What was she doing sitting with Calum and Seumas?
He was taken aback by her sudden aloofness. She was not looking at him—at all. In fact, her eyes were to the floor. He did not understand what was amiss and was unnerved by her sudden change in demeanor. “Are ye unwell?”
“I am fine. My thanks,” Rosalia said with an air of indifference. She looked away swiftly at the sight of his scowl.
Ciaran hesitated, blinking with confusion. Bending over behind her, he whispered in her ear. “What are ye doing?”
“Taking my place for the midday meal,” she answered, whispering in a rush of words.
He was momentarily speechless in his surprise. Was she daft? Why would she think to sit with his men? Standing to his full height, he held out his hand. “Your place is with me. Come.” When the lass did not move, he cocked his head to the side and raised his brow. Why did she have to be so stubborn?
“Oh, verra well,” she relented, placing her hand in his and standing.
He escorted Rosalia to the high table, and his smile was without humor. “What were ye thinking?”
“I was thinking I took my place for the noon meal. Isnae this table for family?” she asked, barely lifting her voice above a whisper.
“Family and guests. Ye are my guest, are ye nae?” he asked, his tone patient. They reached the table, and he pulled out her chair for her. It just so happened to be the chair next to his. If she thought to sit with his men and their families, she was mistaken. He did not understand her reasoning. Why did she have to be so difficult? Perhaps he should speak with Aiden to see if he had any ideas. After all, his brother was an expert. He had Aisling.
Aiden and Declan took their seats and the entire hall went quiet as Ciaran stood, demanding their attention. “As ye know, King James continues to be pleased with our support in the Highlands. I thank ye all for your efforts while we were at court. Upon my return, I discovered there is a new MacGregor among us. Everyone raise your tankards to my brother, Aiden, and give thanks to the gods for delivering him a healthy son. To Teàrlach!” he said proudly, raising his tankard.
“To Teàrlach!” the men shouted in return.
“Ye may also notice a new face among us,” he said, holding out his hand for Rosalia to stand. “This is Lady Rosalia, and she will be our guest. I want ye to make her feel as she is one of us.”
“To Lady Rosalia!” one of the men yelled.
Ciaran gave her a mock salute with his tankard, his eyes never leaving hers.
***
They took their seats and Ciaran filled her trencher. There were several different types of meat, breads, and cheeses. Everything looked and smelled delightful. Rosalia could not wait to taste the fresh biscuits. Maybe they would even be as good as her cook’s.
Ciaran peered at her intently, making her nervous, so she turned to Aiden for a much needed distraction. “And how is Teàrlach?” she asked, taking a bite of biscuit.
“He sleeps. He wakes up to feed or because he is wet, and then he sleeps and sleeps again. ’Tis good now since it gives Aisling a reprieve,” he said, pausing to drink from his tankard.
“Aye,” she chuckled. “I must thank your lady wife for the dresses. Do ye think she will be well enough to speak with me after the meal?”
“Aye. She asked me to escort ye after we finish.”
Nodding her head in agreement, Rosalia focused on her trencher because when she thought of Ciaran sitting next to her, her heart turned over in response. His nearness was overwhelming. She could smell his spicy scent, and it did not help when his leg brushed against her thigh. Her mind burned with the memory of his lips upon hers. This could not bode well for her. How was she supposed to keep her wits about her when he was dressed in a kilt and distracted her in ways that she did not understand?
“How do ye fare, Rosalia?” asked Ciaran, leaning back and taking a drink from his tankard.
“The food is delightful,” she said, turning her attention back to her trencher.
“If ye want for anything, ye need only ask.”
She studied her tankard, playing with the rim. “My thanks, but ye have been much too accommodating already, my laird.”
Ciaran leaned close. “I cannae help but ask. Is something amiss?”
“My laird, I am grateful for all ye have done, but I must insist ye change my bedchamber,” she spoke firmly.
Pulling back, he gave her a curious look. “Change your bedchamber? Why would I do that? What is wrong with your chamber?”
“What is wrong with Rosalia’s chamber?” asked Declan, leaning across Ciaran.
Shaking her head, she closed her eyes. Now the rogue was involved in the conversation as well. Could she at least have one conversation where she was not embarrassed? She was thankful when Ciaran took him by the reins. “Since when do ye call her by her given name?” he huffed.
“Since the lady asked me to, my laird,” said Declan with a smug look upon his face.
Inclining his head toward Rosalia, Ciaran looked for confirmation. She gave a forced smile and a tense nod of consent. “Aye, ’tis true. I had but a momentary weakness.”
“What is wrong with your chamber, lass? We have several to—”
“There is naught wrong with her chamber, Declan,” Ciaran bit out.
Rosalia reached out and clutched Ciaran’s arm, immediately realizing her mistake. He felt like a rock underneath his tunic. She became aware of his strength and the warmth of his flesh. She lowered her gaze, but when she looked down, his kilt was parted and showed part of his muscular thigh. It was torture and the room was getting so warm.
Carried away by her own response, she failed to notice that he was still looking at her, waiting. She tingled as he spoke her name. Tenderly, his eyes melted into hers. She could not find her voice. She could barely breathe, and she hungered from the memory of his mouth upon hers. Praise the saints. What was the matter with her?
He leaned in close and whispered in her ear. “Lass, your eyes show me what ye are clearly thinking. I suggest ye remove your hand from my arm and your eyes from my kilt.”
Mortified that he’d spoken to her so directly, Rosalia hastily withdrew her hand—but not before her eyes betrayed her by darting to his kilt one last time to see it was clearly tented. She cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected.
“What chamber did ye give her?” asked Declan. Ciaran answered, but she was unable to hear his response. “Truly?” he asked surprised. “Mother’s? Ye know what statement ye make by placing her in that chamber then?”
“Enough, Declan,” responded Ciaran, clenching his jaw.
“They will assume she is to be your—”
“Enough!” he said sternly.
Declan’s eyes narrowed. “Aye, my liege,” he said with heavy sarcasm. “Ah, look… here comes your… Beathag, how are ye?”
The woman approaching Ciaran had long, brown curly hair and wore a very form-fitting dress. Her bosom seemed sure to burst out of the gown with any sudden movement. Rosalia could never imagine herself wearing such clothing, but it worked well on this woman. She was slender and beautiful—clearly, everything Rosalia was not.
Moving behind Ciaran, the woman placed her hands on his shoulders. She bent down and kissed him on the cheek. “My laird, how I have missed ye so,” she purred, placing her hands underneath his tunic. The woman was clearly running her hands all over his chest.
He stilled her hands. “Beathag, ’tis good to see ye,” he choked out, patting her hands. She gave him a wanton smile and actually had the nerve to run her hands down the front of Ciaran’s kilt and touch him—there.
“Ye did miss me, Ciaran,” she said with female satisfaction.
Mixed feelings surged through Rosalia—shock and anger and a touch of sadness. She knew Ciaran would never truly desire her
. Why would he when he had Beathag? She was such a fool, she thought, and mentally kicked herself. He was her escort to Glengarry and nothing more. She tucked away the thought by squeezing her tankard until her knuckles turned white.
***
Removing Beathag’s hands, Ciaran placed them back on her person. He was not about to tell her that she was not the cause of his attention. “I will speak with ye later,” he bit out.
“Later?” Beathag pouted, raising her brow at Rosalia. “Of course, my laird. I didnae see ye had a guest.” She studied Rosalia openly from head to toe, and when she took a step closer, he held out his arm to stay her.
“Did ye nae hear me? I said later.” His contemptuous tone sparked her anger.
Beathag stopped, glancing at his restraining hand upon her. Turning, she gave Rosalia a chilling smile. “Aye, Ciaran. I will meet ye in your chamber, and we will finish where we left off.”
“Rosalia, are ye finished? I think Aisling waits,” said Aiden with a warm smile. This time Ciaran was thankful for his brother’s intervention.
“Aye, Aiden.” Rosalia pulled back her chair as Aiden assisted her to stand. “Pray excuse me, my laird. I see ye have your hands… verra full,” she said in a cynical tone, casting a glance at Beathag, who continued to throw daggers her way.
Ciaran watched the play of emotions upon Rosalia’s face, waiting for some sign of objection, but she merely looked hurt. For some reason, he was confused by why that bothered him. She looked beautiful in a dress, but he had to admit he was partial to her trews. They molded to her luscious bottom and legs when she moved.
Obviously, nothing was wrong with her chamber. She either thought it was too close to his or realized it was the lady of the castle’s bedchamber. Frankly, he did not care, nor was he concerned with what anyone else would think. After all, he was laird and could do as he damn well pleased.
Casting a glance at Beathag, Ciaran stood. “I need a word with ye.” Taking her by the elbow, he escorted her out of the great hall.
“Aye, my laird,” she purred.
Once they reached the courtyard, he turned toward the stables. Noticing the direction they were headed, Beathag gave him a smug look. “I cannae wait as well, my love.”
“Since when do ye call me ‘my love’?” he asked, surprised.
Pushing up on her dress, she gave him a clear view of her bountiful breasts. “Donna be that way. Ye clearly missed me as much as I missed ye,” she chided him.
When they reached the stables, Ciaran gestured to a bench. “Sit, please. There is nay way to speak this but only to be clear. Our time together is at an end. I thank ye, but we cannae be together again.”
Although he would stay true to his task and not allow himself to get too close to Rosalia, he had not failed to notice the painful expression on her features when Beathag made her presence so clearly known. He could not have his leman flaunting herself so openly before his guest. The gods knew he had needs, but he would rather take it upon himself to satisfy his own desires than to bear the sadness he’d seen in Rosalia’s gaze.
“What?” Beathag cried, her eyes welling with tears. “Ye know naught what ye speak, Ciaran. We are good together. Ye have said as much. I love ye!”
He grabbed both of her arms gently. “Love me? Donna place something there that wasnae. We were good together, but ye know that was all it was.”
She wiped her tears. “How can ye speak such words to me?”
Ciaran sighed. “Beathag, ye know this wasnae going to last. We have spoken as much. I didnae seek more than what was offered and I always spoke as much to ye. This shouldnae come as a surprise.”
She gazed at him searchingly. “Tell me. Is there another? Do ye already bed that lady? I am bonnier than she, and her face is—”
“Nay!” he spoke with more conviction than he wanted to portray. “’Tis time that we part. Ye did naught wrong, and I donna want ye thinking ye did. ’Tis just time.”
Wiping away her tears, she stood. “Of course, my laird. Whatever ye wish.” She gave him a small curtsy and scurried off.
He actually stunned himself by ending his liaison with Beathag, but his decision was made. To honor his vow, he never stayed with one lass too long. He’d kept Beathag longer than most, but only because she satisfied his needs. He had meant to speak with her this eve, but he had not expected her to make her presence known in the middle of the noon meal.
Even though he’d had to address her sooner than he’d wished, he was momentarily relieved it was over between them. The last he needed was two women pining after something they could never truly have—although if Rosalia’s eyes continued to undress him, he would not be responsible for his actions. He was astutely aware that the lass was not as unaffected as she pretended to be. Apparently, she greatly approved of his Highland attire. He smiled at the memory.
Walking back leisurely to the great hall with a smile upon his face, Ciaran was completely unaware that Beathag stood in the shadows, watching his every move.
“Have a care, MacGregor whoreson. Enjoy that smile upon your face. It will be your last…”
Seven
Aisling’s bedchamber was located in the same corridor as Rosalia’s but situated on the opposite end. At least she would not be lost. When Aiden offered to escort her, she jumped at the chance to escape. She did not need to see Ciaran’s leman paraded before her eyes. Besides, there were much more important matters that required her attention and she did not need to be distracted by romantic notions. Determined, Rosalia would set about building a new life for herself—one that did not involve a particular Highland laird.
Aiden reached out, grabbing the latch on the door as wailing cries echoed from within. He opened the door to reveal a beautiful woman with flowing red hair sitting in a chair and trying to console Teàrlach. Tears glistened on her pale, heart-shaped face, and her eyes were red and swollen.
Walking toward her swiftly, Aiden knelt down beside her. “What is wrong, a ghràidh?” he asked, placing his hand gently on her head.
Aisling leaned into his broad shoulder. “I donna know why he cries. I cannae get him to cease. He is fed. He is dry. I donna know what to do.” She gulped hard, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Where is Bessie?” he asked, rubbing his hand over her beautiful tresses.
“I told her I would sit with him while she had the midday meal. He willnae cease and I donna know what ails him. Teàrlach doesnae want his mother,” she cried, wiping her tears.
Aiden gave her a warm smile. “Of course he wants his mother, Aisling. He will cry if he is hungry, wet, hot, cold, or for any reason. ’Tis how he speaks, sweeting.” He rubbed his hand affectionately over her shoulder. “Ye are a good mother, Aisling.”
She looked at him and smiled as if she did not believe him. “Thank ye, but ye have to speak as such. I am your wife.”
“Nay, I donna. Ye are a wonderful mother and wife. I say so freely. Do ye want me to walk with him? It seems to calm him.” He stood, holding out his hands for his son.
“Aye.” She handed Teàrlach to Aiden. “Thank ye, Husband.”
Rosalia saw the heartrending tenderness of his gaze, and it was as if something unspoken passed between them. She smiled at the sentiment. This was clearly a love match. “My lady, do ye wish for me to come back another time?” she asked, feeling as though she were intruding on a private moment.
Aisling looked at her as if she’d just realized Rosalia had been standing there. “My lady? We arenae so formal here. I am Aisling.” She wiped her tears and gestured for Rosalia to sit in the opposite chair. “Aiden, could ye please seek Bessie?” she asked him with tear-stained eyes.
His mouth curved with tenderness. “Sure, sweeting. I will check on ye later.” He winked at his wife and closed the door.
“Are ye sure ye donna wish to speak another
time?”
“Please, Rosalia. I need to have a woman’s company. I am sorry for my distress. They say ’tis normal to have these spells, but I donna have to like it.” She laughed.
“Nay, ye donna. I must thank ye for the dresses, my lad—” Aisling raised her brow and Rosalia giggled. “I must thank ye for the dresses, Aisling.”
“I hope they fit ye. I wasnae sure so I pulled out what I could.”
“Five of them fit. I will return the rest to Anna.” Rosalia smiled her thanks, and Aisling waved her off.
“’Tis fine.” She studied Rosalia closely, hesitating before she spoke. “Ye know, Rosalia, I have nay women companions to speak with—well, other than Anna. I understand ye are to be with us for a time. I would be honored if ye would be a friend to me.” Leaning forward, she tapped Rosalia’s leg. “Besides, ’tis about time we had another woman to even things out. ’Tis hard enough to keep Aiden on a straight path, let alone Declan and Ciaran. I am afraid we are sorely outnumbered.”
“I would be honored to have a friend and a face that is familiar. There are so many faces here and everyone seems close.” Rosalia hoped they would be as friendly and close at Glengarry.
“Aye, we are. Ye have met many new faces then?”
“Besides Ciaran, Aiden, Donaidh, Calum, and Seumas, I also met Declan, Niall, and Beathag.” Masking her features, she smiled politely.
“Niall is a kind man. He has been with us for some time.” She shifted in her seat and there was a brief silence. “And what did ye think of Beathag?”
Glancing down at her hands, Rosalia spoke softly. “I really didnae get the chance to speak with her. She was,” she cleared her throat, “occupied with Laird MacGregor.”
Aisling shook her head in disapproval. “How can I put this delicately? Ye know Ciaran is an unmarried man and men have certain… needs that only a woman can provide.” Nodding uncomfortably, Aisling blurted out, “Beathag offers Ciaran her favors.”
Temptation in a Kilt Page 10
