This man has shown me a thousand times over how worthy he is. His patience and gentleness as I learned motherhood. The days when Aiden was sick and I was exhausted, he never hesitated to step up, urging me to rest when I needed it. For all he is a fierce, gruff man, he is not afraid or ashamed to show his softer side. Nor does he shirk his duties as a warrior—he is well respected for what he does.
There is a faint clink as he undoes his sword belt and stows it on the hook on the wall, safe from little fingers.
I turn back to my bread-making. My hands shake now, and I’m only half-paying attention to what I’m doing with the dough. It is ready. Just needs time to rest. I quickly put it into the bowl and cover it with a cloth. But all the while I’m thinking about the man on the other side of the room—the one whose scent reaches across the small distance and tickles my nose.
I’m wiping my hands on my apron as his footsteps approach. Slow, steady, and heavy. The floorboards of our cottage creaking.
His delectable scent wraps around me, even as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me close against the hard wall of his body. He is on the smaller side for an alpha, but he still towers over me.
A big, broad hand settles over my belly. His beard tickles as his lips find the crook of my shoulder and neck. I shiver as his lips pass over the claiming mark.
“How was your evening?” I ask.
“Aye,” he says. “Quiet but for a bit of mischief.”
“Oh?” I ask casually.
“A lass came along. You know how they are. Wenches with rutting on their mind.”
I puff out a little breath even as my cheeks grow hot. “I hope you sent the hussy on her way.”
His teeth nip at my throat. His hand remains possessively over my belly, but the other one slides up to cup my breast.
“I did,” he says. “After I gave her a good plowing.”
My gasp is utterly fake.
He tightens his grip upon me, possessive. “You think I don’t know my mate’s scent? That I don’t know the shape of her body?” His nose slides up against my hair, and he breathes. “I love the flowers you crush into the soap for washing your hair. But underneath it is the scent of you. The scent of your hot little cunt, growing slick for me, telling me my woman is ready for breeding.”
I nip at my lower lip to hide my smile.
His voice lowers. “Are you sore?”
My tummy takes a slow swoop. “A little.”
“Only a little?”
Another peek over my shoulder, and I find him regarding me with a raised eyebrow. I love his strength as much as I love his air of confidence. As I love his gentle ways with our baby boy. He’s gentle with me too, and mindful not to hurt me—never to do more than I can take—even as he uses me roughly in a way I have come to crave.
I trust in him completely. I always did, right from the start.
“Fine,” I admit, turning away. “You know well that I am.” Not that it will stop him, for we both enjoy it this way.
“Well,” he says, “I have a mind to plow my woman’s cunt again. The one who made an oath two years ago on the battlements that she belonged to me. Best I ensure I’ve done the job right and planted my seed in your womb. Again. I know you’ve been getting broody. Looking at the cot we set aside when young Aiden moved to his bed. And besides, breeding you is a pleasure unto itself.”
His hand slides downward from my belly, drawing little circles over my gown just above my mons. I know that whatcomes next will not be gentle, but that I will love every moment of it.
“I’m not going back on my vow,” I say. “And I never will.”
His chuckle is low and husky. “I swear the Goddess sent you down especially for me. I remember the day your family moved here. And the very first time I saw you. Sweet, shy little thing. Eyes nearly popping out of your head. Not often that we get new folks—the estate and lord are well respected, and it is rare for openings to occur. But your father had skills badly needed, and when the late stable master passed, word of his reputation reached Lord Bram’s ears.
And then every red-blooded alpha, beta, and lad who thought himself a man couldn’t take their eyes off you… Aye, I thumped a few heads just to make sure nobody got ideas. Went and told Bram that you were mine.” He chuckles at the memory, one he has regaled me with many times. “He said the lass needed to agree with that too, lest I want the wrath of his mate and him. Aye. Bram is a fair leader. And he gave me my chance to woo you.”
I remember that first day too, though my version differs from his in the telling. A gruff guard by the stable arch, arms folded, watching our cart roll in like we might be smugglers. I had thought him terrifying. I had also thought—in a wild, unbidden way that made me duck my head and busy myself with the trunks—that I very much liked him to look at me the way he was. I did not know then what an alpha’s regard meant. I only knew that my skin felt too warm and my dress too thin, and that when Father sent me to ask after the hay stores, I took the long way past the arch.
“I didn’t take a lot of wooing,” I say, almost indignant at how easily I fell.
“Pfft! Longest year of my life. Mayhap I knew at the first glance that we were right together. You made me court you in a manner worthy of a bard’s tale. It’s but a small price to pay.”
