to a dying choke as blood gurgled out of his mouth.
“What the fook are ye talking aboot?” Bronson said, his anger and fear causing this monster inside of him to rise to the point it almost burst free.
McCarrick spewed blood out and fell to the ground. He braced his arm on the ground, and arcs of redness came out of his severed limb. “I suppose ye would find out soon enough,” McCarrick wheezed out, clearly barely hanging onto his life. He lifted his head and stared at Bronson. “I dispatched one of my men tae take out yer pretty wife.” He grinned. “And it should already be done.”
Bronson saw red, lost it, and lifted his sword. Everything was a haze as he swung his blade and cut off McCarrick’s head. He breathed in and out heavily, and it was when he heard Cal speaking beside him that he turned and stared at the man. Cal’s mouth moved, but Bronson couldn’t hear what he said. He heard his heart pounding in his ears, felt it in his throat, and sensed the world tilting beneath his feet. “I need tae go tae Genevieve.” His throat tightened, but Cal was a smart man and didn’t question Bronson. The other man nodded, and even if the battle hadn’t already been over with, Bronson’s men could have finished off the last bastards still hanging onto their lives. His wee wife was in trouble, and all he could think about was getting to her. He was not ready to have their life together cut short. Bodies of Clan McCarrick covered the ground, but Bronson didn’t stop to speak with his men. He charged toward his horse, climbed on the steed, and headed for the manor. Fear filled him, and he placed his hand over his heart. She needed to be okay, because if she wasn’t, may the gods help everyone around him.
****
Genevieve lay in the bed staring at the canopy. It was just starting to become light outside, and although she was so very tired she couldn’t sleep. Fear and worry kept her awake. McKenzie sat beside her bed, knitting something tiny. Genevieve looked over and smiled. It appeared to be a blanket, and she couldn’t help but place her hand over her belly.
“Ye are doing well, child?” the older woman asked and looked at Genevieve, but didn’t stop knitting.
“I’m well.” She smiled and pulled the hide up closer to her chin. Her father had left not too long ago, and although she hadn’t wanted him to worry, there wasn’t much that was kept close in a small village like this. And then when McKenzie heard of what happened, she had told her father. It had spread like wildfire, but she did feel better after she saw him. It was nice seeing someone that she loved more than anything, one that had always been there for her no matter what.
“Child, ye need tae rest, for yerself and yer babe,” McKenzie said and smiled. Her old, weathered face wrinkled, and she reached a hand out and patted Genevieve’s arm.
After the older woman had checked her for injuries, she had confirmed that Genevieve was indeed carrying Bronson’s child. Happiness and euphoria filled her, but that soon vanished when she thought of her husband still out in the field. Worry was a heavy, pounding beat inside of her. “Maybe I should sleep, but I canna knowing Bronson is still out there.” She turned and glanced at the woman that had been like a grandmother to her. “I canna rest without knowing how he fares, and the fact the messenger couldn’t find him on the field does not bode well.” She couldn’t cry although she had tears that were nigh to bursting free.
McKenzie set her knitting down and grabbed her hand. “Child, yer husband is a fierce and powerful man, and no’ just on the outside. He is smart, and has been living this life for a verra long time—”
Before McKenzie could finish there was shouting on the other side of her door, and then it was bursting open. A cry left Genevieve, because all she could think about was another one of the Clan McCarrick men coming to finish the job. But the man that stood in the open doorway was not an enemy, but her blood covered and crazed looking husband.
“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 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 was 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 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, where 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 that she had someone she could be with that 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 that 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 w
as 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
Three years later
Bronson ran his hands up and down her back, his still-aching erection pressing against his wife’s moist center. He had pounded her good and hard, made sure she was whimpering for more, but never relented, and had filled her with his seed just this morning. But now he would fill another part of her with himself, and he knew his wee wife would beg him for more. “Ye like what I have tae give ye, love.” He lowered his head and kissed the length of her spine. He had not said that as a question, because Genevieve loved everything he gave her, and always begged him for more.
“Ye kno’ I do, Bronson.” Genevieve moaned out, and thrust her arse out at him.
“In time, darlin’.” He moved back enough that he could look at her bottom. The globes were big and round, and his hands itched to spank her until redness coated them. “Ye want my big cock pushing into yer juicy arse?”
“Ay.” She moaned out and thrust her bottom out once more.
He lost it, so far gone from his need to be inside of her again, that he lifted his hand and brought it down on her left cheek. She made a squeal of surprise, and he grinned. He did it again and again, alternating between her cheeks until both mounds were a vibrant red. He stopped when he saw her clenching the sheets in her hands, and moved back an inch to see her arse and pussy in clear view. She was soaking for him, so wet in fact that her cunt glistened from her cream, and her juices slid down her inner high. “Aye, love, ye are verra far gone for me.” He smoothed his hands over her back, across her generous hips, and along the crease of her arse. He spread the cheeks wide, took in the sight of her tight hole, and the red, swollen cleft of her pussy. His mouth watered for a taste, and his cock jerked in response. He grabbed her by the waist, lifted her hips up, and brought her bottom flush with his groin. She braced herself on her hands and knees, and pressed her ass closer into him. He ran his palm up her spine, moved her hair over, and stared at the graceful arch of her neck. Her back was smooth and flawless, her arse succulent and perfectly round. Bronson had always been one for the female bottom, and his wee wife had an arse that made warriors fall to their knees. Hell, he had fallen to his knees to worship her, because a woman that had a body like Genevieve’s had surely been brought to the land by the gods.
He squeezed her ass, gripping the skin and parting it slightly once more. He was perfectly still behind her, his focus on the tight hole that he was about to fuck. Gods, he loved spanking her, and so he did it a few more times until she was all but grinding herself back on him. He grabbed his cock, stroked himself from root to tip, and loved that she gasped out in pleasure when she looked over her shoulder and saw what he was doing. He slid his finger slowly between her cheeks and rested the pad of his thumb on the tight hole in the center. “Lass, tell me ye want me tae fook yer arse good and hard.” He removed his thumb and placed the tip of his dick against her anus.
“Ye ask me every time, Bronson.” She stared at him right in the eyes, and her red hair slid along her shoulder and covered one of her breasts that swung freely beneath her.
“Fook, Genevieve, if ye only knew what ye do tae me with a look alone.” He breathed out heavily. “I could fooking devour ye whole right now, until there is nothing left.” He bent down and kissed both globes of her ass, and then slid his tongue over the small of her back, and along the length of her spine. He straightened and stared at her bottom once more. He knew her tight hole would strangle his cock with pleasure when he slid it in, and he was nigh about to burst as it was. Although he would have filled her with his cum, because Bronson wanted far more children, Genevieve had wanted this, and what kind of husband would he be if he denied his lovely wife?
His bollocks were heavy, but he knew she’d take all of him and beg for more. Her pussy lips were smooth and swollen, and he could see the red thatch of trimmed hair that covered her mound and her pussy lips. Fuck, Bronson loved that shade of red. Her sweet wetness continued to spill from her the longer he stared at her. She was so damn primed for him that his cock gave a mighty jerk forward with impatience.
He slid his fingers across her soaking slit and brought the fluid to the tip of her clit, lightly stroking it. Feeling a jolt of pleasure wash over him at her sexual moan, he continued his ministrations. He brought his fingers back to her pussy hole, coating them in her juices again, and then plunged his fingers into her. Immediately her inner muscles gripped his fingers and tried to suck him in deeper. “What a greedy little thing ye are.” Her wetness dripped down his hand as she climaxed from his words and the way he fucked her with his fingers. Before her orgasm faded, he brought his soaked fingers to her asshole and coated the small hole. It glistened in the soft light, making his cock jerk hard once more. She tensed. “It’ll be good, so fooking good, lass.”
Ever so slowly, he slid one finger into ass and let her muscles adjust to the size. He played with her for a little bit, stretching her hole with his finger, and then added another one. When he thought she was good and stretched out for him, nice and lubed from her own lubrication, he slipped his fingers from her and placed the tip of his cock at her anus again. It was hard as hell not to just shove into her and fuck her. He started to push into her and gripped onto her hips. She clenched around his cockhead, and once he was past the tight ring of muscle, he slid deep inside of her easily. They both groaned when he bottomed out inside of her, and gritted his teeth at the pleasure that coursed through him. “That’s it, darlin. Do ye feel me filling ye, claiming and owning every part of yer body?”
“Aye, Bronson,” she gasped out. “I am yers.” She was facing forward again, her head downcast, and sweat starting to coat her body. He wanted to lick those beads of perspiration off.
He groaned at those words. He started to pull out of her, and then pushed back inside. Over and over he pumped in and out of her, starting slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed with each passing second.
“Oh, gods, Bronson. Aye, that is exactly how I like it.”
“Ye like my big cock inside of yer arse, don’t ye, lass?”
She nodded, and he grinned, even though she couldn’t see him. He tightened his hold on her hips and really started fucking her. When he knew he would come, far sooner than he wanted to, he reached with a hand around her belly and found her clit to tease the bundle of nerves. He loved that when she was good and juicy for him, aroused so far she couldn’t even speak, her clit swelled. That once little nub became big and puffy, and he could pinch it with his fingers and get her off by stroking it alone. He rubbed her back and forth until her whole body tensed and she threw her head back and groaned out her orgasm. She may have been on her hands and knees, but he could see her face now as she turned it to the side. Bronson watched the flush spread up her neck and cover her cheeks, and wanted to kiss her right now. He bent forward, wrapped his hand loosely around her throat, and placed his mouth right on hers. She panted against his mouth with every thrust he made, but Bronson didn’t stop. He went harder, faster, until their skin slapped together. Their tongues moved against each other, mimicking what he was doing to her body with his cock, and reminding him of all the filthy fucking things he still wanted to do to her before the night was over with.
Wave after wave of pleasure shot straight up his spine. His balls drew up impossibly further, and he had to pull away from her and suck in a lungful of air. He held onto her hips so hard he knew there would be marks on her flesh, but he got a possessive thrill from that knowledge. He liked knowing she would wear his mark of ownership, because she was his, irrevocably. He slowly pulled out, the head of his cock almost popping free, before he plunged back inside. She looked ov
er her shoulder at him, her mouth parted, her eyes drowsy looking, and her face flushed. She was covered in sweat now, just as he was. He swallowed roughly and closed his eyes, knowing he was about to fill her with his seed.
He pumped in and out. In and out. And finally the pleasure stole his sanity. For several long, intoxicating seconds, he filled her ass with his seed, and when he couldn’t come any longer, he gently pulled out of her. He watched with ownership running through him as his cum slid out of her ass. He would have collapsed beside Genevieve, but instead he moved over to the basin, and grabbed a wet rag to clean her with. She was on her belly, her ass red from his spankings, and her eyes closed. He quietly moved toward her, cleaned her the best he could, and then slipped in bed beside her. She was warm and full, and he loved that she had gained more weight after giving birth to his two sons. He had never liked a thin woman, never wanted to see bones protruding as if she were starved. Bronson wanted his wife’s belly full with food, and wanted her curves to be the proof that he cared for her.
“I love ye, lass,” he said against her temple.
She murmured something soft and sweet, and he smiled and pulled her closer. She was his, and nothing would take that away. It had been three years, and he had much to show for it now. A son a little over two years of age, and another babe, that still suckled on Genevieve, who slept in the small room he had built onto theirs. His land was secure, his family healthy, and he looked forward to many more years, and children, with Genevieve. He closed his eyes, but just as he was about to fall asleep, the sound of their babe crying in the next room had him opening his eyes. Before he could move Genevieve was pushing up on the bed and looking over at him.
“Lass, I can get Deacon,” he said and leaned in to kiss her.
