Garrick's drunken laugh still hung in the air like a foul stench as I stepped forward.
I didn't shout. I didn't swing the axe. I simply moved between him and my mother, letting the full weight of my nineteen-year-old frame fill the doorway. Years of farm labor had forged me broad and solid—shoulders like oak beams, arms thick and corded from swinging this very axe. Garrick was bigger, but ale and laziness had left him soft. I wasn't.
"Uncle," I said, voice low and steady, "you're bleeding on my mother's floor. Best you leave before you stain the rushes worse than your reputation."
He blinked, bloodshot eyes narrowing. The cut on his forehead from whatever tavern brawl he'd started earlier still trickled blood. "Boy, you think you can—"
"I think the baron's reeve rides through tomorrow to collect the spring tithe," I cut in smoothly. "And he'd be very interested to hear how you've been shorting the village granary again. Strange how those missing sacks always seem to end up in your barn."
Garrick's face twisted with rage. He opened his mouth, but the words died when I let the axe head rest against the doorframe with a heavy *thunk*. Not a threat—just a reminder. Behind me, Mother's breath hitched, surprise or maybe pride. Mira pulled the girls tighter against her.
"Get out," I repeated. "Now."
He spat on the threshold, muttered something foul about whelps thinking they were men, and stumbled back into the night. The door slammed shut behind him hard enough to rattle the iron latch.
Silence settled over the longhouse, broken only by the hearth's soft crackle and Mira's quiet sniffles.
Mother turned to me. Those piercing green eyes searched my face, and for a moment the strong, commanding woman who ran our household looked softer. Almost vulnerable. Firelight danced across the deep valley of her cleavage, the thin linen of her dress damp with the day's sweat and clinging tighter from the tension. Her scent washed over me—woodsmoke, rosemary from the pottage, and that warm, earthy essence that was purely hers. It struck me like a brand, straight to my cock.
"Elias," she said quietly, "that was… bold."
I shrugged, forcing my gaze up from the way her thick thighs shifted beneath her skirt. "He's been circling you like a dog in heat since Father died. I'm tired of pretending I don't see it."
Lila's eyes flicked toward me again, sharper this time. Nora kept her head down, cheeks flushed pink. Mira simply stared at the floor, the bruises on her arms darkening like fresh accusations.
Mother exhaled slowly, the motion making her full breasts rise and strain against the laces. "Come. Sit, all of you. We won't send Mira and the girls back tonight. Not with that beast still roaming."
We ate in heavy silence. Thick pottage with barley and root vegetables, and a rare slab of salted pork I'd traded for the week before. Every time Mother leaned over to refill a bowl, her hip brushed my shoulder. Each time, my mind flooded with the image of those wide, powerful hips pinned beneath me, her commanding voice breaking into soft, submissive whimpers.
After the meal, Mira and the girls took the spare pallet in the loft. Mother banked the fire lower, then gestured for me to follow her outside. The night air was cool and damp, stars sharp overhead above the thatched roofs of Willowbrook. We walked the short path to the woodpile, far enough that our voices wouldn't carry.
She stopped and crossed her arms beneath her chest, pushing her magnificent breasts higher, the shadowed cleavage suddenly more inviting. "You've changed these last few months, Elias. Stronger. Sharper. The way you spoke to Garrick… that wasn't the boy I raised."
I met her eyes steadily. "I'm not a boy anymore, Mother."
Her lips parted slightly. The air between us thickened. She reached out, her callused hand resting on my forearm. The touch was warm, rough from years of labor, yet it sent heat racing across my skin. Her thumb brushed slowly over the muscle there, almost absentminded. I could feel the quick pulse in her wrist.
"You protected us tonight," she murmured, voice husky. "Me. Your aunt. The girls. I… thank you." Her voice dropped further. "A woman gets tired of carrying the weight alone. Even a strong one."
My cock throbbed hard against my breeches. I wanted to pull her against me right then—feel those full breasts crush against my chest, taste the salt on her neck, hear her gasp my name like I was the man she truly needed. Instead, I covered her hand with mine and squeezed gently.
"You don't have to carry it alone anymore."
She held my gaze for a long moment. Something flickered in her eyes—heat, conflict, a mother's love twisting into something deeper and more dangerous. Then she pulled back, her cheeks faintly flushed even in the moonlight.
"Tomorrow's market day," she said, clearing her throat. "The reeve will be there, along with half the village gossips. Three fools have been sniffing around me again. Miller Harl claims his mill needs a woman's touch. Blacksmith Thorne keeps offering to shoe our ox for free if I'll 'warm his forge.' And Lord Aldric's youngest son sent a silver pin with a note calling me 'the fairest widow in the barony.' As if a boy barely older than you could handle a woman like me."
Jealousy burned hot in my gut. Those men didn't see her the way I did. They saw a prize to rut and discard. I saw the woman who had raised me—the experienced, commanding beauty who secretly ached to submit to the right man.
"I'll handle the market," I said firmly. "You stay here with Mira and the girls. Keep the door barred."
She smiled then, small, tired, and proud. "My son, playing the man of the house." Her hand brushed my arm one last time as she turned back toward the longhouse. The sway of her round, powerful ass beneath the thin dress made my mouth go dry.
I stayed outside a while longer, splitting a few more logs in the dark to burn off the ache in my body. Each swing drove the image deeper: Mother beneath me, gentle and needy, those strong thighs wrapped around my waist as she whispered that no one else could ever satisfy her the way I could.
By morning, village gossip would spread. The suitors would grow bolder. Garrick would lick his wounds and begin plotting. External threats were circling closer like wolves.
But inside me, the hunger raged louder than ever.
I loved her.
I wanted her.
And I was going to make her mine—protect her, claim her, and satisfy her in ways those fools never could.
The only question was how long I could keep that hunger leashed before it consumed us both.
**End of Chapter 2**