Temptation in a Kilt (12 page)

She reminded him a lot of… himself. Regardless, he had no time for foolish fancies. His vow to his father was unbreakable. He would see to Declan before settling himself with a wife—a duty he would complete, even if it killed him. There was no promise, however, that blood would not be shed in the process. Leaving his solar, Ciaran walked through the great hall and stopped suddenly in his tracks.

Sitting in the laird’s chair, his chair, on the dais was Declan. His head was rolled back, his eyes were closed, and his lips were slightly parted. One hand was on his tankard and he was already in his cups. If he was already passed out at this time of day, Ciaran was going to kill him. There would be bloodshed in the middle of the great hall, no less.

“Declan!” he bellowed. A few choice curses might have escaped his mouth.

Raising his head, Declan broke into a leisurely smile.

“Come,” Ciaran bit out, gesturing for him to follow. There was no time like the present to speak with his brother about his reckless behavior.

“I just did, my liege.” Pushing back Ciaran’s chair, Declan extended his hand to a serving wench who stood up from under the table. Glancing up at her, he flashed a smile of thanks and patted her bottom as she hurried off. “And how is his lairdship?” Declan slurred, raising his tankard in mock salute.

Ciaran approached the table in disgust. “I havenae even returned a day’s time. Ye are already a drunken sot and wenching within my walls.”

“Now, Brother… I ensured that your walls stood strong while ye were at court doing,” he flicked his fingers with an air of indifference, “whatever ’tis ye do. Ye could at least be
grateful
.”

He was going to kill him. “Grateful?” Ciaran’s voice hardened ruthlessly. “Declan, ye are destroying yourself. Ye wench and drink until ye pass out. Mayhap one day ye will even get yourself killed,” he spat.

Declan waved him off. “Nay, my lairdship. How can I be killed when I have your greatness to protect me?” A flash of humor crossed his features.

“Keep as ye are doing and I will surely be the one to kill ye, Brother.” Ciaran spoke through clenched teeth.

He waved him off. “Now donna go and get your kilt all twisted, Brother.”

They stared at each other through a heavy silence. Declan needed to wake up. One day he would hurt himself. Maybe not intentionally, but Ciaran could not chance having his dim-witted brother cause harm to someone else as well. He was a threat to himself and others, and the most dangerous part was that he did not even know it. While Ciaran was deep in thought, Declan made the mistake of speaking.

“Ye know? I have been thinking, your greatness,” he said, tapping his finger to his chin.

“Well, there is a first time for everything,” Ciaran retorted in cold sarcasm.

Declan ignored his brother’s words, a small smile tipping the corner of his mouth. “I should find me a sweet lass who will tame my wild heart,” he slurred.

“Declan, I donna think any lass would be up to that challenge.” Ciaran’s response held a note of impatience.

“Nay? What of Rosalia?” His eyes grew openly amused.

Ciaran laughed to cover his annoyance. “What
of
Rosalia?”

“Think ye she would tame my wild heart?”

“Nay, I donna. I think she might place a dagger through it. Ye leave
off
Rosalia,” he ordered, speaking in a tone that made the fiercest of his men jump quickly to do his bidding. “I suggest ye find your path, Declan, with much haste.” Turning his back on his brother, Ciaran growled. With mounting frustration, he sought Aiden.

When Ciaran knocked on his brother’s bedchamber door, Aiden bid him enter. Ciaran swung open the door to see his brother was sitting on the bed with Aisling—with his boots on. Ciaran was surprised she was not bellowing at her husband for that, considering she hounded him about everything else.

“Aisling, ye look well,” said Ciaran, grabbing a chair and placing it beside the bed.

“As I’ve told Aiden
repeatedly
, I feel well enough to escape my chamber.”

“And ye will go out on the morrow as we discussed,” Aiden chided her.

She rolled her eyes and Ciaran redirected his attention to assist his brother. “The new MacGregor is a strapping laddie. I see he has your red tresses. With much luck, he has your ire as well.”

Aiden coughed and Aisling folded her arms over her chest. “And what does that mean, my laird?”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I only mean to say he will be a fierce MacGregor warrior.”

She visibly relaxed. “Aye, as is his father.”

Ciaran coughed. “There is that.” He tried desperately to suppress his laugh. Now was probably not a good time to mention that he could take Aiden to task with one hand tied behind his back. “Did ye meet Rosalia?” he redirected.

“Aye. She came and we spoke,” said Aisling.

He nodded. “My thanks. I am sure it was comforting for her to have a woman to speak with.”

“Rosalia may speak with me anytime. I like her a lot.” She studied him intently. “She has been through much.”

“She told ye?” he asked, surprised.

She shrugged her shoulders. “I am sure I donna have the entire tale, but it must have been terrible enough to have her attempt to travel to Glengarry alone, especially as a woman. Do ye plan to take her to Glengarry then?”

“Aye, when ’tis safe for travel.”

There was a heavy silence during which Aisling had a look of determination upon her face. Ciaran suspected this did not bode well for him. Why did he get the feeling this was the calm before the storm? “Rosalia said she met Beathag.” And there it was. Folding her arms over her chest, she waited for him to respond.

Why did Aisling always make him feel as though he was being scolded by his mother? He had to admit that her actions took him by surprise. She’d become quickly defensive of Rosalia, and he detected a hint of censure in her tone. “And what did she speak of?”

Aisling leaned back, studying him. “Ye should have shielded her more from your leman,” she suggested, simply raising her brow.

When Ciaran glanced at Aiden for help, his brother only shrugged his shoulders helplessly. It was a sad day when a MacGregor was more afraid of his wife than his laird. “I told Beathag we are done,” Ciaran said, not comfortable explaining his actions to Aiden’s wife. After all, he was laird. He didn’t need to give an explanation to his sister-by-marriage, but he was not in the mood to be lectured—or tortured. Reluctantly, he chose the easier path.

“Then ye are free to take Rosalia as your leman,” Aisling simply stated.

“What?” he gasped. “Rosalia willnae be my leman. She is… What I mean to say is… She is—”

“And what exactly is she, my laird? Since ye placed her in the lady’s chamber, I take it she is to be your wife,” said Aisling as she retorted tartly.

“My
wife
?” he choked out.

“Aye,” she said with a smug look upon her face. “Ye care for her.”

“Aye,” he answered hesitantly. “She has been through much.”

“But yet ye place her in your mother’s chamber, and I cannae help but wonder why that is.” She gave him a pointed look.

Ignoring the mocking voice inside that made him wonder why he’d placed Rosalia in that particular chamber, he repeated to himself that she was injured and he wanted her to be comfortable—nothing more. “Aisling, she will be with us until we travel to Glengarry. I placed her in the most comfortable chamber since she will be with us for some time. Donna read more into this. There willnae be a wedding, so put away your scheming ways. As ye both know, I made a vow to Father to see to Declan.” He swung his gaze to Aiden. “Cannae ye keep your wife controlled?”

“Controlled, my laird? Ye have obviously ne’er been in love. I have as much control of Aisling as she has upon me,” he said.

“And that isnae much,” she said, elbowing Aiden in the side.

“Ye both have been wed for some time and act as though ye are still courting. ’Tis disgusting.” Ciaran scrunched up his face in annoyance.

“Only an unwed man would say that, Brother,” Aiden countered.

He rose, placing the chair back across the room. “I need to take my leave of ye… both.”

“Aye. Tell Rosalia donna forget to pay me a visit later. Remind her that she gave her word,” said Aisling with a curt nod.

Raising his brow, Ciaran nodded as he closed the door. As if he needed Aisling planting ideas into Rosalia’s mind—two women conspiring against him. He shivered at the mental image. Proceeding down the corridor, he wanted to see how Rosalia fared or if she wanted for anything. He knocked on her door, and she bid him enter. She was seated at the window bench overlooking the loch, appearing to be more at ease since the last time he had seen her. For some reason, he felt relief that she would be.

He sat down beside her. “Before I lose my thought, I was to tell ye, donna forget to visit with Aisling. She said to remind ye that ye gave your word.”

She laughed. “Aye. ’Tis so beautiful here,” she said, looking back at the loch. “Aisling said the view from the parapet is wonderful at this time. Do ye have a moment to take me?” she asked hopefully.

Standing, he held out his hand. “Aye. How do ye fare?”

Rosalia shrugged her shoulders. “I am sore, but the pain is lessening.”

“It takes time to heal. Donna push yourself.” She stood and he placed his hand at the small of her back, guiding her to the door. “I meant what I spoke before. If ye want for anything, ye need only ask.”

“My thanks. And donna scold me for saying so.”

They walked down the corridor in silence. Opening the door to the stairs, Ciaran let her in front of him, a decision he should have thought twice about. How could he help but notice her swaying hips before him? He pulled his eyes away from her and focused on his feet. When they reached the top of the steps, they found that the door to the parapet was bolted.

“Just slide the latch and it will open,” he instructed.

Reaching out, Rosalia made several attempts to open it, but it would not budge. “I cannae move it.”

Placing his hand on her arm, he smiled. “Here, let me have at it.” Ciaran stepped up as she stepped down, feeling her breasts rub against his chest. As soon as his eyes met hers, she looked away. He pulled the bolt and the door opened easily.

“I am pleased I was able to loosen it for ye,” she said with a trace of laughter.

He chuckled. “Aye. Ye loosened it so much it came right open. Ye have my thanks, lass.” As soon as she walked out onto the parapet, she shivered. “Are ye cold?” he asked, draping his arm over her shoulders.

“Nay, just a brief chill.”

Blue, red, orange, and gold hues glistened on the horizon over the loch. Because they were standing so far from the ground, they seemed to be looking directly into the heavens. She was obviously enchanted by the view. Having seen this sight many times before, Ciaran was starting to take it for granted. It was refreshing to appreciate it again through her eyes.

“I have ne’er seen anything so beautiful in all of my life,” she whispered.

“I agree with ye,” he murmured. Rosalia did not realize he was gazing at her when he spoke. Standing there with her bruised face and cut tresses, she glanced upon the view with a serene look upon her features. Neither one of them spoke as the setting sun kissed a final farewell.

Rosalia hugged her arms around her.

“Come,” he spoke softly, nudging her away. “Ye are chilled.”

“Please wait, Ciaran. ’Tis so peaceful here.” She pulled back slightly and sighed at the loch.

“Ye arenae frightened?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow questioningly.

Her lips parted in surprise. “Of what?”

“The height.” He extended his hand to the ground far below.

Amusement flickered in the eyes that met his. “Nay. As long as ye donna push me off, I am nae afraid.”

Placing his hands on her shoulders, he gazed down at her and smiled. “That willnae happen.”

They stood in silence.

“Rosalia…” He had no idea what he wanted to say to her, but he felt he should say something. Now that he had her close, he did not want to let her go. Her breath was becoming fast and uneven. When her eyes glazed over, he knew he had to kiss her.

Ciaran leaned in close and she closed her eyes. At first, when his lips finally covered hers, he was gentle. He was not too urgent, but his kiss was that of a hungry lover. Licking her lip, he forced her to open her mouth to him. The moment his tongue found entry, she did not resist. He wanted to devour her softness.

“Och, Rosalia,” he moaned, his hands nestling her bottom closer. He clutched at her as if he could not get enough.

Her hand slid hesitantly over his back, his skin afire where she touched him.

It still was not enough. His lips left her mouth, trailing down her neck to her collarbone. She moaned at each touch, her mewling sounds firing his passion even more. Reaching for the top of her bodice, he pulled back, giving her the opportunity to deny him. She only looked at him with glazed passion in her eyes.

He ran the back of his fingers over the swell of her breasts and she shuddered. Closing her eyes, she took a sharp intake of breath. Instead of pulling away as he thought she might, she merely arched her back and let out a soft moan.

He molded her to him, his arms wrapping around her like a vise. Her breasts flattened against his chest and he shuddered with desire. Wedging his thigh between her legs, he could feel her heat pouring through her skin.

She gently pulled away from him, breathless. “Nay, Ciaran.” She placed her hands on his forearms.

Instead of releasing her as he should, he pulled her close. “We will cease, Rosalia, but donna pull away from me. Let me simply hold ye.”

Rubbing his hands over her back, he felt her hands on his chest. What the hell was he thinking? His vow of not becoming involved was shattering. He’d almost lost control. God’s teeth! If she would have permitted him, he would have taken her standing there. That wasn’t necessarily true. He still had some self-control. He would have at least taken her to a bed.

Reluctantly, he pulled away from her. “Come. I will escort ye back to your chamber. Do ye want me to have a tray sent up for ye?”