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When she felt she was alone, she turned and shut her door. She wanted Bronson, and she wanted her father, but right now, she needed to be alone. There was a knock on her bedroom door moments later, and then the sound of Dorin’s voice came through the thick wood.
“Milady, may I have a word with ye?”
She opened the door and saw the massive Scot standing on the other side.
“I kno’ ye said ye wanted to be left alone, but I must stay out here tae make sure ye are okay.”
She nodded. “I kno’.”
He smiled gently. “There has already been word sent out to Lord Bronson about the situation, and someone has been sent to fetch McKenzie for ye.” He lowered his eyes to her belly, and she instinctively covered her stomach with her hand.
“Thank you.”
He nodded again and turned, stepping out of the room and blocking the door with his big body. He held his sword close to his chest, and she closed the door and went over to her bed. She wasn’t hurt, as far as she could tell, but she was suddenly very exhausted. Sleep would not ease her worries though. She knew all she would do was lie there and wait for things to go back to normal when Bronson came back.
Although, who knew if that would even happen or if Bronson would even come back alive? If there was an attempt on her life, who was to say they hadn’t already killed her warlord?
Chapter Sixteen
Bronson swung his sword with a mighty roar and sliced it clean through his enemy’s throat. Another body fell to the ground. His clan had made a surprise attack on Clan McCarrick, and now there were bodies of their enemies lying around the makeshift campground they erected. Bronson loved a good fight, but what he didn’t care for was the fact that McCarrick was far closer to Lyon Manor than he was comfortable with.
It had taken them no time at all to get to them, and in fact, if he stood on the tallest hill, he could see his home where his bride slept. But Dawson McCarrick had been smart when he planned his ambush and kept toward the backwoods that were not inhabited by the villagers surrounding his territory. And by the time people did spot them, McCarrick’s men would have already been at Bronson’s gate. All hell would have broken loose then.
He cut down another man coming after him with one colossal swing of his sword. All around him, there were men fighting, roaring out in triumph, pain, and defeat, but in the end, it was the Lyons who ruled over all. And then there he stood, standing in the center of the field, staring right at Dawson McCarrick. The other clan leader stood with blood covering him and his sword raised high. A gust of wind picked up and moved Bronson’s kilt across his shins and his hair across his cheeks.
With the violence still surrounding them, Bronson focused on the man who would soon taste the tip of his sword. They moved forward at the same time, charging each other, death coming from them, and their voices ringing out loud and clear. Their swords clashed together in a ring of metal against metal, and their grunts matched in intensity and fierceness.
“Ye actually thought tae take my land again, McCarrick?” Bronson gritted out and moved back a step. He swung out, but McCarrick was a skilled fighter and matched him in power and strength. Bronson grunted and growled out, wanting this man to lie lifeless beneath his feet like the other men who thought they could take what was his.
“Yer clan lost this land, and rightfully so when yer da could no longer hold it.” McCarrick grinned. “When I slew him, he proved too weak tae hold his own.” McCarrick swung his sword and grunted when Bronson blocked the move.
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. He 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 came from,” Bronson said in a low, deadly voice. Another man roared out from behind him, and he turned just in time to bring his blade across the abdomen of the enemy coming toward him.
