Nine
Rosalia longed for the days at Mangerton when she could sit easily in the kitchen and eat the noon meal. Memories flooded her as everyone ate in silence. Aisling was sulking; Aiden was quiet; Ciaran was brooding; and Declan was giving her wooing looks from down the table. What was he about? The stillness was suffocating, and she could no longer stand the tension. She’d had enough of it at Mangerton and adamantly refused to be the cause of it at Glenorchy.
She reached out and touched Ciaran’s arm and then promptly removed her hand. “So my laird, do ye still wish to show me your lands or do ye have other—”
“Nay, I can take ye if ye still want to go,” he said in a dull, troubled voice, looking at her with something akin to regret.
“Of course. The sun is shining and ’tis a beautiful day,” she said cheerily. Maybe a little too brightly, but she wanted him to know that she was unaffected by his actions. His behavior was not her concern.
“I could easily take ye, Rosalia,” said Declan with an underlying sensuality in his words.
Why did she feel the words he spoke always contained a hidden meaning? Aisling scowled at Aiden, and he shoved his elbow into Declan’s side.
Declan rubbed his ribs. “Och, what did ye do that for? Ye and your wee wife keep…”
Aiden cut off his speech with only a glare.
Rosalia ignored them both. “Ye know, my laird? I am finished with my meal and will meet ye at the stable.” She pushed back her chair with as much confidence as she could muster.
Looking as though someone had died, Ciaran nodded his head and went back to studying his meal.
Let him brood. She smiled brightly at Aisling and took her leave, feeling Ciaran’s sharp eyes boring into her as she walked away.
***
Once Rosalia left the great hall, Aisling stood, giving Ciaran a sidelong glance of utter nonbelief.
Her husband abruptly grabbed her arm. “Donna, sweeting. Leave it be,” he pleaded, shaking his head in disapproval.
Under different circumstances, she would have obeyed her husband. But someone ought to keep the MacGregor brothers on a straight path, and since she was the only married woman in attendance, she felt it was her duty. She was their sense of reason when they lost all sanity. Besides, someone needed to remind the rogues that their actions held consequences.
Shaking off Aiden’s hand, she pulled out Rosalia’s chair and sat down next to Ciaran. “God’s teeth! What were ye thinking?”
Looking like a scolded child at his trencher, Ciaran shook his head. “’Tisnae as ye think.”
Her jaw dropped. “Nae as I think? And what do ye think Rosalia thinks? We saw ye in the middle of a tryst with Beathag, Ciaran. What else is there to think? Ye say ye care for Rosalia—well, ye have quite a way of showing it,” she spat out.
He sighed. “I told Beathag we are done, and she doesnae listen. I didnae even know she was there. She did it on purpose while Rosalia watched.” He pushed his food around on the trencher.
“That whore,” she bit out. “What were ye thinking of, getting yourself tangled with her? Now look at the mess she has created. Ye men, always thinking with your—”
“Leave off, Aisling,” he ordered. “Beathag will nay longer be a concern.”
“Of course she willnae. Now that she has Rosalia thinking ye are still bedding her, her purpose is complete,” Aisling said sarcastically. Leaning forward, she said in a controlled voice, “Ye need to make amends with Rosalia.”
He leaned back, his eyes cold. “And ye donna think I know that?” he bellowed.
The great hall went quiet.
Aiden rose from his chair and pulled back Aisling’s. With his powerful hands, he yanked her to her feet. “Come, Wife.” He gave her an intense but secret expression that did not leave room for debate. “Now, Wife.”
***
Recovering from Aisling’s reprimand and after giving himself a reasonable amount of time to sulk, Ciaran went in search of Rosalia. Hesitantly, he approached the stable where she was brushing Noonie. She had a troubled look on her face as she brushed her horse with long, forceful strokes. Ciaran did not enjoy seeing her that way. He needed to make this right. Stopping a few feet in front of her, he realized she had yet to hear his approach. His mind went blank. I am sorry ye saw… My leman means naught… I donna care…
“Are ye ready?” Perhaps that was a good place to begin.
“Aye.”
“I will get my mount.” Ciaran waved off Niall and saddled his mount. He tried to stall to gather his thoughts, but he knew he could not hide in the stable forever. Besides, he was no coward. He was laird—a warrior. He should certainly know how to speak to a lass.
Leading his horse out of the stable, he approached her. “Are ye well enough to ride?”
“Aye, my laird,” she said brightly.
He paused. “Rosalia…” His gaze came to rest on her questioning eyes.
“Aye?”
As he shook his head, his words failed him. “’Tis naught.” Mounting his horse, he continued to sit patiently while she adjusted and then readjusted her skirts, and he chuckled when she let out a frustrated grunt. “Would ye rather change into your trews?”
She raised her brow. “Ye wouldnae mind? ’Tis just much more comfortable for me. I donna enjoy battling with skirts.”
He dismounted. “Of course I donna mind. I will wait here for ye.”
“My thanks.”
***
Rosalia walked hurriedly to her chamber, knowing she would ride with much more ease in her trews. Although it was the custom for women to ride in skirts, she did not enjoy it. It was much too restricting. Besides, she was not trying to make an impression on Laird MacGregor. What he thought of her mattered not. By the look upon his features, she could tell he was still out of sorts, and she wished he was not so brooding. He should be joyful that he no longer needed to hide Beathag in her presence. She quickly changed, laughing as she donned James’s tunic. She could only imagine him shaking his head in disapproval. She sorely missed him.
As Rosalia went to close the trunk, she spotted Ciaran’s tunic and pulled it out. She had yet to return it from their time together in the crofter’s hut. Holding it up to her face, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, smiling as she realized it still held his scent. Knowing that she must cease these ridiculous notions, she whipped it back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. Any feelings she had for Laird MacGregor needed to be suppressed.
Ciaran was speaking with Niall when she returned to the stable, and she tried to mask the guilty look upon her face. If he discovered what she’d been doing with his tunic, Rosalia did not think her pride would ever recover. Turning around upon her approach, Ciaran gave her a heated glance from head to toe. What was wrong with him? He had Beathag and should not be throwing heated glances her way. Pulling on Noonie’s mane to kneel, she pulled herself upon his back.
“I thought to show ye the village.” He shifted in the saddle.
“Lead on, my laird,” she said, gesturing with her arm.
They rode to the village in uncomfortable silence. She centered her attention on Noonie’s clip-clopping feet and quickly became entranced by the soothing rhythm. When they arrived, Ciaran pointed out sights, continuing to show her about. Every time she asked a question, he gave her a clipped reply, and she politely nodded at all of his dry remarks.
This was not how she wanted to spend the remainder of her time at Glenorchy. He was obviously uncomfortable around her. She’d thought her actions would make him realize that she cared not about him. Apparently, Ciaran did not understand that. When they took their leave from the village, conversation was still not flowing from either direction.
Abruptly changing course, he headed up a mountain pass. After continuing to ride at a steep angle, they e
ventually reached a clearing. He dismounted and tethered his mount. When he turned around, she had already dismounted and Noonie’s reins were upon the ground.
Ciaran looked at her with a raised brow.
“He knows to stay when his reins are upon the ground.”
“’Tis truly incredible,” he said, shaking his head in awe.
“Aye.”
He gestured for her to come closer to the edge, and she prayed his intention was not to push her off. They stood on top of a mountain that overlooked Glenorchy and the loch. No matter where her path took her, she would always be thankful to have traveled the Highlands. These beauteous views would be forever imprinted in her mind. She stood complacently, gazing upon Glenorchy in its splendor.
The leaves were a rainbow of colors that reflected off the loch. Ciaran did have a truly magnificent home. Rosalia sighed as a warm breeze blew some short tendrils of hair into her eyes and she brushed them away. It would be so simple to imagine Glenorchy as her home and the man standing beside her as her husband. She would not do this—she could not do this. She had to cease these images. Her heart was being trampled.
Ciaran broke the silence and spoke quietly. “She means naught to me.”
A tear fell down her cheek and she wiped it away. “It doesnae matter—truly,” she whispered.
He reached out and gently brushed Rosalia’s arms. When she closed her eyes to avoid his probing gaze, he raised her chin with his finger. He did not speak until she opened her eyes. “It matters to me,” he said solemnly. Ciaran wiped her tears with his thumb. “I told her we were done when I returned to Glenorchy. She wasnae pleased. I didnae know she was there, Rosalia. She saw ye and Aisling and threw her body upon me.”
She could not help but smirk. “Her verra bare body, my laird.”
Ciaran paused for a moment, a spark of some indefinable emotion in his eyes. “I didnae notice, Rosalia. All I saw was ye,” he whispered, slowly bending his head toward her.
She did not know if she was responding to the words he spoke or if she was only caught up in the moment, but she needed this. She needed him.
His warm lips touched hers and she shuddered. She pulled him close, running her fingers through his shoulder-length hair.
Placing his hands behind her head, Ciaran deepened the kiss. Their tongues intertwined instinctively and she let out a soft moan. Rubbing his hands down her back, he pulled her bottom close, letting out a guttural moan as they made contact.
Rosalia was not sure what was occurring, but she knew she needed more. She rubbed her hands over his chest, feeling the strong, chiseled muscles that she knew lay beneath.
She wanted… more.
Ciaran smothered her lips with demanding mastery. His hands slowly maneuvered under her tunic until he felt the bare skin of her back, the gentle touch of his fingers sending currents of desire through her.
She slowly pulled out his tunic from his kilt, running her hands over his bare skin. “Ciaran,” she moaned.
Trailing kisses down her neck, he slowly raised his hands to cover her breast. She melted into him and arched her back into his grasp.
She had never felt this… hot. She was burning for him.
“I have to see ye, lass.” He pulled back with passion-glazed eyes and waited for her consent.
She nodded and closed her eyes.
Ciaran lifted her tunic and bared her breasts. “Och, Rosalia. Ye are beautiful,” he whispered.
He bent and suckled one of her breasts while kneading the other with his hand. He licked her taut nipple and she thought surely she would die.
Running her fingers through his hair, she pulled him closer. “Ciaran,” she moaned. If his arms were not supporting her, she would have fallen to her knees.
***
Ciaran paused, knowing if he did not cease now, there would be no turning back. He’d made a promise to his father, and duty always came first. Besides, he could not take her this way. Rosalia was to be gently wooed, and her first time should be in a bed with her husband—something he could never be—at least, not now. He could not offer her anything, but maybe in time. For right now, she needed to know that he cared for her and would not intentionally hurt her. That was important to him.
He stopped his ministrations and dropped to his knees, nestling his head into her chest. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he continued to hold her in a tight embrace. “Forgive me,” he whispered.
Rosalia placed her hand under his chin. “There is naught to forgive, my laird,” she whispered back.
He rose and pulled her into his arms. “My apologies that I caused ye pain. If I could have changed what ye saw—”
“There is nay need to explain. I only…” she paused.
“Ye only what?” he asked. He pulled back slightly and nodded for her to continue.
“I donna want my heart to suffer. I will travel to Glen—”
He gently placed his fingers over her lips. “Shh… Howbeit we donna speak of it and we just enjoy our time together?” he suggested, rubbing the back of his hand over her cheek.
She kissed his palm. “Aye.”
Neither one of them spoke as they reached a silent understanding. Why glance to the future when they should live in the now?
***
Returning to Glenorchy with lighter hearts, they led their mounts to the stable. Rosalia began to wonder just what she wanted of Ciaran. After all, she would still travel to Glengarry and he would still be the laird of Glenorchy. What he said was logical. Why dwell upon what was to be? Every day away from Mangerton was a day to be cherished.
Reaching out, Ciaran took Noonie’s reins. “I donna see Niall.”
“’Tis fine. I can care for Noonie,” she said, taking back the reins. Ciaran placed his hand on the back of her neck. Slowly bending forward, he kissed her. The touch of his lips sent a shock wave through her entire body.
“’Tis about time ye returned, my liege.”
Rosalia jerked away from him, an unwelcome blush creeping into her cheeks even though she did not think Declan had noticed their embrace.
“What do ye want, Brother?” Ciaran scowled.
Declan shrugged with indifference. “I donna want anything. There are men here from the village and they want to speak with ye—something about missing goats or the like. Ye better run along. Duty calls, your greatness.” With an arrogant swagger, he approached Ciaran and took the reins of his mount. “I will see to your mount.”
Ciaran shook his head regretfully. “I must take my leave, but I will see ye later,” he said to Rosalia, his eyes sending her a private message.
“Of course.” Somewhat disappointed, she understood Ciaran’s duty and all that it entailed. Simply, his clan and his people would always come before his own wants or needs. After all, he was laird.
“Donna worry. I will see to your mount and Rosalia,” said Declan, his mouth twitching in amusement.
“Declan,” Ciaran warned.
Declan waved him off. “Get your kilt untwisted, your greatness. I only want to take Rosalia upon the parapet.”
Something clicked in her mind. “The parapet?” she squeaked. “Why?” Her memory of Ciaran was pure and clear. She would never forget a single detail of his face or his touch. The idea of sharing the same place with Ciaran’s brother gave her sourness in the pit of her stomach. “Umm… I donna really want to go to the parapet, but I could use a walk if ye wouldnae mind escorting me,” she offered.
Declan was disheartened by her hesitation, but thankfully agreed while Ciaran took his leave to see to the villagers. She led Noonie into his stall and Declan saw to Ciaran’s mount. She would never pretend to understand the relationship between brothers. Declan was an ever-changing mystery to her.
The stable was quiet except for an occasional whinny and pawin
g hooves. She was enjoying the peace of no one arguing when Declan’s voice spoke in a soothing tone.
“Why are ye the only one that loves me, Aiden?” he asked in a childlike voice.
Rosalia poked her head out of the stall to see that Declan had his head placed to Aiden’s and was scratching the horse behind the ears. Looking up, Declan gave her a roguish grin. “I know what ye are thinking. Donna laugh. Aiden is the only one who doesnae cause me grief and understands me. Aye, Aiden?” he asked in the same childlike voice.
She walked down to Aiden’s stall and rubbed his muscular neck. “He is a beautiful beast. I told Aisling that I have ne’er seen such perfect white markings as are upon his feet.”
Declan nodded his head in agreement. “Now speak the truth and tell me why ye donna want me to take ye upon the parapet, lass.” He abruptly changed the subject.
He’d caught her off guard and Rosalia swallowed hard, trying to manage a feeble answer.
Aware of her discomfort, Declan chuckled. Standing a bit too close, he gave her a wolfish grin. “Donna ye trust yourself alone with me? I donna bite.” His silky voice held a challenge and his eyes clung to hers, analyzing her reaction.
It was much like having a conversation with James. If she did not put him in his place now, he would continually torment her until she traveled to Glengarry. Of this, she had no doubt. She reached down, holding his eyes the entire time. “Did ye ever think why Aiden is the only one that understands ye? Mayhap ’tis because ye can both relate to being a horse’s arse,” she said, her voice unwavering.
Startled, Declan glanced down to find a very sharp dirk pointed at his heart. He stood there blank, amazed, and stunned.
“Aye, I ne’er leave without it. If ye cease thinking with your…” she gestured to his manhood, “ye would have seen me reach for my dirk and wouldnae have been taken by a mere lass.”
He stepped away from her. “Now ’tis clearly where ye are mistaken, Lady Rosalia. Ye see… I donna mind being taken by a mere lass.”
Sheathing her dirk, she let out a frustrated grunt. “I yield, but I give ye fair warning. I will be here until your brother takes me to Glengarry. I donna want to do battle, but I willnae let ye speak to me as if I toss my skirts. Will ye be a gentleman and escort me on my walk or nae?” she asked, placing both of her hands upon her hips.
Temptation in a Kilt Page 14
