Claimed by a Laird

by Glenn, Laura

  “Easy, son,” the Campbell cautioned in a low voice. “He is only trying to get the better of you.”

  “Off your horse!” Galen demanded. “Let us end this once and for all!”

  James rolled his eyes again and sighed dramatically. “I am growing weary of this. Men, take care of them. I must see to my wife.”

  “Just try it and see how far you get,” the Sinclair warned in a gravelly voice from behind the Gowrie.

  Galen dared a glance toward Rathe just as the Gowrie’s men were surrounded by Sinclair warriors. He caught Rathe’s eyes, which glowed in the sunlight peeking through the clouds overhead. His menacing, determined glare softened somewhat as he stared back at Galen, but a battle mentality was still clearly etched on Rathe’s face.

  Rathe gave him a slow, confident nod. “Finish him, MacAirth. We will see to his men.”

  James’ face glowed red, the veins in his neck bulging. “I told you to fight, you cowards!”

  The Gowrie’s men drew their swords, faces dim with the certainty of their doom. But, before the Gowries had the chance to move toward the MacAirths, Sinclair swords were pressed into their backs and the Gowries’ hands stilled. A dreadful silence fell upon them as the battle raged in the valley behind the Sinclairs.

  James growled in fury, frantically glancing to either side. His men dropped their gazes to the ground, unable to meet their leader’s confused stare.

  Galen could barely believe it. It was unheard of in the Highlands for a warrior to not back up his laird, even in the face of certain death. If anything, this was evidence of James’ selfishness and lack of honor.

  “You want to finish this?” James screamed at Galen. “Then let us do so!” He kicked his heels into his horse’s side. The stallion reared, wild-eyed, and then bolted toward Galen.

  Eyes wide in derangement, James lifted his sword in the air, ready to plunge it into Galen’s chest. Galen dove to the side, but not before the Gowrie’s blade sliced his arm.

  Pain shot through him as he landed on his shoulder and rolled to his feet in time to watch James turn his horse and barrel toward him once again. This time, however, Galen dodged the sword and grabbed a hold of the Gowrie’s belt to drag him off the horse.

  James grunted in frustration as he hit the ground, his knee twisting as his foot tangled in the stirrup. Breathing heavily, Galen smacked the horse on the rump to get it out of the way and slowly circled James as the man pushed himself onto his feet.

  “Your father taught you poorly,” Galen muttered, his lips curling into a snarl. “That was far too easy.”

  James laughed and held his arms out wide in a mock-apologetic stance. “I am a far better lover. Just ask your wife.”

  Galen lunged toward him, the air ringing with the clash of their swords.

  “Tell me,” James sneered as they backed away and circled one another. “Do you love hearing Anna moan my name as you fuck her?”

  He slashed his sword in Galen’s direction, the blade clanging against Galen’s once again. Galen’s heart pumped hard as rage surged through him. James backed away and lunged at him again and again, frustration creeping into his scrunched features.

  “You know what I am going to do after this, MacAirth?” James grunted, limping slightly. “I am going into that keep to cut your bastard out of my wife with the same blade I plunge through your heart.”

  Galen refused to acknowledge the ghastly promise, sensing his enemy’s carefully crafted façade of control cracking under the pressure. James surged toward him again and Galen knocked his blade to the ground. Using the momentary advantage, he kicked James in the back of the knee and then followed with a swift punch to the jaw, sending him to his knees.

  James’ sword fell from his hand and bounced against the hard-packed earth as he dropped forward onto his hands. Galen kicked him in the stomach and then grabbed him by the jaw, pressing his knee into James’ back and pulling him onto his knees.

  The air prickled with tension. Ignoring the astonished stares of the dozen or so Gowries in front of him, Galen yanked James’ chin up to expose his neck as the man shuddered against him. The scar on Galen’s cheek twitched as James’ eyes moistened with tears.

  “Please,” James whispered from between gritted teeth.

  Galen slowly shook his head, his muscles tensing with determination. “No. It is finished.”

  With one quick slice of Galen’s blade against James’ neck, Galen made good on his word. Gasping, James crumpled to the ground, his blood pooling around him. With a numb heart, Galen stepped back as his sworn enemy twitched for several moments until he finally stilled.

  As Galen exhaled, his arm throbbed. A hand clasped his shoulder and he turned to find Alec standing next to him.

  “Thank you,” the old man whispered before turning his attention to the Gowrie’s men who stared at the lifeless body of their leader. “Get him out of here and go home to your families. We have no quarrel with you.”

  “As for you,” Alec said, swiveling his greenish-blue eyes back to Galen, “get yourself to the keep. Annie needs you right now.”

  Galen nodded, the blood slowly returning to his heart at the mere mention of his wife’s name. “The battle needs to be stopped first. I will not risk the lives and health of any more of my warriors or those of the other clans.”

  “We will take care of finishing the battle.” Rathe brought his horse to within a few feet of Galen. “Go make sure my godchild is all right.” He grinned and gave Galen a little wink.

  “Your godchild, my ass,” Alec grumbled. “There is no way in hell the Satan of the Highlands will have anything to do with my grandchild.”

  * * * * *

  Anna fell back against the pillow, heaving. Barely aware of the cold, wet washcloth pressed against her forehead, she groaned and turned her head toward the light streaming in from the window. The roar of the fighting in the valley finally broke through her exhausted daze.

  “What?” she whispered. “What is that?”

  “It is nothing, my sweet,” Lenora assured her as she removed the washcloth.

  She twisted around and dunked the washcloth into a bowl of water, sloshing it around before wringing it out. Through heavy, drooping eyelids, Anna caught the shadow of concern on Lenora’s brow as she glanced toward the window.

  “They’re still fighting, aren’t they?” Anna murmured, struggling against the sleep weighing upon her.

  “Shhh, my lady,” the midwife gently scolded, patting Anna’s leg. “You need to rest between the pains, remember?”

  Anna fought to nod, but gave up and instead allowed her weariness to overtake her. The respite was short-lived as the tightening of her abdomen began in earnest once again.

  On either side of her, unseen hands grabbed her own and Anna squeezed them, attempting to focus on her breathing.

  “Do not fight the pain,” Lenora advised. “Just concentrate on the beautiful little baby trying to make its way into our world.”

  Anna moaned in frustration at the restless helplessness coursing through her. “I want to get up.”

  “I am sorry, sweetheart, but you cannot,” Lenora stated.

  “You are far too close to the end,” the midwife added.

  As her womb relaxed, Anna’s breathing slowed but a profound dispiritedness descended upon her as the image of Galen’s face haunted her. Her heart ached. Where was he? Was he hurt?

  “Did they reach the MacAirths?” she asked, easing her grip on the hands holding hers. “Where is Galen?”

  A loud, male scream pierced the air, causing Lenora to jump.

  “We do not know, dear Anna,” the woman on the other side of her explained.

  Anna turned toward the woman in time to catch her furtive glance toward the window. When she turned back to Anna, she smiled gently. She was Lenora’s sister-in-law, the Lady Morag MacPhearson. A strong, matronly woman with a particularly pit bull-esque determination, she had taken charge as soon as Lenora and Niall had gotten Anna safely int
o the keep. With a single command and a glare that suggested Morag would string up anyone who fell down on the job, she sent both family and servants scurrying to fetch whatever the midwife might need. As soon as the midwife arrived, Morag personally oversaw the midwife’s work.

  “I will send someone to the rampart to see if the MacAirths can be spotted. Would you like that?” Morag brushed Anna’s hair away from her face.

  Anna nodded, tears stinging her eyes as the plump, motherly woman arose and strode toward the door.

  “Oh, my little darling, do not cry.” Lenora dabbed the corners of Anna’s eyes with the washcloth. “You have a fine, strong husband. He will come through the battle unharmed. Just you wait and see.”

  Anna bit her lower lip to stop it from quivering and turned back toward her stepmother. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked, unable to assuage her curiosity any longer. “I didn’t expect—”

  Another contraction overtook her and she closed her eyes, attempting to remember Lenora’s words about not fighting the pain. Lenora grabbed her hand and breathed in unison with her, whispering words of encouragement.

  As the pain subsided, Lenora rubbed Anna’s leg in soothing strokes. “Well, I could have thrown a fit,” the older woman admitted. “After all, I certainly did not expect my husband of nearly twenty-seven years to admit to fathering a child with another woman. But I could hardly fault him. He is not the first man to come to his marriage bed not a virgin, unlike what is expected of us women.”

  Anna couldn’t help snorting and rolling her eyes. She was relieved to find out even thirteenth-century women acknowledged the double standard they were held to throughout history.

  “And,” Lenora smoothed the blankets over Anna’s legs, “It had happened before we were betrothed, let alone met. There was no relationship between us for him to have betrayed. Besides, you look so much like my Niall and I have longed for a daughter.”

  Lenora smiled, tears glistening in her eyes as she smoothed Anna’s hair along her scalp. “I hope you do not find me too overbearing. I suppose it is a bit much to ask seeing as how we have only just met.”

  Anna smiled and shook her head. She could never repay Lenora for the help, protection and understanding she had so freely given when Anna needed it most. “No, I am grateful for your kindness. I don’t think I could ever express—oh.”

  A sudden pressure in her pelvic area followed by a tightening of her womb entirely different from what she had experienced before distracted her from her thoughts.

  “What is it?” Lenora asked, eying her.

  “I-I don’t know,” Anna admitted as a strange surge of energy streamed through her veins. For all of her education and experience as an assistant midwife over the last few months, she could not quite wrap her mind around what was happening in her own body. Unable to think clearly, she shot a look at the midwife who tilted her head as she stared at Anna.

  “Do you feel like bearing down, lass?” the older woman asked.

  Anna dropped her gaze to her stomach, piecing the details together as the pressure on her pelvic floor increased. Looking back at the midwife, she nodded in wonder. She had indeed finally reached the last stage of labor. It may be difficult, but at least there was something she could do.

  Lenora wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “All right, my dear, time for this little one to come out.”

  Anna allowed the women to help her sit up and grab her knees. Just as the midwife pushed Anna’s leine up over her legs, Morag opened the door to the chamber.

  “Oh!” the woman exclaimed, her face breaking into a wide smile as she clapped her hands. “It is time! I was hoping—”

  “Annie!”

  The roar echoing down the stone-walled corridor was unmistakable. Anna’s breath caught in her throat, hope lighting her heart. It couldn’t be him, could it?

  The midwife yelped in dismay and yanked Anna’s leine back over her legs. Standing, she turned and blocked Anna’s view of the door.

  Morag’s hand flew to her chest and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “My God!” she hissed, bolting across the room to a chest at the foot of the bed.

  “Annie!” the voice shouted again.

  Despite the contraction bearing down on her, Galen’s name escaped her mouth in a bare whisper of wonder, scratching her parched throat.

  Morag reached into the chest and pulled out a long dirk. “Sister, do you have your dagger?”

  Lenora bent down and retrieved a small double-edged knife from somewhere under her skirts. “Who is it, Morag?”

  Anna closed her eyes and breathed slowly, attempting to concentrate on the very persistent contraction and the unbelievable amount of pressure.

  “Annie!”

  Lenora jumped and Morag made the sign of the cross before placing herself in front of the midwife, ready to take a stand.

  “Annie?” the voice asked in a softened tone just outside the door. “If you are in there, answer me, woman!”

  Anna’s lips cracked into a smile as joy flooded her veins and the contraction dissipated. “It’s Galen!” The words rushed from her lips as if they were on fire.

  Morag half turned her head. “What?”

  “Galen?” Lenora repeated, rushing toward the door.

  “Lenora!” Morag scolded.

  Lenora threw a frown of exasperation at her sister-in-law. “Would you rather the man break down your door?” She turned and threw the door open.

  “Where is my wife?” the wonderfully familiar voice demanded.

  “Galen!” Anna called, overwhelming relief cracking her voice.

  The midwife and Morag skirted out of Galen’s way as he rushed toward her, their eyes clashing for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. Before she had the chance to speak, Anna’s face was between Galen’s palms and his lips pressed hard against hers. She closed her eyes and drank in the warmth of his presence, tears slipping down her cheeks.

  He pulled back, his gray eyes softening to almost silver as he looked at her. “Are you all right, lass?”

  Anna nodded, turning her head so she could kiss his palm, but her attention was drawn to the torn, blood-soaked sleeve of his leine. “You’re hurt!”

  He glanced toward his arm. “It is nothing, love.” He shrugged. As he turned his attention back to her, his eyes roamed over her form. “Why are you sitting so strangely?”

  As the pressure built again, Anna couldn’t prevent a groan from escaping her lips. She tore her face out of his hands and squeezed her eyes shut, her knuckles turning white as she grasped her knees.

  “What is wrong?” Galen demanded, his tone edged with terror.

  A feminine gasp was uttered from in front of her as someone reached under her leine.

  “Are you pushing, my dear?” the midwife asked.

  Anna shook her head, pressing her lips together.

  “Do it, lass,” she instructed. “You are ready.”

  “Is she…” Galen’s voice cracked as he slid one hand around her waist.

  “Yes,” Morag replied in a clipped tone. “Which means it is time for you to leave.”

  “Like hell it is,” he grumbled, slipping his other hand over one of Anna’s.

  The contraction eased and Anna breathed deeply, her gaze landing on Morag at the foot of the bed, her fists propped upon her hips and glaring at Galen.

  “Men do not attend birthings,” she snapped. “It is improper!”

  “If you want me out of here, then you will have to drag me out yourself,” Galen challenged.

  “Why, I never!” Morag exclaimed, her eyes widening. “You are in the MacPhearson keep, MacAirth! And I will not stand for you—”

  “And I just finished helping your husband defend your precious keep,” Galen stated, his eyes narrowing. “I am not leaving my wife. That is final.”

  “Settle down now,” Lenora gently admonished as she moved toward Morag, rubbing her sister-in-law’s arm. “It matters not that he sees his own c
hild being born. Surely he will not be the first man to do so.”

  A smile of gratefulness played at Anna’s lips. The last thing she wanted was for Galen to leave when she needed him the most. She opened her mouth to speak when her attention was drawn once again to his wounded arm.

  “I need to take care of that,” she murmured, trying to decide if the injury was still actively bleeding. “Please, someone get me some bandages and hot water.”

  “You will be doing no such thing,” the midwife admonished, shoving Anna’s leine over her knees.

  “But—” Anna said just as a contraction began.

  “Do not be foolish,” Galen heaved one of his dramatic sighs that always indicated his patience was about to snap. “It is nothing but a flesh wound.”

  “But—” she argued as the pressure mounted.

  “Push now, lass!” the midwife instructed.

  Anna set aside the worry over Galen’s injury for long enough to do as she was advised. More difficult than she had anticipated, she grunted and her legs shook.

  Galen’s forehead leaned against the side of her head just as she eased back to rest for a moment. “You will not die on me. I love you too much to let you, Annie,” he whispered into her ear.

  A warm rush of delight coursed through her. A sob escaped from her throat as she leaned against him. He pressed a soft, but urgent kiss against her cheek.

  “You hear me? I will not permit it,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

  She laughed and nodded vigorously, his strength seeping into her as he clung to her. Her belly began tightened again, but this time all of her fear was gone and a renewed energy coursed through her veins.

  “All right,” she said with a confident nod at the midwife. “Let’s finish this.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Two months later

  A smile tugged at the corners of Anna’s mouth as she propped her elbows upon the windowsill and rested her chin on upturned palms. Far below in the courtyard, Lenora cradled little Isabelle, otherwise known as Izzy, in the crook of her arm as Alec made silly faces and pretended to tickle the infant. Though Anna could not make out a single word of their conversation, Lenora’s lips moved quickly as she smiled and waved a free hand around as though telling a particularly amusing story. Alec’s deep, baritone chuckle floated to the high perch of Anna’s chamber and he leaned toward Lenora, planting a sweet kiss on her lips as he rubbed the wisps of soft red hair on Izzy’s head. Dog growled at them from the steps of the keep and Alec admonished him to hush.