Temptation in a Kilt (14 page)

“My thanks. Niall. Ye have met Lady Rosalia?” she asked.

“Aye, I have had the pleasure.” Giving her a slight bow, he smiled. “My lady.”

“
Madainn
mhath
, Niall.”
Good
morn, Niall.
“’Tis good to see ye again. And how is Noonie? Ye arenae spoiling him overmuch?”

“Nay, only as our laird instructed, my lady. I did give him a good brushing, and he may have received some extra oats a time or two. I also had to separate him once from Aiden. He clenched his teeth into Aiden’s hind quarters, he did.”

Rosalia gasped. “He did? He normally doesnae bite. Is Aiden all right?” she asked, concerned.

Aisling laughed. “He probably deserved it, Rosalia.”

“No worries, my lady. They are just getting acquainted with one another,” Niall reassured her.

Why did Noonie have to cause trouble? Rosalia cringed. At least he did not bite the laird’s mount in the arse. She guessed it could have been worse. “Do ye want to meet Noonie, Aisling?”

A flash of humor crossed Aisling’s face. “I am willing to meet anyone who can put Aiden in his place. Ye know I am speaking of my
horse
Aiden?”

“Of course,” Rosalia said, a glint of humor finally returning.

When they approached Noonie’s stall, he pawed at the ground. Placing her head to his, Rosalia rubbed him behind the ears. “Och, Noonie.
Ciamar
a
tha
sibh
?”
How
are
you?

“He is magnificent. His coat is so verra black and sleek.”

“Aye. He is a good horse—well, when he isnae biting other horses in the arse,” she chuckled, quickly covering her mouth with her hands. “My apologies, Aisling. My mouth sometimes speaks before I am able to stop it.”

Aisling waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I told ye. I have three brothers and I live with the MacGregors. I have heard worse and even spoken worse. Thankfully I met ye after I birthed Teàrlach. If ye would have arrived before then, we wouldnae be friends. Ye should have heard the words spewing from my mouth. I threatened everyone around me, even poor Anna.” Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. “Aiden insisted on being with me when Teàrlach was born and I actually threatened to cut off the part of him that makes him a man.”

Rosalia glanced at her in nonbelief. “Ye didnae.”

Aisling shrugged offhandedly. “I did.”

Noonie nudged her arm. “Niall did a great job with him. We were caught in the pouring rain and he was covered in mud.”

“I am nae surprised. Niall really loves all four-legged creatures. Come. I will show ye Aiden.”

The stalls were filled with many beautiful and impressive horses. Ciaran apparently knew his horseflesh. Why did this come as no surprise to her? In the last stall, a chestnut-colored horse with white markings whinnied. Although he was a couple of hands smaller than Noonie, he was a striking horse.

“And this is Aiden,” said Aisling, rubbing his nose.

Rosalia pointed to the horse’s coloring. “He has perfect white markings on all four of his legs. I have ne’er seen a horse with perfect white markings. He is beautiful.”

Aisling’s smile widened in approval. “My thanks. When I am nae so sore we can ride together.”

“I would enjoy that. How do ye fare? This is your first day out. Do ye feel the need to rest?”

Aisling moaned and rolled her eyes. “Please, I beg ye. Donna sound like Aiden. I am still fine, but I will rest after the midday meal.”

“I am sure your husband would be thankful.” In that moment, Rosalia realized she had much in common with Aisling—including that neither of them wanted to be lectured.

“Did ye see the garden? My apologies, Rosalia, I didnae know how much Ciaran had showed ye. It might be easier if ye tell me what all he has shown ye.”

Passion…

Awkwardly, Rosalia cleared her throat. “I have seen the view upon the parapet but havenae been anywhere else.”

Linking her arm with Rosalia’s, Aisling led her out of the stables. “Then come. I have much to show ye.”

***

Ciaran finished training with his men and was burning. Not just from the swordplay, but from Declan’s self-destructive behavior. Declan always made it a point to address his oldest brother sarcastically, but when he called Ciaran “your majesty” in front of his men, that sort of behavior clearly had to cease.

Grabbing a drying cloth, Ciaran decided he needed a dunk in the loch to calm him. He walked over the
cabhsair
with long, purposeful strides and placed the cloth on the ground. Removing his kilt and sword, he stood in all his Highland glory. It was getting too late in the season to be swimming in the loch, but he desperately needed it. There was only one way to do it.

He dove in headfirst.

Freezing water rushed over him from head to toe. As he surfaced, he let out a roar that surely frightened away any four-legged creatures that were about. Hearing laughter upon the barmkin wall, he gave his men a hand signal only they would understand. When they roared with over-exaggerated merriment, he shook his head because on the morrow, his men would all be practicing their swordplay… extensively.

A sudden splash caught his attention. Ciaran whipped around, but there was no one there. As he looked around cautiously, his battle-hardened senses came into full awareness as something grabbed him below the waist. Reaching down into the water, he felt… an arm?

He hefted the mass out of the water.

“I have missed ye, my love,” purred Beathag, wiping the water from her face and pressing herself against him.

“What are ye about?” he asked, pushing her away from him. She did not wear any clothing, and when his gaze lowered, so did his voice. “What is the meaning of this, Beathag?”

He did not understand her purposeful disobedience. Prying her vise-like grip from around his neck, he twisted around and spotted Aisling and Rosalia standing on the
cabhsair
.

Rosalia paled. Beathag glared at Rosalia with a smug look upon her face. “Now I see the truth. ’Tis why ye nay longer want me. How sweet,” she spoke with bitterness. “Tell me, Ciaran. Does she take ye into her mouth as I do?”

He stood to his full height. “I donna know what games ye play. Unless ye want yourself removed from Glenorchy, I suggest ye cease your scheming. We are done. I told ye,” he said. Beathag meant nothing to him. She was a means to satisfy his lust—no more. He refused to have his life ruined due to an error in judgment. After all, he was laird and he would be obeyed.

Turning his back on her, he stormed out of the loch. Grabbing his drying cloth, kilt, and sword, he twisted around to see her still standing in the water. “I told ye we are done. If anything like this happens again, I will personally remove ye from Glenorchy with naught but the clothes on your back. Do ye understand me, Beathag?”

“Aye. Perfectly,
my
laird,
” she said, icy contempt flashing in her eyes.

***

The garden still displayed autumn’s blooms. A warm breeze blew the scent of blossoms and tickled Rosalia’s nose. Aisling had already taken her leave to see to Teàrlach, so Rosalia was thankfully left to her own devices. She needed time to compose herself. When Aisling suggested a walk across the
cabhsair
to the loch, Rosalia had imagined it would be refreshing. She did not expect a display of Ciaran and Beathag in a lovers’ tryst. At times, she could be so daft. She was a fool to think she meant anything to him. What she needed was to focus on her goal. Her mission was to start a new life in Glengarry—not Glenorchy.

Sitting on a garden bench, she enjoyed the solitude and tranquility. In a few months, she would have a new beginning at Glengarry. She prayed that all of her efforts would come to fruition and that her
seanmhair
would welcome her with open arms. All too quickly, she was running out of diversions. No matter how she tried to occupy herself, her mind would not let her rest. The mental image of Ciaran with Beathag plagued her. At least, Rosalia told herself, she was not foolish enough to believe her embrace with Ciaran on the parapet had meant something. Frankly, she was tired of dreaming about such romantic notions. It would be the last time she would make such an error in judgment.

“I am such a fool,” she murmured, slapping her hands to her head.

“Now, lass… Ye couldnae be a bigger fool than me,” Declan chuckled.

She jumped.

“My apologies if I startled ye.” He gave her a warm smile. “May I?” He gestured to the bench.

She shrugged with indifference. “Aye, but I am in nay mood for your charms.”

“Donna worry. I am in nay mood to be charming,” he countered.

They sat on the bench in silence. Her thoughts continued to torture her, and Declan was being… Declan. “My apologies that my brother took me to task in front of ye and Aisling. Ye didnae need to see such.”

She raised her brow in surprise. “Declan MacGregor, is that a sincere apology?”

He gave her a sheepish grin. “I suppose ’tis sincere.”

“Ye know, Declan? My brother is much as ye are. We spoke constantly about everything. If ye ever want to speak to me…” She thought it better to keep her invitation open ended.

Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

“It must have been hard for ye being the third son of the MacGregor,” she said sympathetically.

He threw up his hand in the air. “Hell, it wasnae easy, if that is what ye’re saying.”

“Declan, ye are a score and…?”

“Three,” he simply stated.

She shook her head. “One day ye will wed and have a family of your own.”

“Ye sound like my brothers and Aisling,” he said bitterly.

“Nay, Declan, I envy ye.” When he raised his brow, Rosalia gave him a gentle smile. “Aye, envy. Ye donna have Ciaran’s responsibilities. He must care for everyone and ensure the coffers are full, King James is pleased, the men are trained to defend your home, and I could continue.” She reached for his hand. “Ye donna have to worry overmuch on that. Ye are free to choose your wife as ye will and make your own life. What ye make of that life is your choice. Ye donna understand,” she spoke passionately. “Ye have a choice, Declan. And aye, for that I envy ye. Donna be too quick to choose the wrong path and throw away your life and your chance at happiness only because ye are angry.”

She paused. For a moment, she believed she actually reached him.

“And what of your choice, Lady Rosalia? If ye had to choose, would ye choose me or the MacGregor?”

By
all
the
saints…

“In truth? Neither.” She rose in one fluid motion.

Rosalia longed for the days at Mangerton when she could sit easily in the kitchen and eat the noon meal. Memories flooded her as everyone ate in silence. Aisling was sulking; Aiden was quiet; Ciaran was brooding; and Declan was giving her wooing looks from down the table. What was he about? The stillness was suffocating, and she could no longer stand the tension. She’d had enough of it at Mangerton and adamantly refused to be the cause of it at Glenorchy.

She reached out and touched Ciaran’s arm and then promptly removed her hand. “So my laird, do ye still wish to show me your lands or do ye have other—”

“Nay, I can take ye if ye still want to go,” he said in a dull, troubled voice, looking at her with something akin to regret.

“Of course. The sun is shining and ’tis a beautiful day,” she said cheerily. Maybe a little too brightly, but she wanted him to know that she was unaffected by his actions. His behavior was not her concern.

“I could easily take ye, Rosalia,” said Declan with an underlying sensuality in his words.

Why did she feel the words he spoke always contained a hidden meaning? Aisling scowled at Aiden, and he shoved his elbow into Declan’s side.

Declan rubbed his ribs. “Och, what did ye do that for? Ye and your wee wife keep…”

Aiden cut off his speech with only a glare.

Rosalia ignored them both. “Ye know, my laird? I am finished with my meal and will meet ye at the stable.” She pushed back her chair with as much confidence as she could muster.

Looking as though someone had died, Ciaran nodded his head and went back to studying his meal.

Let him brood. She smiled brightly at Aisling and took her leave, feeling Ciaran’s sharp eyes boring into her as she walked away.

***

Once Rosalia left the great hall, Aisling stood, giving Ciaran a sidelong glance of utter nonbelief.

Her husband abruptly grabbed her arm. “Donna, sweeting. Leave it be,” he pleaded, shaking his head in disapproval.

Under different circumstances, she would have obeyed her husband. But someone ought to keep the MacGregor brothers on a straight path, and since she was the only married woman in attendance, she felt it was her duty. She was their sense of reason when they lost all sanity. Besides, someone needed to remind the rogues that their actions held consequences.

Shaking off Aiden’s hand, she pulled out Rosalia’s chair and sat down next to Ciaran. “God’s teeth! What were ye
thinking
?”

Looking like a scolded child at his trencher, Ciaran shook his head. “’Tisnae as ye think.”

Her jaw dropped. “Nae as I think? And what do ye think Rosalia thinks? We saw ye in the middle of a tryst with Beathag, Ciaran. What else is there to think? Ye say ye care for Rosalia—well, ye have quite a way of showing it,” she spat out.

He sighed. “I told Beathag we are done, and she doesnae listen. I didnae even know she was there. She did it on purpose while Rosalia watched.” He pushed his food around on the trencher.

“That
whore
,” she bit out. “What were ye thinking of, getting yourself tangled with her? Now look at the mess she has created. Ye men, always thinking with your—”

“Leave off, Aisling,” he ordered. “Beathag will nay longer be a concern.”

“Of course she willnae. Now that she has Rosalia thinking ye are still bedding her, her purpose is complete,” Aisling said sarcastically. Leaning forward, she said in a controlled voice, “Ye need to make amends with Rosalia.”

He leaned back, his eyes cold. “And ye donna think I know that?” he bellowed.

The great hall went quiet.

Aiden rose from his chair and pulled back Aisling’s. With his powerful hands, he yanked her to her feet. “Come, Wife.” He gave her an intense but secret expression that did not leave room for debate. “Now, Wife.”

***

Recovering from Aisling’s reprimand and after giving himself a reasonable amount of time to sulk, Ciaran went in search of Rosalia. Hesitantly, he approached the stable where she was brushing Noonie. She had a troubled look on her face as she brushed her horse with long, forceful strokes. Ciaran did not enjoy seeing her that way. He needed to make this right. Stopping a few feet in front of her, he realized she had yet to hear his approach. His mind went blank.
I
am
sorry
ye
saw… My leman means naught… I donna care…

“Are ye ready?” Perhaps that was a good place to begin.

“Aye.”

“I will get my mount.” Ciaran waved off Niall and saddled his mount. He tried to stall to gather his thoughts, but he knew he could not hide in the stable forever. Besides, he was no coward. He was laird—a warrior. He should certainly know how to speak to a lass.

Leading his horse out of the stable, he approached her. “Are ye well enough to ride?”

“Aye, my laird,” she said brightly.

He paused. “Rosalia…” His gaze came to rest on her questioning eyes.

“Aye?”

As he shook his head, his words failed him. “’Tis naught.” Mounting his horse, he continued to sit patiently while she adjusted and then readjusted her skirts, and he chuckled when she let out a frustrated grunt. “Would ye rather change into your trews?”

She raised her brow. “Ye wouldnae mind? ’Tis just much more comfortable for me. I donna enjoy battling with skirts.”

He dismounted. “Of course I donna mind. I will wait here for ye.”

“My thanks.”

***

Rosalia walked hurriedly to her chamber, knowing she would ride with much more ease in her trews. Although it was the custom for women to ride in skirts, she did not enjoy it. It was much too restricting. Besides, she was not trying to make an impression on
Laird
MacGregor
. What he thought of her mattered not. By the look upon his features, she could tell he was still out of sorts, and she wished he was not so brooding. He should be joyful that he no longer needed to hide Beathag in her presence. She quickly changed, laughing as she donned James’s tunic. She could only imagine him shaking his head in disapproval. She sorely missed him.

As Rosalia went to close the trunk, she spotted Ciaran’s tunic and pulled it out. She had yet to return it from their time together in the crofter’s hut. Holding it up to her face, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, smiling as she realized it still held his scent. Knowing that she must cease these ridiculous notions, she whipped it back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. Any feelings she had for
Laird
MacGregor
needed to be suppressed.

Ciaran was speaking with Niall when she returned to the stable, and she tried to mask the guilty look upon her face. If he discovered what she’d been doing with his tunic, Rosalia did not think her pride would ever recover. Turning around upon her approach, Ciaran gave her a heated glance from head to toe. What was wrong with him? He had Beathag and should not be throwing heated glances her way. Pulling on Noonie’s mane to kneel, she pulled herself upon his back.

“I thought to show ye the village.” He shifted in the saddle.

“Lead on, my laird,” she said, gesturing with her arm.

They rode to the village in uncomfortable silence. She centered her attention on Noonie’s clip-clopping feet and quickly became entranced by the soothing rhythm. When they arrived, Ciaran pointed out sights, continuing to show her about. Every time she asked a question, he gave her a clipped reply, and she politely nodded at all of his dry remarks.

This was not how she wanted to spend the remainder of her time at Glenorchy. He was obviously uncomfortable around her. She’d thought her actions would make him realize that she cared not about him. Apparently, Ciaran did not understand that. When they took their leave from the village, conversation was still not flowing from either direction.

Abruptly changing course, he headed up a mountain pass. After continuing to ride at a steep angle, they eventually reached a clearing. He dismounted and tethered his mount. When he turned around, she had already dismounted and Noonie’s reins were upon the ground.

Ciaran looked at her with a raised brow.

“He knows to stay when his reins are upon the ground.”

“’Tis truly incredible,” he said, shaking his head in awe.

“Aye.”

He gestured for her to come closer to the edge, and she prayed his intention was not to push her off. They stood on top of a mountain that overlooked Glenorchy and the loch. No matter where her path took her, she would always be thankful to have traveled the Highlands. These beauteous views would be forever imprinted in her mind. She stood complacently, gazing upon Glenorchy in its splendor.

The leaves were a rainbow of colors that reflected off the loch. Ciaran did have a truly magnificent home. Rosalia sighed as a warm breeze blew some short tendrils of hair into her eyes and she brushed them away. It would be so simple to imagine Glenorchy as her home and the man standing beside her as her husband. She would not do this—she could not do this. She had to cease these images. Her heart was being trampled.

Ciaran broke the silence and spoke quietly. “She means naught to me.”

A tear fell down her cheek and she wiped it away. “It doesnae matter—truly,” she whispered.

He reached out and gently brushed Rosalia’s arms. When she closed her eyes to avoid his probing gaze, he raised her chin with his finger. He did not speak until she opened her eyes. “It matters to me,” he said solemnly. Ciaran wiped her tears with his thumb. “I told her we were done when I returned to Glenorchy. She wasnae pleased. I didnae know she was there, Rosalia. She saw ye and Aisling and threw her body upon me.”

She could not help but smirk. “Her verra bare body, my laird.”

Ciaran paused for a moment, a spark of some indefinable emotion in his eyes. “I didnae notice, Rosalia. All I saw was ye,” he whispered, slowly bending his head toward her.

She did not know if she was responding to the words he spoke or if she was only caught up in the moment, but she needed this. She needed him.

His warm lips touched hers and she shuddered. She pulled him close, running her fingers through his shoulder-length hair.

Placing his hands behind her head, Ciaran deepened the kiss. Their tongues intertwined instinctively and she let out a soft moan. Rubbing his hands down her back, he pulled her bottom close, letting out a guttural moan as they made contact.

Rosalia was not sure what was occurring, but she knew she needed more. She rubbed her hands over his chest, feeling the strong, chiseled muscles that she knew lay beneath.

She wanted… more.

Ciaran smothered her lips with demanding mastery. His hands slowly maneuvered under her tunic until he felt the bare skin of her back, the gentle touch of his fingers sending currents of desire through her.

She slowly pulled out his tunic from his kilt, running her hands over his bare skin. “Ciaran,” she moaned.

Trailing kisses down her neck, he slowly raised his hands to cover her breast. She melted into him and arched her back into his grasp.

She had never felt this… hot. She was burning for him.

“I have to see ye, lass.” He pulled back with passion-glazed eyes and waited for her consent.

She nodded and closed her eyes.

Ciaran lifted her tunic and bared her breasts. “Och, Rosalia. Ye are beautiful,” he whispered.

He bent and suckled one of her breasts while kneading the other with his hand. He licked her taut nipple and she thought surely she would die.

Running her fingers through his hair, she pulled him closer. “Ciaran,” she moaned. If his arms were not supporting her, she would have fallen to her knees.

***

Ciaran paused, knowing if he did not cease now, there would be no turning back. He’d made a promise to his father, and duty always came first. Besides, he could not take her this way. Rosalia was to be gently wooed, and her first time should be in a bed with her
husband
—something he could never be—at least, not now. He could not offer her anything, but maybe in time. For right now, she needed to know that he cared for her and would not intentionally hurt her. That was important to him.

He stopped his ministrations and dropped to his knees, nestling his head into her chest. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he continued to hold her in a tight embrace. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

Rosalia placed her hand under his chin. “There is naught to forgive, my laird,” she whispered back.

He rose and pulled her into his arms. “My apologies that I caused ye pain. If I could have changed what ye saw—”

“There is nay need to explain. I only…” she paused.

“Ye only what?” he asked. He pulled back slightly and nodded for her to continue.

“I donna want my heart to suffer. I will travel to Glen—”

He gently placed his fingers over her lips. “Shh… Howbeit we donna speak of it and we just enjoy our time together?” he suggested, rubbing the back of his hand over her cheek.

She kissed his palm. “Aye.”

Neither one of them spoke as they reached a silent understanding. Why glance to the future when they should live in the now?

***

Returning to Glenorchy with lighter hearts, they led their mounts to the stable. Rosalia began to wonder just what she wanted of Ciaran. After all, she would still travel to Glengarry and he would still be the laird of Glenorchy. What he said was logical. Why dwell upon what was to be? Every day away from Mangerton was a day to be cherished.

Reaching out, Ciaran took Noonie’s reins. “I donna see Niall.”

“’Tis fine. I can care for Noonie,” she said, taking back the reins. Ciaran placed his hand on the back of her neck. Slowly bending forward, he kissed her. The touch of his lips sent a shock wave through her entire body.

“’Tis about time ye returned, my liege.”

Rosalia jerked away from him, an unwelcome blush creeping into her cheeks even though she did not think Declan had noticed their embrace.

“What do ye want, Brother?” Ciaran scowled.

Declan shrugged with indifference. “
I
donna want anything. There are men here from the village and they want to speak with ye—something about missing goats or the like. Ye better run along. Duty calls, your greatness.” With an arrogant swagger, he approached Ciaran and took the reins of his mount. “I will see to your mount.”