Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  “My thanks.”

  Seumas nodded. “Aye. Hopefully something is dry.”

  She pulled out a couple of blankets from her sack, one damp and the other thankfully dry. Seumas gathered a couple of dry branches that had been left in the corner and started a fire, throwing curses when it did not light as swiftly as he would have liked.

  Ciaran pulled out some dry clothes and gave her a smile. “Ye may want to turn your back. We will change clothes.”

  She was sure her face turned many shades of red and she promptly turned her back. While the men changed their clothes, Rosalia pulled the worn day dress from her sack. She did not have a chemise, but at least the dress would be dry.

  A warm voice spoke from behind her. “We will turn our backs. Go ahead and change your wet clothes,” murmured Ciaran.

  She twisted around to make sure they did not peek. She removed her tunic and trews, the fire warming her bare skin. Rosalia attempted to pull on the day dress, finding it difficult since her hair and body were still damp. What the hell was wrong with it? It clung to her and did not want to budge. Besides, she could not pull it fully over her head due to the soreness in her arms. The dress was the one piece of clothing that was dry. She would make this work. She had no choice in a hut full of men.

  As she grunted and maneuvered to don the dress, Ciaran spoke. “Do ye need assistance?”

  God’s teeth! It was stuck on her shoulders. “Donna turn around!” she spoke hastily.

  “I didnae, but ye sound as if ye need help. Are ye sore?”

  Rosalia tried to reposition the dress. “Aye. Howbeit I will manage. Please donna turn around,” she pleaded.

  As a last resort, she gave the dress a firm tug, hearing the fabric tear at the same time. The dress covered her, but it was way too tight for her frame. What was she going to do? Her mother said Rosalia ate as much as her father’s men. She should have listened. Not only did the dress not fit, but now she could not lift her arms to remove it because it was far too tight. Never had she been so humiliated. She was not even sure how she’d managed to pull it on as far as she had.

  Her blood pounded and her face grew hot with humiliation. Searching her bag for something else to wear, she found that everything was soaked. She closed her eyes and sighed. This was truly a nightmare. Rosalia again attempted to lift her arms but the dress continued to cling to her frame as a second skin, not moving an inch for her to maneuver it. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, she needed assistance.

  Her embarrassment quickly turned to annoyance. “Umm… Ciaran?” she whispered. The thought of speaking to him about this almost made her cry.

  “Can I turn around?”

  “Nay!” She reached out and pulled Ciaran two steps back away from his men. She stole a glance at them as they tried to look occupied with their backs still turned. She yanked on his tunic and he lowered his head toward her. She whispered her dilemma.

  “What?” he asked, not even attempting to lower his voice.

  She swatted at him. “Shh…” Thankfully, Seumas started talking to Calum. “I put on the day dress from the maid at the village and it doesnae fit. I cannae remove it and I need your assistance,” she repeated, mortified.

  Ciaran paused for a moment. “Do ye have something dry to put on?” he murmured.

  “Well… nay. I will just wear what I had on,” she spoke quietly.

  “And ye will catch the ague,” he said with cool authority. Grabbing his sack, he rifled through it and pulled out a tunic. Seumas looked at him, and she could swear he smiled. Why did men have to be such beasts? Stepping backward, Ciaran reached behind his back and handed the tunic to her. “’Tis at least dry,” he whispered.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “Do ye still need me to assist ye to remove your clothing?” He spoke in an odd, yet gentle tone.

  “Aye,” she sighed. Her humiliation could not be alleviated.

  “I will have to turn around,” he whispered.

  “I know. I will give ye my back.” Mercifully, he could not see the crimson in her face.

  ***

  Shaking his head, Ciaran could not believe he was having this conversation. Rosalia actually needed his help to remove her clothing. This was definitely a first. He turned around and saw that the tight dress clung to her body like a wet cloth. No wonder she could not remove it.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Lift your arms,” he instructed. She lifted her arms as high as she could, and he reached down and grabbed the bottom of her dress. As he hefted the dress up and over her buttocks, his trews became uncomfortably tight. Rosalia’s white, creamy flesh was bared before his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to explore her soft curves and mold them to his hard body.

  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 r
oom 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.”

  Six

  “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 fr
ont 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.