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
“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
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