Free Claimed by a Laird by Laura Glenn

“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 moonlight 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