Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  ***

  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.”

  She merely stared, tongue-tied. “And why would ye do that? I cannae impose upon ye. I heard ye speak with my own ears ’tisnae your fight and ye didnae ask to be my champion.”

  “Donna think upon it as I would be your champion.” His eyes studied her for a moment as if he knew some great secret. “Think upon it as I am now going to be your savior.”

  She snapped her mouth shut, stunned by his bluntness. She also did not fail to catch the sarcasm in his voice. “My savior? Ye arrogant—”

  “Aye. I am saving ye from yourself.”

  Rosalia paused and when she mentally replayed his words, she actually laughed. James was the only man who ever saved her from herself—repeatedly. “Why would ye do this for me? Ye said ye donna want trouble. I speak the truth when I tell ye I donna know what follows me.”

  Reaching out, Ciaran caught her hand in his. “Lass, ye appear to have had a time of it and I want to give ye a chance at the life ye seek. Ye seem to think this will happen if ye travel to Glengarry. When I take ye to your seanmhair, ye will have your chance. I donna speak untruths when I say ye willnae make it to Glengarry alone.”

  There was a heavy silence.

  As casually as Rosalia could manage, she asked, “And what of your men? I cannae travel at the speed—”

  “Donna worry. I have already spoken with my men. Aiden and Donaidh ride ahead to Glenorchy, and Calum and Seumas will ride with us.” His voice was firm and final.

  An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks. “I cannae help but to feel a burden—”

  “Cease your tongue, Rosalia. Noonie awaits and we are ready to ride. Do ye join me?” Ciaran folded his arms over his chest and waited for her response.

  She nodded her head in consent. “Aye, ye have my thanks.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Cease your thanking and grab your sack.”

  ***

  They continued to ride north, and Rosalia could not help but wonder if she should feel some guilt for the relief she felt. She would have an escort and be able to travel safely to her seanmhair. A new life awaited her at Glengarry, and she could not wait to embrace it. She pushed back her reflection of Ciaran from last eve, but she could still feel the warmth of his embrace and her lips tingled in remembrance of his touch. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes at the memory. It was not in her best interest to dwell upon such things. When she opened her eyes, Ciaran smiled as if he read her mind—well, she hoped he did not.

  Rosalia had Noonie pick up the pace, feeling guilty she had held these men back for so long. They probably had families anxiously awaiting their return, especially if Aiden and Donaidh rode ahead to Glenorchy and told them the remainder of the men followed—slowly.

  Calum trotted up beside her and inclined his blond head. Awkwardly, she cleared her throat. “Do ye and Seumas have family waiting for ye at Glenorchy?”

  “Nay,” he answered quickly. “Aiden and Donaidh are the only fools, er… men to take that step,” he murmured, turning his head away from her.

  She could not control the giggle that escaped her. “Ye know, Calum, some women feel the same as ye.”

  His eyes grew openly amused. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Then mayhap ye can introduce me to one that doesnae want to shackle me.” His expression grew serious. “I am glad ye decided to journey with us, Rosalia. I am sure it wasnae easy for ye to agree to such, but I know our laird can be verra persuasive. Ye will like Glenorchy… and our laird.” Kicking his mount into a gallop, he rode ahead of her.

  She had to will her mouth to close. That was rather embarrassing.

  Without warning, Ciaran stopped his mount and whipped his head around. “We will stop here this eve. The next part of the journey is into th
e mountains and ’tis too dangerous to start now. Our horses will need to be sure-footed and it will be dark soon enough. There is a stream over there to water the horses.” He nodded in the opposite direction.

  After the horses were watered, Rosalia pulled blankets from her sack. Calum started a fire and Seumas pulled out provisions. These men were efficient, and she noticed that Ciaran did not have to tell anyone what to do. Awkwardly, she lowered herself to the ground and sat on her blanket. She felt out of place with the men working around her. She should be doing something other than sitting on her arse. It was the least she could do for their escort.

  Ciaran handed her the wine sack and she raised her eyebrow questioningly.

  “’Tis just the wine,” he smirked.

  As she tried to stand, he extended his hand to help her up. Leaning closer, she whispered, “Ciaran, I need to do something.”

  He had a puzzled look upon his features. “Like what?” he murmured back.

  She pointed to the men. “Calum is starting a fire. Seumas is preparing our meal, and I am sitting on my…” She gestured with her hands and blushed, feeling unhappy with herself.

  “Rosalia, my men know what to do. Do ye actually want me to tell them to let a lass help them with their duties?” Ciaran’s response held a note of impatience.

  She shook her head. “Nay. I just feel—”

  He placed his arm around her shoulder. “I have a task for ye. Ye are to sit here and rest. Ye need to heal, and ’tis a verra important task.” He helped her to the ground and smiled.

  She rolled her eyes. “Aye, but I donna like it.”

  “I didnae ask ye to like it.” He walked away and returned a moment later, handing her some dried beef and an oatcake.

  Rosalia nodded her head. “My thanks.”

  His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “How many times will we be discussing your thanking me?”

  She bit her tongue.

  Everyone finished their meal and sat silently around the fire. Due to the lack of conversation, Rosalia’s eyelids became heavy and she had difficulty keeping them open. “Rosalia, seek your bed around the fire. Calum will take first watch,” said Ciaran.

  Rising slowly, she gathered her blankets and settled near the fire. She bunched up a blanket to use as a substitute pillow and turned on her side. Ciaran watched her through the flames. His gaze held hers and she could not look away. He was a handsome and honorable man. When Rosalia could no longer fight sleep, her eyelids slipped down over her eyes and she smiled. She would surely dream of him.

  ***

  Even through her bruises, the lass was beautiful. Ciaran fought his own battle of personal restraint. It was difficult to remain rational when Rosalia was so close to him, but thinking of his vow to his father managed to give him new resolve. He was only her escort, nothing more. Her problems were her own, and he clearly had enough of his own. Ciaran ensured that Calum maintained his post and then sought his own bed—as far away from the lass as possible. Once he returned to Glenorchy, he would seek Beathag and all of this foolishness will be gone. He had been far too long without a woman’s touch. No sooner did he fall asleep when shrill screams awakened him.

  He approached Rosalia’s temporary bed. “Rosalia, ye are dreaming.” He dropped down beside her and gave her a little nudge.

  “Cha tugadh an donas an car asad!” she screamed. The devil couldnae get the best of ye!

  His men sat up and he waved them off. Drawing on his experience the night before, Ciaran wrapped his arms around her waist, whispering soothing words into her ear.

  “James! James, please help me! James!” Rosalia yielded to compulsive sobs that shook her.

  “Shh… ’tis me, Ciaran,” he said soothingly. Her eyes flew open, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her body trembled with fear. “Lass, who is James?” Ciaran asked, just before he felt a cold, hard blade at his neck.

  “Me…”

  Five

  “Give me reason to slit your throat, ye bloody cur,” James bit out, pressing the blade against Ciaran’s throat. Rosalia slowly pulled away from Ciaran and not so gracefully stood. As she paused to catch her breath, she needed a moment to process the scene before her. James held his sword to Ciaran’s throat with a look of murderous intent upon his face. Calum lay still upon the ground at his post, and a man held a blade at the throat of Seumas as well. She turned her attention back to James as he glowered at Ciaran.

  “James…” Fortunately, no one noticed the tremor in her voice.

  He may have momentarily ceased glowering at Ciaran, but now James glared at her, looking upon her as though she were filthy vermin. “I see ye are well, Lady Rosalia. Where have ye been? Your betrothed anxiously awaits your return.” His curt voice lashed at her.

  She glanced around nervously and recognized some of her father’s men, but not all of them. From her count, there were roughly eight. James had a reputation of prowess on the battlefield, but she prayed she did not have to witness it firsthand. She had to make an attempt to calm him. Ciaran’s life depended on it.

  “James—”

  “Donna speak, wench! Ye have disgraced yourself and your family. ’Tis a wonder Lord Dunnehl still wishes to wed ye.” A chill hung on the edge of his words and he seethed with anger. Ciaran shifted beneath the blade that held him and James whipped his head down. “Donna even attempt escape lest the wench sees your blood spilled upon the ground,” he growled, repositioning the blade at Ciaran’s throat.

  Icy fear twisted around Rosalia’s heart. Why would he not calm down? He was not even giving her a chance to speak. She had to try to soothe his ire. “James—”

  He gave her a hostile glare. “I told ye to cease your tongue, wench!”

  She jumped and panic welled in her throat. She had never seen James so hostile toward her. When she glanced at Ciaran, she saw a lethal calmness in his eyes. Rosalia recognized that steely determination. Blood could not be shed. She had to stop this—now.

  “Howbeit your mother anxiously awaits your return and I am here to see ye safely delivered. Ye will come back with me to wed Lord Dunnehl, but first I must ask ye…” James paused, cocking his head at Ciaran. “Would ye rather me cut off his head for looking at ye or his hands for touching ye?” Lifting his eyes, James gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  The men around her laughed as something clicked in her mind. James would never force her to wed, let alone return her to her mother. She glanced around to see most of the men watching their exchange. It finally dawned on her that James had a plan. Rosalia would follow his lead and play along, but from the coolness in Ciaran’s eyes, the plan had better be a darned good one.

  She grunted and bent to pick up Ciaran’s sword. It was heavier than it looked. How could men lift such things? She raised her head and straightened herself with as much dignity as she could muster.

  “Nay, Rosalia. Donna…” Ciaran murmured, the pressure of the blade cutting off his speech.

  James laughed. “Ye can barely lift the sword. What damage do ye think ye can bestow upon me, wench? A lass with a sword dressed in a man’s clothing. Ye know to strike me with the pointy end right?” When he gazed down at the sword pointed at his manhood, she could swear he paled.

  “Aye. What damage could I possibly bestow on ye? One move of my wrist and I cut off your most prized possession, ye arrogant beast.”

  Amusement flickered in the eyes that met hers. James blew out a loud whistle as several of the men that encircled them dropped to the ground at the same time. She dropped the sword, and James released his hold on Ciaran.

  “Verra well done, Rosalia. Ye actually looked a wee bit pale. For a moment, I didnae think ye understood the need for distraction,” said James. Glancing down at Ciaran, he extended his hand to pull him up, but Ciaran would not take it.

  Ciaran grabbed his sword and climbed
to his feet, rubbing his neck.

  “See the men are secured,” James shouted to his men, who left them alone as they moved to the task at hand. Turning, he gave a brief nod to Ciaran. “I couldnae take the chance and needed Rosalia to confirm ye werenae a threat.”

  She placed her hand on Ciaran’s forearm. “Are ye well?” she asked with concern.

  “Aye.” He stepped around her and moved to stand within a hairsbreadth of James. His eyes were hard and filled with dislike. “The next time ye draw your sword on me, ye best be prepared to use it,” Ciaran warned, his voice ruthless. He slammed into James’s shoulder as he stormed past.

  James shrugged his shoulders with indifference and Rosalia flew into his arms. “I have worried so. Please tell me ye are well,” he spoke quietly, rubbing his hands over her cut tresses.

  “I am well.” Tears blinded her eyes and choked her voice. “I miss ye terribly already. My apologies if I caused ye worry, but there was naught I could have done differently.”

  “I know. I struggle over the feeling I failed ye, lass.” His voice dropped in volume.

  Pulling away from him, Rosalia held him at arms’ length. “Failed me? Ye showed me love as a brother, James. Ye are my brother. I love ye and ye havenae failed me. I donna know what I would have done without ye. Ye are my family.” She did not understand why he would blame himself. If not for him, she would never have made it as long as she had.

  Smiling, he fingered her clothing. “Rosalia, correct me if I err, but isnae that my tunic I just had made?” He quirked his eyebrow questioningly and she returned a sheepish grin.

  “Aye, but your clothes always fit so much better than my own—much more comfort, ye know.”

  He rolled his eyes. After a moment, he nodded to Ciaran. “Lass, who is that man? I should have his name lest he kills me with the looks he passes my way.” His lips puckered with annoyance.

  She turned, gazing at Ciaran. “James, he saved me. I owe him and his men my life.” She continued to survey Ciaran kindly and James stepped in front of her, blocking her view.