Claimed by a Laird (30 page)

“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 into 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 child 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.”