Temptation in a Kilt (6 page)

“Tell me of your family.”

“My family. My mother and father have passed. As ye know, I am eldest. Aiden is my second brother and then I have Declan, the youngest. Tell me of your family.”

“I donna have a brother or sister.”

“Are your mother and father still living?”

She paused, looking down at her hands. “Aye. How far is Glenorchy from here?”

“Two days. How did ye end up in the clearing where Donaidh and Seumas found ye?”

Rosalia rubbed her hands over her face. “The pain was shooting and I needed to rest. I was only going to stop for a short time. I fell from Noonie and everything went black.” She took another swig of ale and handed him the wine sack. “I heard tales of fighting in the Highlands. Men fighting to protect what is theirs and such. Do ye fight or have a need to defend your home from another clan?”

“Aye, the bloody Campbells. Why is your horse named Noonie?”

“’Tis the name to which he has grown accumstomed. The bloody Campbells? Tell me. Why do ye fight?”

“Ye didnae answer the question. I asked why such a name for your horse.” Ciaran raised his eyebrow and waited for her response.

She was not exactly thrilled to answer him, but she did make a promise. “My mother named him. She often said I ate as much as my horse and I ne’er missed a noon meal. She said we were alike in that regard. Now… I will hear about the bloody Campbells. Tell me. Why do ye fight?”

“’Tis a question that has nay easy answer. Glenorchy was originally owned by the Campbells.”

“The
bloody
Campbells,” she slurred.

He laughed. “Aye, the
bloody
Campbells. Glenorchy was bestowed upon the MacGregors for allegiance. The MacGregor Chief at that time helped Alexander II with his conquest of Argyll. The MacGregor Chief was one of the leaders of the Royal army as vassal to the Earl of Ross. When the leaders of the army were rewarded, Glenorchy was bestowed upon us.”

“And they still continue to fight for it after all this time?”

“Aye. Who hurt ye, Rosalia?”

She took another swig of ale. “’Tis a question that has nay easy answer,” she repeated in the same mocking tone.

“’Tis your turn to answer.”

“Aye. ’Tisnae a pleasant tale to tell to recollect,” she moaned into her hands.

“Take all the time ye need.”

She raised her head and smiled at him. “Ye are too kind, my laird… Ciaran…by far.”

There was a moment of silence and Rosalia found it hard to focus. “The family coffers are near to empty so I was to be bargained to an English
lord
in order for Mother and Father to obtain a heavy purse.” A heaviness centered in her chest.

They exchanged a subtle look of amusement as Ciaran waited for her to continue.

“Verra well. Mother and Father give me a strong hand—a verra strong hand. I gave the English
peacock
a chance and discovered he was the foulest of beasts. There was also a tale that he killed his own brother for coin. When I told Mother and Father I refused to wed this man… ye can see for yourself.” Her voice did not quite reflect the agony she felt. “I travel to Glengarry to seek my
seanmhair,
but the gods were kind enough to put ye in the path of my journey, Ciaran MacGregor. I will have a chance to heal and will be able to continue, thanks to ye.”

***

Ciaran’s mind was racing with questions. Her own mother and father had caused these bruises? Glengarry? The Highland weather this time of year was unpredictable. Was the lass completely daft? He had known something untoward had befallen her and he still was uncertain he had the entire tale. He shifted in his chair and his heart pounded through his chest, a mixture of anger and respect overwhelming him.

“Ciaran, I donna feel so well.” Rosalia rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Could we seek our beds now?”

He exchanged a smile with her. “Of course, lass.” He rose and grabbed the back of her chair. “Donna stand too quickly, Rosalia.” She put her hands on his arms and tried to pull herself up, barely able to balance on her own two feet. He steadied her and she glanced up at him with trusting eyes—eyes that were the color of the sea. A man could easily drown in them.

“Ciaran.” Raising her hand, she placed it on his cheek.

He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. When he opened them, she looked at him so intensely. Her short, cut tresses fell into her face and he brushed them back behind her ear. What was he thinking? Rosalia was injured and, no thanks to him, in her cups. He could not take advantage of her weakened state. Instinctively, Ciaran glanced down at her parted lips, and all sense of reason deserted him. The next he knew, he was bending his head slowly forward as she closed her eyes.

His lips gently brushed hers. She melted into his chest, her fingers squeezing the muscles on his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and he deepened the kiss. When Rosalia let out a mewling sound, he pulled back. The last he wanted was to cause her pain. He kissed her bruised cheek and then kissed her on the top of her head.

She pulled back slightly and raised her fingertip to her lips. “I need to sit before I fall.”

“Come,” he said. He helped her into bed and covered her with a blanket. Sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, he again brushed her tresses away from her face. When he glanced down, she was watching him.

“Please donna pity me, Ciaran. From ye, I donna think I could bear it.”

Ciaran gave her a warm smile and bent down and brushed his lips with hers. “’Tisnae pity ye see upon my face, Rosalia.” He rubbed his thumb on her bruised cheek. “Now ye sleep.” He bent over and kissed the top of her head. He stood and gave her one last look before he blew out the candles and sought the floor. What the hell was the matter with him?

Not sure why he’d kissed her, he contemplated his actions. No woman had ever gazed at him like that. Although the tale the lass told was not pleasant, Ciaran could not remember the last time he actually sat and spoke with a lass. He and Beathag never really had words, nor would he ever think of being that compassionate to her. Simply, they took their pleasure from one another and then took their leave. That was all he ever desired, nothing more. He had to admit he enjoyed speaking with Rosalia. Was it pity he felt for her? It was definitely not pity. He admired her courage.

As he lay in the darkness listening to her gentle breathing, his mind wandered. How much had actually occurred before Rosalia decided finally to take her leave? She’d cut her tresses and dressed in lad’s clothing. He did not know too many lasses who would attempt such a feat. And who was this English lord she was supposed to wed? That was a mystery in itself. Ciaran finally closed his eyes and had fallen into a deep sleep when a piercing scream echoed loudly in the silence of the night.

Startled, he sprang to his feet and grabbed his sword, ready to defend against whatever nightmare had awoken him. He found Rosalia thrashing violently on the bed. Ciaran dropped his sword and quickly approached her. “Rosalia, ye are dreaming,” he strongly whispered, grabbing her by the arms.

Surely this commotion would bring the attention of the entire inn upon them. He did not want to think about that outcome. He needed her to stop—now. As he restrained her arms, she shook violently. The lass clenched her fists and tried to hit him. His grip was intense, but she managed to free her legs from the blankets and kick at him, almost hitting him between the legs. As Ciaran repositioned himself, he relaxed his grip on her arms. It was too late. He realized his mistake. She squeezed her hand into a tight fist and took another swing at him. This one landed squarely on his jaw.

He placed his body weight upon her and whispered soothingly into her ear until she started to calm. She was still shaking, and he could feel the dampness of her tears upon his chest. “Rosalia, are ye awake? Ye were dreaming,” he whispered.

She was actually trembling now. “Aye.” Her tears choked her.

The innkeeper’s voice echoed in the hallway as he told everyone to go back and seek their beds. Ciaran closed his eyes at the inevitable.

There was a knock at his door.

“Everything is fine. My wife was only dreaming,” he called out with sternness in his voice.

There was a brief pause. “Aye,” said the innkeeper as he paused and then walked away from the door.

Ciaran moved to get up, but she wrapped her arms around him and cried into his shoulder. “Please stay with me, Ciaran. Donna leave. I need ye here with me. I donna want to be alone. Please…” Her voice faded to a hushed stillness.

“I willnae leave ye, Rosalia.” He moved to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist as she nestled her bottom against his groin. He pushed stray tendrils of hair back from her cheek. “Shh… ye are safe.” Her breathing calmed and her tears finally stopped, but he continued to hold her well into the night. Although he was reluctant to admit it, Rosalia felt damn good in his arms. He swiftly pushed back the notion.

He really would like to know what the hell was wrong with him. Maybe he’d had more ale than he realized or perhaps it was simply having a warm woman cradled next to him. He had not bedded Beathag for some time. He could not understand why he was drawn to Rosalia. Ciaran knew for certain he did not pity her, and she was not the type of lass he usually bedded. She had no tresses and dressed in lad’s clothing, and he most certainly did not take to men. What was it then? It could be her blue eyes—the color of the sea. When she laughed this eve, it had felt as if the sun bathed his body in warm rays of light.

Rosalia stirred and he held her tighter.

“Ciaran,” she murmured sleepily.

“Aye, I am here,” he reassured her. God help him. He knew at that moment he needed to enjoy the warmth while it lasted because he had made a decision. Come first light, she would not like it—not like it at all.

His vow of not becoming involved with her was solid, but his honor would not allow him to leave her here unattended. Whether the lass liked it or not, she would travel with him to Glenorchy. Once he delivered her to Glengarry, his conscience would be clear. Rosalia snuggled in closer and let out a sigh. Ciaran closed his eyes, having no intention of permitting himself to get too close to her. No intention whatsoever.

***

Rosalia was bathed in heat. It was delightful. She breathed in the spicy scent and sighed. Arms tightened around her as she stirred, and she realized that Ciaran slept next to her. Remembering most of their speech last eve, she did not want this to end—well, at least the part of Ciaran sleeping next to her. It felt… right.

“How do ye fare, Rosalia?”

She jumped, having thought he was still fast asleep. “I feel… I donna know,” she said, confused.

“’Tis probably the ale. It will pass,” he said in a warm, comforting tone. There was a knock on the door and she stiffened in his arms. “Aye?”

“Ciaran, Calum is readying our mounts,” said Aiden through the door.

He sighed. “Give me a few moments.”

She was not surprised that he wished to take his leave so early this morn. It was as they had discussed, but Rosalia could not stay the feelings he stirred within her. Glengarry was her destiny, not some Highland laird she met along the way. She needed to quit dreaming and come back to reality. She was never meant to be with someone like
him
.

Raising his hand, Ciaran gently rubbed her cheek. “I will let ye take care of your personal needs and then I need to speak with ye.”

She nodded her head in agreement.

He fled the bed fully clothed and sat at the table to put on his boots. He fastened his sword, grabbed the ale and his sack, and gave her a brief nod as he departed. She could be so foolish. Ciaran offered her comfort, nothing more. She was thankful for his kindness toward her because if anyone else had found her, she might not have been so lucky.

Rising from the bed, Rosalia felt slightly better than she had the day before. She was definitely sore, but it was not as unbearable. She took care of her personal needs and approached her sack. Picking up the day dress, she decided to pack it. There could be a need for it. After all, she could not greet her
seanmhair
in trews. She sat down and donned her boots. Grabbing her bundle, she swung open the door and found Ciaran waited for her, leaning up against the wall.

He took her gently by the arm and escorted her back into the room. “Rosalia, I need but a moment.”

Turning around, she placed her sack on the bed.

“How do ye fare? Does your head ache from the ale?” he asked, a half smile crossing his features.

“Actually, nay. I feel better than last eve.”

“Truly?”

“Aye. What happened to your jaw?” she asked, reaching out to touch it.

“’Tis naught. My mount brought his head up when I was putting on his bridle.” He paused for a moment, studying her intently. “When we spoke last eve, ye told me ye travel to Glengarry to seek your
seanmhair
.”

Rosalia stiffened. “Aye. And I wasnae that far into my cups to hear ye say ye wouldnae keep me from my journey,” she said tersely.

Ciaran tilted his brow, looking at her with uncertainty. “I willnae, but I have something to ask ye.”

“And what is that, my laird?” she asked hesitantly.

“Ye will come with me to Glenorchy—”

“Nay! Ye and your men have done enough. Ye need to be home, my laird, and I need to travel to Glengarry. I willnae accept your
pity.
”

A swift shadow of anger swept across his face. “
Pity?
Rosalia, ye arenae listening to me,” he bellowed. When she jumped and raised her hands in a defensive gesture, he took a deep breath and smiled an apology. “Listen to me. Do ye know where Glengarry is, lass?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“In the Highlands. North,” she murmured.

“Rosalia, ’tis verra north in the Highlands. The Highland weather this time of year is completely unpredictable. Ye donna have the supplies needed to make such a journey. Even when my men and I travel that far, we must take every precaution. Ye only have a couple of blankets, Rosalia. There is too much risk to journey there now.” She was about to interrupt him when he raised his hand. “Glenorchy is two days north from here. Ye ride with me and stay in my home. When ’tis safe to travel, I will take ye to your
seanmhair
. Ye have my word.”