by Glenn, Laura
Galen clenched his jaw. He should have tightened his hold on her when they crossed the river. This woman—this angel—had rescued him. Before her intervention, he had assumed his fate was sealed. Either his clan would reach the Graham stronghold in time to release him or the Gowrie would reach him first. If the former, the death of many of his men would have not been necessarily guaranteed, but quite likely given the difficulty of taking an entire castle. If the latter, his own death would have been unmistakably certain. The MacAirths, after all, had been a thorn in the side of the Gowries for generations—there was no way the Gowrie laird would have passed the opportunity to run Galen through out of sheer revenge.
Yes, he should have taken better care of her. Anna had almost died for her efforts. It was simply unacceptable for him to have not paid more attention to the woman he had decided to take for his own the moment he climbed out of the dungeon pit.
But would she even have him now?
Galen pushed the worry aside. Of course she would. She could barely stop touching him when they sat in the dungeon antechamber together. Plus, she was the one who had initiated the second kiss. Passion such as what she displayed could not be easily faked. She would have him simply because she wanted him.
A smug grin of male satisfaction spread across his face.
Anna had no one in his world, if her fantastical story was to be believed. Though his head told him traveling backward through time was impossible, his gut told him to trust her. The woman seemed incapable of hiding her true emotions, almost as if her very thoughts were written on her forehead. She’d had no idea where she was once they left the dungeon. Besides, there was no way a creature such as she could have gone unnoticed as she wandered about the castle. That Graham guard who had pawed at her like a pig in rut had obviously never seen her before.
Yes, Anna was alone in his world. And vulnerable. No one could learn of her true origins. The only way to protect her and repay her for aiding his escape would be to place her under his protection.
And the only way to honorably do that would be to make her his woman.
Hell, the king had been breathing down his neck for some time now to choose some sniveling mere slip of a woman, barely out of childhood, from one of the broods of the border chieftains. Galen, however, had been too busy rebuilding his clan after his father, Malcolm, had nearly destroyed it by the time of his death a dozen years ago. He hadn’t had time to think about finding a wife and producing heirs.
Malcolm MacAirth had been a good laird in the beginning. Unfortunately, the man was never the same after Galen’s mother was killed, thrown from a horse while attempting an escape from a group of Gowrie warriors. Malcolm had grown distant and, instead of spending the evenings playing with Galen as he had before she died, he locked himself in his room and downed whisky until he passed out.
Many things suffered under his father’s control. The clan was nearly torn to shreds over the lack of leadership and care. Housing became scarce, excess crops went unsold and eventually spoiled, and children died for lack of better healers. The only thing that did not suffer was the defense of the clan. That was one duty Malcolm never shirked. He was more than willing to go into battle and became renown throughout Scotland for his wildness in a fight. His tactical brilliance translated into many victories for the MacAirths, but his recklessness eventually became his downfall. He was struck down on the battlefield by the Campbell laird, Alec, during one of their many rows with the Gowries.
It had taken Galen nearly a decade to undo the damage wrought by his father’s inattentiveness. Thanks to his focus and determination, he and the MacAirths were a force to be reckoned with once again. Unfortunately, that also brought every chieftain with a spoiled daughter to unload and a desire for an alliance with a stronger clan to his doorstep.
Yes, Anna would do just fine as his wife. No messy clan alliances or weak, sniveling women to deal with. He would provide for her and protect her. Marrying her would more than repay his debt to her for aiding his escape, and then he could go on with a free mind, a clear conscience and complete control over his life.
Not to mention, a hot little wife in his bed.
The only problem was her eyes. Those gorgeous, sea-blue orbs simultaneously mesmerized and triggered something deep within his memory he could not quite grasp. They reminded him of someone else, but he could not for the life of him think of whom.
The smell of burning wood wafted toward his nose, tearing him out of his musings. He pressed his fingertips into Anna’s hand and brought her to a stop as he turned one ear toward the direction he thought the smoke was coming from.
Men’s voices. The sounds were faint, but he and Anna would have to tread carefully until he knew exactly who they were dealing with.
“What is it?” she whispered, her eyes shining at him in the moonlight.
Attempting to avoid her eyes, Galen made the mistake of dropping his gaze to her soft, rosy lips. The honeyed taste of her mouth still lingered in his thoughts, drawing his face down toward hers. His cock stiffened.
“Damn it,” he hissed, pulling away. If he did not maintain some semblance of control, he might just lead them straight into an enemy camp.
“You remain here,” he whispered, releasing his hold on her. “Do you still have my dagger?”
Her cheeks reddened under his stare and she dropped her eyes to the ground. “It was in my bag.”
Galen exhaled heavily and tilted her chin up. “Then I guess you will have to figure out how to beat off the enemy with a big stick if you are attacked.”
He grinned and her mouth curved into a relieved smile. He couldn’t resist brushing his lips against hers, yet remained careful to not get lost in her softness.
“Stay low and keep your ears open,” he whispered, pulling away. “I will come back for you.”
Desperately attempting to keep her chattering teeth under control, Anna crouched behind a tree and wrapped her arms around her knees. The memory of Galen’s lips on hers lingered and she absentmindedly brushed her bottom lip with one finger as a slow ache spread through her again. She sighed. It would be all too easy to lose herself in the sensations the man stirred within her, but she was liable to get her heart broken once again if she were not careful.
A hand settled upon her shoulder and she jumped, yelping in surprise.
“Easy, lass,” Galen laughed, grabbing her arms to keep her from falling on her backside. “It is only I.”
She flashed him a shy smile, her flesh tingling beneath his touch. “Thanks for sneaking up on me.”
“Sneaking?” His eyes widened as his brows raised. “Woman, your chattering teeth and intermittent sighing must have drowned out my footsteps. You are lucky my men are camped out there and not some other clan.”
Her lashes flew up, her mood suddenly buoyant, and she quickly brushed aside her embarrassment at being caught in the middle of daydreaming about him. “You mean we’re safe?”
“For now.” Galen’s lips thinned as he pressed them together. “We will need to figure out a way to get you to safety before we go into battle against the Grahams tomorrow.”
His words settled like a dead weight in her stomach, tempering her initial relief at reaching safety. Her body stiffened and she stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. You’ve escaped. Why don’t you just go home and be done with it?”
Galen’s eyes widened in astonishment. “A grave insult has been paid to me and my clan, Anna. I cannot simply ignore it.”
She shook off his grasp, fear twisting her gut. “Why the hell did I even help you if all you’re going to do is get yourself killed anyway?”
His jaw twitched and he stared down at her as if trying to wither her very soul. “Dare you insult me, woman?”
She rolled her eyes. Lord, was the man ever arrogant. “What? You think you’re Superman or something? Because you’re not. You’re flesh and blood just like the rest of us.”
The scar on his cheek seemed to darken in the m
oonlight filtering through the trees. “Superman?” he repeated. “What the hell are you going on about?”
She tilted her head back and propped one fist on her hip as she pointed to his jagged scar. “There. Right there is proof you’re not untouchable, MacAirth. Who the hell sewed you up anyway? I could have done better drunk and blindfolded.”
He growled and roughly clasped her hand, pulling her toward the encampment. “You will have a fire to warm yourself by and a dry place to sleep tonight. That is all you need to concern yourself with now.”
As Anna attempted to keep up with him without falling flat on her face, she carefully formulated a retort in her mind, fully prepared to let him have it once she no longer had to worry about stumbling. What she planned to say in retaliation for his high-handedness fell by the wayside, however, once they reached the edge of the encampment.
She shook her head. Was she crazy or had she just walked onto a movie set out in the middle of nowhere? Dozens of men, all dressed similarly to Galen and looking just as mean, waited for them in a small clearing dotted with campfires. The men parted as they approached and Galen slowed his gait so she could comfortably walk by his side.
Apprehension overwhelmed her as, one by one, the men’s stares fixated on her. She nervously dropped Galen’s hand. He grumbled something that carried the intonation of a curse and snatched her hand back, taking the opportunity to haul her against his side. Stunned, she glanced up at him, hoping to gain an explanation for his abrupt display of possessiveness, but he ignored her until he stopped somewhere in the middle of the encampment and threw his arm around her shoulders, crushing her into his side.
When Galen began speaking to his men, she couldn’t quite understand him at first. Yet, his speech patterns reminded her of how her grandparents had spoken Scottish Gaelic to her as a small child. Though it was more difficult when she visited them at the age of eighteen, she was able to pick up more of the language thanks to her grandmother’s determination to make her as fluent as possible before she returned to the States.
Once Anna made the connection, she understood a lot of what Galen was saying. Though she had missed the first part of his speech, she did catch his brief description of what had happened and why she was with him, which elicited grunts of approval from his audience.
Hearing the language again for the first time in over a decade clouded Anna’s eyes with tears. She brushed them away with the back of her hand. What would her grandmother say if she could see her now? Galen paused to look down at her, his eyes laced with concern. She pressed her lips together in an apologetic smile and he continued speaking to his men.
As soon as Galen stopped, several men, the more seasoned warriors in his ranks if the number of battles scars each of them sported was any indication, stepped forward to discuss the particulars of the coming battle. Galen stood with his arm around Anna’s shoulders as he spoke with them. Exhaustion crept back into her legs and she attempted to push away from him several times so she could find somewhere to sit, but he determinedly held her in place.
She turned her face toward him to interrupt him, but the dark smudges under his eyes caught her attention. The stubborn man needed proper food and rest or he would certainly get himself killed in the battle he was so determined to fight come morning.
She paused for a few moments, desperately trying to recall the Gaelic she had been taught. The harder she tried, however, the farther the words seemed to move out of her grasp.
She poked Galen to get his attention.
He ignored her.
Anna sighed in exasperation. “Excuse me,” she said in her native English. She wriggled out of Galen’s grasp and stepped in front of him. “I don’t know how many of you can understand me, but your…”
She paused, unable to remember who Galen was to these men. “What are you again?” she whispered out the side of her mouth.
He clasped his hands behind his back, flashing an amused smirk. “I am their laird.”
She nodded and turned back to her audience, all of whom stared at her like she’d just announced her father was the king of England. “Your laird has barely eaten in two days. If you wish to continue planning the demise of several dozen Gowries—”
“Grahams,” Galen corrected. “They were the ones holding me in the dungeon. The Gowries will have to wait until another time.”
“All right, fine. If you want to continue planning the deaths of several unsuspecting Grahams,” she amended with a roll of her eyes in Galen’s direction, “you’ll have to do so while your laird is eating. We need fruit, like apples, plenty of fresh water and some type of meat.”
“Venison,” Galen whispered. “And ale, not water.”
“You’ll drink water,” she snapped. “You’re dehydrated.”
“Did you just insult me, woman?”
Anna whipped her head around in exasperation only to find his face a few inches from hers, his dark eyebrows raised in obvious confusion. She stepped back from him, determined to not allow him to rattle her.
“Dee-hi-draat-ed?” he repeated, struggling to mimic her pronunciation.
She hesitated, blinking with confusion. Then it hit her—the word “dehydrated” simply wasn’t a part of his vocabulary. “It’s not an insult,” she assured him in a whisper as she touched his arm. “It just means you haven’t had enough to drink.”
Galen straightened his back and nodded, apparently satisfied with her answer. “You may continue.”
She turned toward his men. “All right then, meat, venison if it is available, lots of water and whatever else you may have would be greatly appreciated.”
A man with thick, dark-blond hair who appeared about Galen’s age stepped forward. “I am truly sorry, my lady, but we do not have access to clean water here. Ale would be much safer for the laird to drink.”
Anna did not dare turn around, convinced Galen’s triumphant smile was burning into the back of her head. “All right,” she conceded. “Ale will have to do.”
“Anna, this is Adam,” Galen said with a slight laugh. “My second-in-command.”
“It is a pleasure, my lady.” The blond man smiled as he bowed his head toward her.
She smiled, brushing aside her confusion at being called “my lady”. “Nice to meet you.”
“Galen!” came a shout from off to the side.
All three turned as a tall, dark-haired young man who looked barely out of his teens made his way through the crowd. With the exception of his slighter build and hair a half-shade lighter, the young man was the spitting image of Galen.
He stopped an arm’s length away and dropped to his right knee, bowing his head. “Laird, I am very sorry. If I had known the Grahams were so dishonorable…”
Galen crossed his arms as the young man’s voice trailed off. “Get up, Geoffrey,” he snarled.
Anna stiffened at the evident anger in Galen’s voice, her stomach jumping. She instinctively stepped back in case he lashed out.
Galen’s eyes darted to her and he shot her a scowl that suggested she stay put before he turned his attention back to Geoffrey. Blood rushed to her face. She needed to remember this man was not James.
“We have cattle enough,” Galen stated as his younger brother stood and lifted his brown eyes.
“I know.”
“Have I not taught you better than that?” Galen asked, lowering his voice to a bare whisper. “You abandon the cattle if you are being pursued.”
Anna glanced from brother to brother in surprise. Could she actually believe what she was hearing? This had all been about stealing cattle from the Grahams? And, moreover, Galen was actually condoning it?
“So why did you not do that?”
Geoffrey’s mouth broke into a sheepish grin. “I promised Annabelle a cow of her own.”
“What?” asked Adam, taking a threatening step toward him.
“If you had ever tasted the lass’s cheese,” Geoffrey explained with a faraway smile, seemingly unconcerned by Adam’s menac
ing stare. “If angels made cheese, it would taste like hers. I swear on my life it would.”
“Cheese,” Galen repeated, deadpan.
Geoffrey nodded earnestly.
“I exchanged my life for yours and sat in a dungeon for two days so you could get cheese from a milkmaid?”
Geoffrey’s cheeks reddened as his expression fell.
Adam crossed his arms, mimicking his laird’s stance. “Methinks the lass promised you a bit more than cheese, did she not? Obviously, I have not kept you busy training as I should have.”
Geoffrey cast his gaze to the side, but not before Anna caught what she was certain was a secretive twinkle in his eyes.
She pursed her lips to prevent her building laughter from escaping her throat. Guilt set in over finding the whole situation so amusing, especially since it could very well have cost Galen his life.
That thought brought back to mind her collection of food for Galen. She quickly excused herself and turned to find several men waiting to hand her some of their provisions.
“I have some cheese, my lady,” Geoffrey called from behind.
Warmth surged through Galen’s chest. Despite her highly irregular behavior at interrupting his discussion with his warriors, he was impressed by how effortlessly she had taken charge and thrown out orders that were immediately obeyed by his men. A vague sense of rightness settled in his chest and he smiled. Yes, Anna would make an excellent laird’s wife.
Her soft voice floated on the breeze. “Tapadh leibh,” she repeated in Gaelic with a smile to each man bringing her donations.
Gaelic? He replayed her voice in his head several times and each time the words resonated louder and louder. A strange coldness seeped into his heart. He had assumed her only language to be English simply because that is what she had spoken to him. He had never thought to ask her otherwise.
Adam slapped Galen on the back. “Lucky bastard,” he quipped, nodding toward Anna. “It is not often a woman like that practically lands in your lap. The men are already taken with her, especially since she is thanking them in our language. Did you teach her that?”