Temptation in a Kilt (21 page)

“Neither do I, my laird,” she whispered.

***

Archibald Campbell, seventh Earl of Argyll, sat in the great hall and reread the missive that had been delivered a short time earlier. He shook his head in complete aggravation. Out of all the lairds he defeated and all the lands he seized, the MacGregor of Glenorchy was always out of his reach. If he could only claim bordering Glenorchy from that blasted MacGregor, his lands would be massive. Hell, he would own most of Scotland himself and, with King James’s favor, rule most of it.

He would be unstoppable.

There was no reason this scheme should not have worked. After all, he’d killed one of
them
. His men swore they were seen by some in the village. The MacGregor should have demanded Campbell blood and stormed his gates. He was anxious to see the look upon the MacGregor’s face when he realized he was sorely outnumbered. He wanted him slaughtered to pieces. Perhaps even have his head displayed on a pike. Campbell smiled at the thought but banished it quickly because now the arse had to send him this missive.

Damn. He needed to provoke the MacGregor into storming his gates so he could kill him and claim his lands. He couldn’t very well do that if the whoreson sent him missives that could be intercepted by King James’s men. King James was tired of the Highland lairds and their squabbles. His Majesty demanded order and the fact that the Campbell personally vowed to enforce peace in the Highlands did not bode well for him if he was to be discovered.

He sighed as he realized his plan no longer served its purpose. He weighed his options because although he held King James’s ear, he was not sure he could persuade his liege to act in his favor—especially if he replied to the missive admitting such a feat. Hell, either way this scheme was out. The MacGregor was clever. Campbell would give him that.

Approaching footsteps pulled him from his plotting. “Now will ye listen to reason? I told ye it wouldnae work. He is much too cunning.”

Another look at the missive and it did not take long for the Earl of Argyll to decide. “I am listening.”

Mother Nature was right on cue: the spring equinox arrived and warmed the bitter chill of winter. The winter solstice had brought frigid temperatures along with harsh-blowing winds that cascaded over the loch. Glenorchy had been a desolate blanket of glistening white for far too long. Rosalia could not believe she had actually survived the entire winter at Glenorchy. She was eager to escape outdoors.

She walked unhurriedly to the stable—as unhurriedly as she could while trying to avoid the mud. She hefted her skirts and lifted her face, enjoying the feel of the sun against her skin. A slight breeze blew against her rosy cheeks and she sighed. She truly welcomed the warmth and vigorousness of spring. She heard laughter and soon realized she was not the only one taking advantage of a warm day.

Niall was conversing intently with Duncan—again. Ever since Duncan had arrived, the two of them had been inseparable. Niall had told her repeatedly that Duncan’s keen horse sense was far superior to anything he had ever seen. He sought his counsel often, and Duncan always welcomed Niall’s eagerness to learn. With a pang of regret, she was aware that it would not be long before Duncan and Ealasaid took their leave and traveled to Ealasaid’s sister. She enjoyed their company and would sorely miss them.

As she opened the door to the stable, she saw Declan with his head placed to Aiden’s and speaking in hushed tones. Under normal circumstances, she would have been quite surprised to see a man engaged in conversation with a horse; however, she had become quite accustomed to Declan and his many speeches with Aiden. He jumped when she reached out and patted Aiden on the neck.

“And how is Aiden this morn?”

One corner of Declan’s mouth twisted upward. “Didnae anyone ever tell ye nae to sneak up on a man?”

Rosalia’s eyes widened. “I wasnae sneaking.”

He looked as though he did not believe her. “Escaping the walls, my lady?”

“Most definitely. I cannae stay indoors any longer lest I go daft. I think Ciaran is ready to throttle me.” She laughed.

He chuckled. “I think Aiden is ready to throttle Aisling as well. Did ye ever think it just might be something to do with ye
women
?” He winked at her.

Seeing the amusement in his eyes, she swatted him in the arm. “Ye better cease. Ye know how Aisling gets her ire up when ye speak of us that way.”

“And why do ye think I do it?” he said, smirking.

Glancing over Declan’s shoulder, Rosalia noticed his horse saddled in the other stall. “Are the men practicing their swordplay in the bailey?” she asked in an innocent tone, scratching Aiden behind the ears.

He rolled his eyes. “I know. I know,” he said, holding up his hands in defense. “I donna feel like practicing my swordplay this day.”

“Why? ’Tis much warmer.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “I donna really want to speak upon it,” he hedged and a melancholy frown flitted across his features.

“Well, mayhap ye will speak on it with Ciaran when he searches for ye to find out why ye donna practice with the men.” She raised her brow, folding her arms over her chest.

“Och, Rosalia. Aisling and I donna agree on much, but ye and Ciaran are sounding and acting much the same.” He shook his head in amusement.

“I only look out for ye. Ye know Ciaran will come searching for ye. Why donna ye practice your swordplay and be done with it? Why do ye want to battle him?” she asked, wanting to put all of the pieces together.

He paused briefly. “I go to the village,” he said with quiet emphasis.

“The village? For what purpose?”

“Rosalia,” he warned, half seriously.

“Donna
Rosalia
me. Why do ye go to the village?” She cocked her head to the side and waited for him to respond.

Running his hand through his hair, he moaned. “Ye and Aisling ne’er cease. And they wonder why I donna wed,” he mumbled under his breath but loud enough for her to hear. “Ye donna understand. This day is difficult for me.” He looked away from her.

“How so?” Declan had been practicing his swordplay with the men and ceased overindulging in ale, but as of late, he was always seen with his tankard full. If there was a chance she could pull the reason from him, she would try.

He fingered the latch on the stall. “My mother died on this day,” he finally spoke solemnly with sadness upon his face.

From her prior conversations with Ciaran, Rosalia knew that Declan and his mother had been very close. She was sorry for the loss he still carried with him.

“Ciaran doesnae want me to wench or get into my cups within his walls and I havenae—well, I havenae wenched. I donna want him to know I take my leave to the village. He will think I am back to my ways and I am nae. I need this one day. I will have your word ye willnae tell him,” he ordered, pointing his finger at her.

She shook her head in frustration. “And what of when Ciaran searches for ye and cannae find ye? He isnae daft, Declan.” He attempted to speak, but she raised her hand, cutting him off. “Ye know, I think ye misjudge Ciaran. I donna think he would battle with ye on this. Ye have done what he asked of ye for several months’ time. Why donna ye just tell him? Surely he would understand.”

A corner of Declan’s mouth quirked with annoyance and he rubbed his brow. “’Tisnae that simple, Rosalia. I donna need another lecture from him. I have had enough of them to last my life. He will think I am back to my ways. Besides, he knows Mother died on this day and he shouldnae seek me out. I will have your word ye willnae tell him. If he asks ye, tell him ye know naught. I will return on the morrow.” He entered the stall and she blocked his way out.

“Declan, donna put me in this place. I cannae tell untruths to Ciaran.”

He shrugged, amused at her attempts to obstruct the stall door. “Then tell him what ye will.”

She did not need to start a battle between the brothers. They had been getting along so well. “I willnae tell him, but if he
asks
me…”

He waved her off. “Tell him whatever ye wish. Just give me my day, Rosalia,” he said, pushing past her and leading his horse out of the stall.

“Ye will have a care. I will have your word, Declan MacGregor,” she yelled after him.

“Ye have my word. I shall see ye on the morrow,” he said, giving her his back and waving his hand in the air.

Men.

She glanced at Noonie and yearned to take him for a ride. Niall and Duncan would both have her head if he would return a muddy mess. She would need to find something else to occupy her. She carefully lifted her skirts and was making her way back across the bailey when someone grabbed her abruptly from behind.

“Didnae I tell ye it wouldnae be long before ye were outdoors?” asked Ciaran, whispering into her ear.

Pulling out of his hold, she turned around and swatted at him. “Aye, ye did. Howbeit I wish to stay out all day. I can nay longer bear the inside walls,” she moaned.

“Then donna. Let us ride to the village. I am sure Noonie wants to run,” he said, leading her back to the stable.

She stopped and avoided his eyes. “Umm… I didnae really want to go to the village this day. Do ye think we can ride around the loch instead?” she asked hopefully. “Mayhap there wouldnae be too much mud.”

“I suppose. There shouldnae be too much mud if we stay to the rocky path.” He gave her a warm smile. “Go and change into your trews and I will see to our mounts.” Taking a quick glance and observing only a few men in the bailey, she stood on the tips of her toes and brushed her lips to his. When she pulled away, he gave her a smoldering look that thawed the winter chill. “Go and change,” he choked out.

She made haste and donned her trews, her mind plaguing her about Declan. It tore at her insides not to speak the truth to Ciaran, but she would be bound to tell him if he asked her. She would have to pray he did not.

***

Rosalia arrived back at the stable, and Ciaran thought it was a shame she still needed to wear her cloak. He so enjoyed the view when she wore only her trews. Dresses should be outlawed. Men did not realize what they were missing. He handed her the reins and smiled. “Your mount, my lady.”

Noonie’s prancing feet almost stepped on Rosalia’s, and she jumped away from him. “My thanks, my laird. I think our mounts are both anxious to take their leave.”

“Aye. Keep a tight rein on him and donna yet give him his head lest he runs with the wind. Are ye sure ye donna want to ride to the village?” he asked, mounting his horse.

“Quite sure,” she said quickly. “I think the loch will be fine. I just need to escape these walls.”

He laughed. “Then come. Let us ride and escape the madness.” He would have to be a daft fool not to recognize the harsh winter chill was taking its toll on her. He also experienced the closeness of the walls and needed to escape to the outdoors. This was one of the most severe Highland winters Ciaran could ever remember. His only saving grace was that the Highland weather made it difficult for the bloody Campbells to further scheme and plot their next course.

When he received the missive from the Earl of Argyll, the
bloody
Campbell, he was not fooled for a moment by Campbell’s denial into believing his people were safe. King James demanded peace in the Highlands, but Ciaran would do what he must to make sure no further harm befell his clan.

Rosalia grunted as she held a tight rein on Noonie, but Noonie continued to prance. “Ciaran, I think we must return. He pulls too much on my hands.” She held up her hand, showing the imprint of the rein imbedded into her red palm.

He dismounted and approached her. He was not ready to take her back—they needed the outdoor respite. “I donna think we need to return. Ye will ride with me and we will lead Noonie.”

“Are ye sure? I donna want to trouble ye,” she said as she dismounted from Noonie.

He smiled. “I am sure. I am nae ready to return. Ye will ride with me. Come,” he said, holding out his hand to her. When she paused and still did not move, he raised his brow and folded his arms over his chest. “Rosalia, I will have the reason for what troubles ye.”

She gave a nervous laugh. “Donna be absurd, my laird. ’Tis naught troubling me.”

“Then why do ye nae want to ride with me?” he asked, his eyes sharp and assessing. There was a heavy silence, but that was fine with him. He could be just as stubborn. He would simply stand here until she spoke the tale.

She huffed and stared at her hands. Noonie’s reins held much interest to her. When he did not budge, she blurted out, “How will ye get me on your mount?” She colored fiercely.

“What do ye mean?” He stared at her, perplexed.

Rosalia glanced away from him and started to twirl Noonie’s reins between her fingers. “Your mount doesnae kneel, and ye cannae simply lift me on him,” she said quietly.

“What? I donna understand what ye speak.”

She swallowed hard, lifted her chin, and boldly met his gaze. “Ciaran, your mount doesnae kneel, and I willnae be able to get upon his back,” she said with a flush upon her face.

He was momentarily speechless in his surprise. So that was the truth of the matter. He could not understand why she believed the size of her frame bothered him. This issue was becoming old, and he would settle this once and for all. He strode toward her and bent down slightly. Before she was able to figure out what he was about, he tossed her over his shoulder. He chuckled as she yelped.

“Ciaran! Put me down! Ye will hurt yourself,” She wiggled within his grasp.

“Will ye cease? Your fidgeting is going to make me drop ye.” Bending his knees, he playfully pretended he was going to let her fall.

She squeaked.

He laughed and pivoted her from his shoulder into his arms. “Ye underestimate my strength and your self-worth, my lady,” he murmured, brushing his lips to hers.

“Ciaran, please put me down,” she begged.

“If ye insist.” He gently dropped her to her feet and placed his hand to her cheek. Hearing her breath quicken, he knew he had to kiss her. He bent his head slowly forward, but she pulled away from him before he had the chance, giving him a slight smile of defiance.

“Come, my laird. We are wasting precious light,” she said, approaching his mount.

He grabbed her waist and easily lifted her onto his mount. “Ye see? Ye worry for naught.” Swinging up behind her, he placed his arms around her and grabbed the reins. With Noonie in tow, they rode up the mountain pass as he started to think this was not one of his best ideas.

She was too close.

He could smell her lavender scent and feel her body nestled between his legs. The gentle rocking motion of his mount tightened his groin. His arms pulled her closer. She felt so damn good. He shifted his weight, his groin heavy and painful with lust. Her cut tresses allowed easy access to the creamy expanse of her neck, and he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her softness. The lass was so disturbing to him in every way imaginable. Every day, he found his feelings intensifying, and every eve, he fought to stay them. Damn, how he wanted her.

Curse
his
reckless
brother.

That idea barely crossed his mind before another followed. He would wait until the last possible moment to tell her. He had no choice. By the end of the sennight, they would take their leave to Glengarry.

***

When they returned to the stable, they released their muddy mounts into Duncan and Niall’s care. Ciaran took his leave to review the accounts while Rosalia sought Ealasaid’s company in the kitchens. She had been taking every opportunity to spend time with her as of late. Who knew how many chances she would have left?

Rosalia walked into the kitchen and inhaled deeply. “Do ye have any biscuits, Ealasaid? I smell something wonderful.”

Ealasaid chuckled. “Ye always know when and where to find them. I just made a fresh batch there,” she said, pointing to the table. “I would grab them right quick before the laird’s brother gets to them.”

Nodding her thanks, Rosalia pulled out the bench at the table. “Aye, Aiden would have them finished before we even reached for one. What would I ever do without ye, Ealasaid?” she asked, sitting down on the bench and grabbing for a biscuit.