Free Claimed by a Laird by Laura Glenn Page A

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