Temptation in a Kilt (9 page)

Clenching his jaw, he tried to ignore her. The cloth was so tight at her waist that he had to yank hard to pull it over her head. She raised her arms to don his tunic, but not before the light had rippled on her creamy, ivory breasts.
God’s teeth!
How much could one man be expected to bear? He had been too long without Beathag’s expert touch.

He was going to burst.

He spun around quickly and grabbed a dry blanket for her to wrap around her waist and legs. A lass had never worn his clothing—ever. It was—well, he was not sure what it was. Approaching his sack, Ciaran grabbed the ale and took a long, hard swig. Seumas looked at his obvious discomfort and chuckled.

Ciaran made a mental note that the first matter he would attend to when he returned to Glenorchy was to seek Beathag. His body reacted as though he were an untried lad. He was sorely in need of a woman, and she would surely cure him of these urges. Perhaps he would stay in his chamber and ravish her for days until they could not walk. That would surely sate his hunger.

Rosalia sat down on the blanket. Calum and Seumas moved closer to the fire. Praise the saints for his men—let them entertain her.

“Lass, let me place your clothes closer to the fire to dry,” said Seumas.

“My thanks, Seumas. Calum, how do ye fare?”

Calum smirked. “My head aches. Mayhap if our laird would share the ale, I could numb the pain.”

Ciaran handed the ale to Calum as Seumas laughed. Grabbing his own blanket, Ciaran sat down—as far away from Rosalia as he possibly could in the little crofter’s hut. The more distance he placed between them, the better. She snuggled into her blanket and twisted away from him. At last his ardor had managed to cool. Reaching for a piece of dried beef, he tapped her on the shoulder.

“Thank ye. I am nae hungry,” she said, turning back into her blanket.

Ciaran faltered in the silence that engulfed them. “Ye must eat. I have an oatcake if ye want it,” he offered.

She shook her head and would not turn around. “Nay. Thank ye, my laird. I just wish to sleep.”

Surely she was not still pining after Montgomery. Ciaran placed his hand on her shoulder in a comforting gesture. “Lass, I told ye Montgomery will be fine. Ye must eat and keep your strength. Ye donna want to catch the ague,” he whispered. He had given his word to Montgomery that he would see to her. If she did not eat or continued with this melancholy, he was sure she would catch something, and that would only be one more obstacle to delay his return to Glenorchy.

Leaning back, Rosalia cast him an expression of incredulity. “Ye think… Ciaran, I am nae worried over James—well, I am, but nae as ye think. My apologies for being such a burden,” she whispered.

“What?” What was she apologizing for? He glanced over at his men. At least they
appeared
to make attempts at conversation. The lass made no sense, but he should not be surprised. Why could women never speak their thoughts in terms he could understand? After having Aisling under his roof for so long, he had ceased trying to figure out women. He would leave that task to Aiden.

Her eyes darted around the room in frustration.

“I saw ye and Seumas with my own eyes laughing at my… mishap,” she blurted out. “My midriff is always an issue with everyone,” she said, her spirits sinking even lower.

“Your midriff? I donna understand what ye speak. I know naught of this. Seumas wasnae laughing at ye. He was laughing at my… discomfort,” Ciaran whispered. The reason she was troubled was about her midriff and the dress? Why would she think such things? He could not for the life of him figure out why women held such trivial things in the highest regard.

“
Stop
, Rosalia. Just cease this now.” Seeing she was not going to relent, he bent closer, placing his lips so close to her ear that he was sure she could feel his breath. “The only reason I had discomfort was because I saw your bare, creamy bottom in front of my eyes. Ye are beautiful and ye almost unmanned me, lass.” Ciaran kissed her lightly on her cheek before returning to his blanket.

***

Rosalia could not think and remained frozen. Ciaran said she was beautiful. James was the only man who had ever told her she was beautiful and she had never believed him. He would say that as a brother. She was sure he said such things offset her mother’s venom, but Ciaran… Her face was badly bruised and she’d humiliated herself beyond belief. Yet, he said she was beautiful. In truth, it warmed her heart.

She tossed and turned well into the night. Calum and Seumas, or perhaps both, snored loudly. She twisted to her side to try to find a comfortable spot, making a futile attempt to block out the noise. Opening her eyes, she saw Ciaran gazing at her through the firelight.

He smiled. “My men are dependable and trustworthy, but I didnae say they werenae annoying.”

“Aye,” she laughed.

“We will arrive at Glenorchy on the morrow, and ye will have your own chamber. The heavens know I cannae wait until I see my own chamber and seek my comfortable bed,” he growled.

“Ye deserve to be home. I am sure ye missed it. Do ye think Aiden’s wife had her babe?” she whispered.

“I donna know. I hope so. Aisling’s bellowing was irritating when we took our leave. I cannae imagine what it would be now,” he laughed.

“Ye men always think of the inconvenience to ye. She is probably tired and worried about the babe,” she chided him.

“Ye havenae heard her bellowing, lass,” he said, his brows drawing together in an agonizing expression.

“At ye or Aiden?”

Ciaran grunted. “At everyone she sees. I should take her to battle. She has frightened even the fiercest of my men.”

They exchanged a look of subtle amusement.

“I am anxious to make her acquaintance. I am nervous about your family. I mean to say, what will they think of all this—of me?” The thought gnawed away at her confidence.

“Ye worry overmuch. Ye forget that I
am
laird.” His voice was a velvet murmur.

She rolled her eyes. “Aye. Keep reminding me of your greatness.”

Ciaran smirked, grabbing his chest. “Ye wound me, lass. Try to sleep. We will ride soon enough.”

Rosalia must have fallen asleep because the next she knew, the men were stirring. She sat up slowly, and Seumas pointed to her trews and tunic. “Your clothes are dry. As soon as we pack up, we will take our leave and ye can dress.”

“Aye. Calum. How is your head?” she asked with concern.

He shrugged. “Stiff, but I will be home this day, which makes it feel that much better.”

“I am sure,” she agreed. Seumas and Calum took their leave, and she packed up her blankets. Rummaging through her sack, Rosalia spotted the day dress. She pulled it out and sighed—how truly embarrassing. Without giving it additional thought, she tossed it into the ashes of the fire. “I hope ye burn and rot,” she said through gritted teeth.

A deep chuckle answered her. She turned around to see Ciaran leaning in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest. “Ye arenae bringing the dress with ye to Glenorchy then?” he asked in his casual, jesting way.

She blushed and knew he teased her affectionately, not maliciously. His playful bantering amused her. “That would be a fair assumption, my laird. I am ready to wipe my hands of yestereve. This day will be much better. Ye are going home.”

“Aye. There is that. Are ye going to don some trews, or will ye ride to Glenorchy with a bare bottom, lass?” Ciaran’s eyes roamed over her figure.

At least her bare bottom was covered by his tunic. She shooed him out the door. “Will ye please take your leave so that I may dress?”

“Aye. Make haste. We are only half a day’s ride from Glenorchy,” he exclaimed with excitement.

She nodded and shut the door. Once they reached Glenorchy, she would breathe a sigh of relief. Thinking of James for a moment, she said a silent prayer that he was well. He had to be. Rosalia opened the door and saw the men already gathered around the horses and ready to depart. She approached Noonie and fastened her sack as quickly as she could. She would try to make haste so she did not hold them back any longer than necessary.

“Ye didnae eat last eve. I assume ye are hungry. Can ye eat and ride?” As she turned, Ciaran held out an oatcake.

“Aye. My thanks.”

He raised his brow and gave her a challenging look.

Waving him off, she rolled her eyes. “Get used to it, MacGregor.”

Turning away from her, Ciaran grabbed the reins of his mount. “Saucy wench.” He spoke under his breath, but loud enough for her to hear.

They continued to ride north to Glenorchy. At least they were through the death-dropping passes. The leaves on the trees were bathed in colors of golden hues, and a warm breeze brushed her cut tresses. It felt delightful after riding in the pouring rain. She turned Noonie and loved the sound of his shuffling feet through the freshly fallen leaves. It was so quiet and peaceful. For once in her life, she felt everything would be all right.

They approached a clearing and Rosalia stopped. Never had she seen anything so beautiful. A flowing river with rushing water cascaded through jagged rocks. The smell of pine overwhelmed her senses. She took a deep, penetrating breath and closed her eyes. To her left, pine trees clustered along the river. There was a clear path along the water that led into trees the color of honey and bronze. To her right, the clearing was much more open. Pines gathered in sections, but she did not see a path. The water soothed her mood.

Ciaran rode up beside her. “Rosalia?”

“’Tis just a beautiful sight. Truly, it takes my breath.” She sighed, glancing from side to side.

He chuckled. “If ye like the view here, wait until ye see my home.”

The sound of thundering hoofbeats caught her attention and she gasped. At least five men were riding toward them at breakneck speed with swords drawn.

“
Cruachan
!” they bellowed.

Rosalia whipped her head to Ciaran for direction, and nothing but hatred played upon his features. In fact, it was the same look Calum and Seumas held. Something cautioned her not to ask.

“My laird?” Seumas said through gritted teeth.

A muscle quivered at Ciaran’s jaw. “We have nay choice. We ride to Glenorchy and outrun them. Calum is injured, and I willnae chance Rosalia getting hurt.” Curses fell from his mouth—creative curses she had only heard once before from James.

“Ciaran?” Her stomach was clenched tight.

“Bloody Campbells.”

“Ride now, Rosalia!” Ciaran yelled, his eyes blazing.

Noonie felt her unease and bolted onto the path into the trees, almost causing her to lose her seat. Her heart was racing and felt as though it would spring through her chest. Seumas slowed his mount and gestured for her to pass him.

“Ride, my lady! I will watch your back,” he shouted.

Rosalia rounded a bend and saw Calum stopped in front of her. She yanked on Noonie’s reins to halt, gasping and panting in terror. At least ten mounted men surrounded him, swords unsheathed. Thundering hooves rode directly toward her hard and fast.

She was surely going to die.

As she closed her eyes, the sound of racing hooves passed her by. She sat upon Noonie, frozen still and breathing a short sigh of relief, although she was aware of the danger. Positioning Noonie a safe distance from the path, she gawked at the scene before her.

Ciaran rounded the bend, his face a mask of rage. He shouted commands to the men, and they all turned their mounts… directly into the path of the bloody Campbells. He gave a curt shout to Calum who approached her, issuing a firm warning not to move. Move? She did not think she could budge if she tried.

Galloping hooves approached rapidly but stopped abruptly when a wall of armed men greeted them. Curses flew and the clanking sounds of battle echoed through the air. Ciaran’s arm muscles rippled as he hefted his sword, effortlessly deflecting a blow from a Campbell. Turning, he pummeled his enemy square in the face with the hilt of his sword. The man fell to the ground with a thud. The Campbell men retreated, leaving their fallen comrade behind. A few of Ciaran’s men gave chase while two others pulled the fallen Campbell to his feet.

Ciaran dismounted and placed his sword to the throat of the Campbell. “I could kill ye now,” he bit out. “I will let ye live to deliver fair warning to your laird. I will follow King James’s command, but make nay mistake… I
will
protect my people. If I find any
bloody
Campbell setting foot on my land, it will be the last step he takes,” he warned, turning to his men. “Put him on his mount and get that
arse
off my land.”

The remainder of Ciaran’s men trotted past her, not glancing her way. Did every MacGregor need to be so impressive in size?

“Donna fash yourself. Ye are safe.” Little beads of sweat shimmered on Ciaran’s skin. A lock of thick chestnut hair fell onto his cheek and he pushed it back. She realized he still spoke to her. Why was her mouth suddenly so dry? “Come. We are home,” he said, leading her back onto the path.

They cleared the trees and a huge, gray stone castle stood before her on an island surrounded by green, grassy moss. Mangerton could have fit inside it three times over. It was an elegant castle with a stone barbican with round turrets and square towers. With the changing of the leaves, the mountains surrounding the castle were inundated with color.

She was speechless. Pivoting on Noonie, she tried to scan everything around her. The clean breeze of the loch teased her senses. The water mirrored a deeper color of the sky as small, white waves crashed into Ciaran’s island home. She closed her eyes, trying to imprint the picture into her mind.

Riding single file, they headed to a
cabhsair
that extended over the water to the island. Traveling under a huge portcullis, they continued through to the courtyard, which bustled with men, women, and children who came out to greet their laird on his return.

Ciaran dismounted and warmly greeted his clan. He did not immediately turn toward her, giving her time to gather her wits. Pulling on Noonie’s mane to dismount, she noticed an older man with a warm smile approaching.

“
Fàilte. Ciamar a tha sibh
?” he asked with a smile.
Welcome. How are you?

“
Tha
gu
math, tapadh leibh
.”
I
am
fine, thanks.

“
Is
mise
Niall
.”
My
name
is
Niall.

“
Is
mise
Rosalia
.”

Niall nodded his head in approval. “Verra good, lass. Here, I will take him for ye,” he said, holding out his hand for Noonie’s reins.

He reminded her so much of their stable master, Duncan. “My thanks, Niall.”

A strong, warm voice murmured from behind. “Niall, his name is Noonie. Make sure he gets a good brushing and give him some extra oats.”

“Aye, my laird.” Niall nodded to Rosalia. “My lady.”

She turned and saw that Ciaran had an irresistible grin upon his face, clearly glad to be home.

“’Tis about time ye returned. As ye see, your walls still stand.”

Rosalia had to will her mouth to close at the sight of a man dressed in a red-and-green-patterned kilt with a flowing gray tunic and shimmering with sweat and masculinity. His golden-brown hair hung well below his shoulders in two braids. He had a strong chiseled jaw and blue eyes—piercing blue eyes. He was… beautiful.

Realizing that she was gaping, the man laughed. “I see ye brought me a gift, my laird. Pray introduce us,” he said silkily.

She heard a grunt and thought it came from Ciaran.

“Lady Rosalia, my youngest brother, Declan.” She detected a hint of censure in his tone.

“And the bonniest of the brothers.” Declan grabbed her hand and bent to kiss it, gazing into her eyes the entire time.

He was good; she would give him that. She had no doubt that many a woman had fallen under Declan’s spell, and she was not foolish enough to be added to the list. The arrogance of beautiful men never ceased to amaze her.

“How can ye bring such a beautiful lass within my sights, brother?” he asked, with an arrogant tone in his voice.

Ciaran was about to speak, but Rosalia held up her hand to stay him. “Empty flattery will get ye naught,” she chided Declan. “I dress in a man’s clothing, my tresses are butchered, and my face is battered and bruised. Donna insult me with your honeyed words.”

Ciaran chuckled.

Declan raised his brow, clearly caught off guard by her response. “I meant nay insult, my lady. I tend to see what is in the heart of a lass and nae what beauty is upon her face,” he simply stated, giving her a slight bow.

She rolled her eyes.

“Pray excuse me,” said Declan, dipping his head slightly and turning on his heel.

Ciaran chuckled. “Ye wounded his pride.”

“My apologies. James is the same. They think because they are beautiful, they can behave as rogues.”

“Nay need for apologies. My brother is a rogue.” Touching the small of her back, he guided her toward a set of stairs. “Come. Let me show ye my home,” he said proudly.

They walked into the enormous interior of the great hall. Corridors shot out in all directions. She would surely lose her way. A staircase swept down and lovely tapestries hung on the wall. A beautiful painted-glass window was displayed at the top of the staircase, and colored prisms danced against the wall. There were two fireplaces in the hall, each adorned with wooden carvings of animals and pine. Long wooden tables and benches graced the floor, and a raised dais boasted several intricately carved chairs.

He watched her intently.

“Your home is truly magnificent.”

He smiled. “My thanks. ’Tis good to be home. Welcome to Glenorchy, Rosalia.”

“I see ye are safe, my brother.” Aiden stood at the top of the staircase, holding a bundle.

Ciaran ran, taking the steps two at a time. “Aisling had the babe,” he spoke joyfully.

Aiden glanced down at his bairn and smiled. “Aye, my son. Two days past. His name is Teàrlach after Aisling’s father,” he said proudly.

“And Aisling?” Ciaran asked searchingly.

“Is fine and recovering. She is still abed.”

Rosalia climbed the stairs. The baby was beautiful with his porcelain-white skin and curly red hair. “He is a beautiful bairn,” she said, rubbing her hand across his soft curls.

Aiden broke into an open, friendly smile. “My thanks. Welcome to Glenorchy, lass.”

An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks.

Holding out his arms, Ciaran nodded to Aiden. “Time to give him up, Brother. I want to see how strapping the new MacGregor is. Mayhap he takes after his laird,” he boasted.

Aiden released his son to Ciaran and Rosalia’s heart melted. Ciaran looked natural as a father and was so kind of heart. Surely he would not match his only daughter to an unsavory English lord for coin. She willed away her dark memories. Ciaran placed his hand over Teàrlach’s little head, and she noticed how much strength he possessed. And not just physically; he was so confident in every move he made.

The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I have had his attention long enough.” He held out Teàrlach and placed him in her arms.

A wave of apprehension swept through her and she shook her head. “Nay, Ciaran. I cannae. I havenae held a bairn before. I donna want to hurt him.”

His eyes were gentle, understanding. “Here. I will assist ye.” He walked behind her, placing his arms around her. “At this time, ye need to support his head and ye place this arm under his bottom.”

Rosalia leaned lightly into Ciaran, tilting her face toward his. He was so close to her lips that she could feel his breath.

“There. Ye are doing it,” he choked out.

She could swear she heard him swallow. For a long time, she gazed back at him. Holding the bairn and having Ciaran so close made her wish she held their son for the first time. They both remained frozen and she thought briefly that he felt something, too, but then Teàrlach cried and the moment was lost. Ciaran stepped away and gently handed Teàrlach back to Aiden.

“Rosalia, when ye get settled, I know Aisling would love to make your acquaintance,” said Aiden.

“Of course. I am anxious to meet her as well.”

As Aiden turned and hummed to his son, she smiled. “He is so proud. He will be a wonderful father.”

“Aye. Come. Let me show ye to your chamber. I will order a bath for ye, and then we will have a warm meal.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

When they reached the end of the hall, Ciaran opened the last door on the right. They were immediately bathed in sunlight. He gestured for her to enter a room adorned with bright-colored tapestries. A decoratively carved writing desk and stool stood in the corner and a large stone fireplace took up the center wall. As she turned, it was difficult to miss a huge bed with tall carved corner posts and counterpanes of gold cloth. The chamber was twice the size of her bedchamber at Mangerton.

“Ye havenae yet seen one of my favorite views.” He led her to the window that overlooked the loch in all its splendor. As she gazed out, the colored trees reflected off the loch. She was breathless. She could not imagine waking up to this view every blessed day.

“Whose bedchamber is this?” she asked, still glancing out at the loch. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he smiled and she shook her head adamantly. “Ciaran, nay. I cannae stay here.” Why would he grace her with such a room? She was merely a guest.

“It doesnae meet your approval?” He raised his brow and waited for a response, folding his arms over his chest.

“Of course it does. ’Tis beautiful,” she muttered hastily.

Ciaran nodded in approval. “Good. Then ’tis settled.”

“Nay. Surely there is a much… smaller chamber.”

“There isnae. Ye will stay here,” he ordered, turning his back on her and walking toward the door. “Your bath will be here soon. I will then meet ye in the hall for a warm meal.” He turned around and gave her a warm smile and closed the door. Apparently, he was not open to her suggested change of venue.

Rosalia sat down on the window bench that overlooked the loch. And she had believed her mother always had the finest of everything. But it did not even begin to compare to this. The loch glistened in the sunlight. Closing her eyes, Rosalia let the warm rays bathe her face. It was delightful.

There was a knock on the door and a maid entered, carrying a bundle of… dresses? “M’lady,” she said, bobbing a small curtsy. “I am Anna. M’lady Aisling wants ye to have these.” She placed the clothing on the bed. “She said there are many sizes to choose from, and she will greet ye after the midday meal.”

Rosalia could not believe the kindness she had received from strangers. They treated her better than her own family. “My thanks, Anna. Ye may tell your lady that I look forward to meeting her as well.” Anna nodded her head and bobbed a curtsy as she departed.

Approaching the bed, Rosalia sorted through the dresses, finding at least eight to choose from, as well as two chemises. She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer that one of them would fit. Another knock at the door broke her ponderings as four burly men brought in the tub. A couple of lads dumped the steaming buckets of water just as Anna came back with another bundle.

“M’lady thought ye might be needin’ these, too.” She held out a couple pairs of silk slippers and a scented bag. “Do ye need me to assist ye with your bath, m’lady?”

“Nay, Anna. Ye have done enough. I thank ye for… everything,” Rosalia said, gesturing to the bed.

The girl looked at her in surprise. “’Tis m’lady’s doin’. She is kind of heart.”

“I will be sure to thank her.”

Anna departed and Rosalia opened the scented bag filled with lavender. She spread some of the contents in her bath and disrobed. Climbing clumsily over the side, she sank into the tub. It felt so warm and soothing. Rosalia stuck her head under the water and let it wash away her worries. When she came up, she heard Ciaran speaking. Wiping the water from her face, she grabbed the drying cloth and covered her breasts. Even though it would not conceal her completely, it was better than having nothing at all. As she searched around the room, she saw it was empty. Was she going mad? Maybe she’d imagined his voice.

“My thanks. That will be all.”

A door closed and she glanced to where the sound was coming from. Another door was in her chamber. She wondered why she had not noticed it before. Her eyes widened in surprise. Surely Ciaran was not in the room next to hers. Rosalia remained perfectly still and heard the sound of splashing water and a grunt.
God’s teeth!
Ciaran was in his bath as well—now. He was in the room next to hers with no clothing. All she had to do was open the adjoining door and she would see him in the tub.