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 co
rner 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.
She closed her eyes and moaned.
This would be torture. Not only would he be bathing in the room next to hers, but he would also be sleeping in the room next to hers. She wondered if his bed was big. It had to be big. He was big. She could not do this. As soon as she finished her bath, she would tell him so. Why would Ciaran give her a chamber so close to his own? Another thought came to mind and a lump caught in the back of her throat. He placed her in the lady of the castle’s chamber. For what purpose? If he believed for one moment that she was going to be his mistress…
Finishing her bath, she blocked out all mental images of Laird MacGregor—with or without clothing. She tried on the dresses and praised the saints when a couple of them fit. Donning her chemise, she picked up a dress of deep blue. Perhaps it was not the best choice since it would match the bruising on her cheeks, but she would not be able to hide her injuries, no matter what she wore. It would have to do.
Rosalia slipped on the silk slippers, and even though she found much more comfort in her boots, she would dress as a lady. She had to admit that she grew tired of wearing trews and tunics. Besides, her dagger was rubbing and beginning to make marks upon her leg. She stood and noticed a mirror on the stand next to the bed. Should she dare? She had second thoughts about picking it up, but curiosity got the best of her.
The face looking back at her was shocking. Her tresses were butchered and her visage was several different shades of purples and yellows. She had not realized how bad she looked. Running her hand over her tresses, she shook her head. There was nothing she could do now. She wished she could hide in this chamber, but that wouldn’t work. Someone would eventually search for her.
Gathering her courage, Rosalia opened the door and poked her head out. Observing no one in the hall, she walked out quietly and shut the door behind her. She reached the top of the stone staircase and admired the painted-glass window. A golden bejeweled crown with matching adorned claymores surrounded a rose-hued cross as though securing it in a protective embrace. She loved how the bright colors reflected off the wall.
“Beautiful. Is it nae?”
Rosalia jumped as Declan walked toward her. “Aye,” she said, placing her hand over her chest.
Stepping in front of her, he gave her a slight bow. “Pray allow me to start anew. I am Declan MacGregor, Laird MacGregor’s youngest brother. I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”
She smiled at his effort to make amends. Giving him a slight curtsy, she extended her hand. “And I am Lady Rosalia Armstrong. I am honored to make your acquaintance, sir.”
Declan brushed a kiss on the top of her hand and promptly released it. Extending his arm, he waited. “May I escort ye to the hall, my lady?”
Placing her hand on his arm, she smiled. “Only if ye call me Rosalia.” She paused, waiting for him to respond.
“Rosalia? ’Tis a name of great beauty for such a bonny—”
She rolled her eyes. “Only if ye donna start being foolish.”
He patted her hand. “Aye. I will call ye Rosalia if ye call me Declan.” He hesitated and cast a wolfish grin like she was the main course for the noon meal.
“By all the saints,” she huffed. “I see we are to have these conversations constantly,” she said as they descended the stairs. “I donna mind sparring with ye, but ’tis all it will ever be… sparring,” she said curtly. Rosalia knew that he only sought to get a response from her, but she was annoyed.
Declan gave her a look that would make most women weak in the knees and leaned in close—very close. “We shall see,” he whispered. Then he left her… standing in the middle of the great hall, probably to seek out some other willing lass. Her eyes darted around the room nervously, not seeing any familiar faces. To make matters worse, people were starting to stare. Trying to look occupied, Rosalia showed an interest in the servants as they placed food on the tables. After all, she did not want to appear to have been abandoned in the middle of the great hall
. She finally spotted Calum and Seumas. Upon her approach, both men stood and smiled.
“My lady,” they said at the same time.
“Rosalia,” she chided both of them—again. “May I sit with ye? I donna find any faces that are familiar.”
Both men looked uncomfortable. “I believe our laird would request ye sit with him at the high table,” whispered Calum.
She waved them off. “Donna be ridiculous. I am nae family. Now does someone sit here or nae?” She raised her brow and waited.
Calum relented and waved his hand for her to sit. She sat on the bench next to him and could not help but feel out of place. Rosalia was thankful when Seumas handed her a tankard of mulled wine. Glancing around the hall, she saw that everyone was conversing. They all seemed… close. Maybe that was how a family was supposed to be. The Armstrongs were never so jovial and everything with them seemed forced.
A sudden shout rang through the hall and she jumped.
“Three cheers for our laird’s return!” yelled a man.
Standing at the entrance to the great hall were the three MacGregor brothers in full Highland regalia. She had never seen so many beautiful men. They stood well over six feet and were very muscular with broad shoulders. But, there was only one she felt drawn to.
Ciaran’s chestnut hair was still wet from his bath and touched his shoulders. He was dressed in the same tartan of red and green, which she now gathered were the MacGregor clan colors. He wore a white, flowing tunic and a MacGregor plaid over his left shoulder. A small bag which looked to be made from the skin of a rabbit grazed his hips and rested on top of his… Rosalia heard herself swallow. The flashes on his stockings were the same color as his kilt, and he wore white hose that clung to his muscular legs. His doeskin boots were low enough that she could tell how very muscular those legs were. Her heart turned over at the vision that appeared before her. The sights of Glenorchy were indeed exhilarating.
***
Ciaran spotted Rosalia as soon as he entered the great hall, noticing she wore one of Aisling’s dresses. He hoped she was pleased with her bedchamber. He wanted to make her as comfortable as possible. The lass had been through much.
Temptation in a Kilt Page 9
