Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  “Och, ye are so much as Aisling.” Placing his arm around her shoulders, he led her out of the stables. “Ye have my word as a gentleman. A walk would be fine.”

  ***

  Finally exhausted, Rosalia sought the comfort of her bedchamber. Fatigue settled in pockets under her eyes. Perhaps she would sleep this eve. Weariness enveloped her as she crawled into bed. Her mind kept turning to Ciaran and his comforting embrace.

  “Rosalia, what have you done?” her mother bellowed.

  She turned around and stiffened. How she had come to despise that tone! Of course she knew she had done something wrong. She always did something wrong. Considering what she could have missed, she felt her thoughts escape her.

  “Look at the dirt! I thought you scrubbed this table!” screamed her mother, pointing to the table.

  Rosalia gasped, realizing a shiver of panic. “I did scrub the table. I am still cleaning.” She grabbed the cloth and started to wipe the table. It was coming. She knew it was coming. Sheer black fright swept through her.

  “Look underneath the table, Rosalia. You did not scrub under the table!” With one quick movement, her mother reached her. She pulled her daughter by the hair and slammed her head down on the table. “Look, Rosalia! You did not scrub under the table!” Yanking her up by the hair, her mother again slammed her head into the table with a loud crack.

  “Donna touch me!” Rosalia screamed. “Mo mhallachd ort!”

  “Rosalia, ’tis Ciaran. Ye are safe. No one will hurt ye,” he whispered. “Ye are safe.”

  A hot tear trickled down her cheek. “Ciaran?” she asked, disoriented and raising her hand to his cheek. She closed her eyes, reliving the pain of that final scene. The memory was like an old wound that ached on a rainy day. The picture froze in her mind until she heard Ciaran again call her name.

  He watched her open her tear-stained eyes, his eyes darkening with emotion. She drank in the comfort of his nearness. He was a vision that pulled her out of the darkness. He was her light. He was her… savior. His body was partially covering hers and he was whispering soothingly into her ear as she tried to recover from another round of painful memories.

  He kissed her hand. “Ye had a nightmare is all.” Ciaran rubbed his hand over her tresses, and his eyes brimmed with tenderness and passion. Suddenly, he clenched his jaw and his eyes slightly narrowed. He moved to rise, but she stilled him.

  “Please stay with me,” she begged. “I donna want to be alone.” Rosalia pulled him into a tight embrace. The harder she tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted. Whether she wanted to admit it or not, there was something special about him.

  “Rosalia…” said Ciaran huskily, pulling her arms off him and springing to his feet.

  “Ciaran! Ye have nay clothing!” she squeaked. Sitting up quickly, she pulled the blanket tighter around herself. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. She could not help but stare at him intently—all of him. His vitality captivated her. She gave him an involuntary examination and found his closeness so male.

  She could not tear her gaze away from him. The glimpses of his strong body made her heart beat more rapidly, and a delicious shudder heated through her. For a long moment, she felt as though she were floating. She glanced up at him and her heart lurched madly. At that moment, she began to recognize her own needs.

  Realizing she was still gaping, she lowered her gaze. She had only seen James once before when he was in his cups and she helped him undress.

  Turning his back to her, Ciaran mumbled an apology and she stuttered through her nervousness.

  He stole a glance at her over his shoulder. “I heard ye scream, and I didnae think to grab my clothing. Besides, from the way your eyes were looking at me, I didnae think ye minded,” he chuckled. “I will—”

  She whipped her pillow at his back. “Go put on your—”

  “Kilt?” he asked with a raised brow, seeming to enjoy the gentle sparring.

  Seeing the amusement in his eyes, she laughed. “Nay!”

  He cocked his head at her outburst and turned up his smile a notch. “Nay?”

  “Mayhap trews,” she suggested.

  Ciaran walked back to his chamber. “And I suggest ye do the same,” he called over his shoulder.

  ***

  Donning his kilt with no tunic, Ciaran returned to Rosalia’s chamber with ale. Thankfully, she had also donned her trews and a tunic and sat peacefully before the fire. The glowing embers cast her in a serene light. He simply enjoyed watching her.

  Taking a seat in the opposite chair, he poured her some ale. “’Tis the ale.” He held out a tankard. “It will help ye to sleep.”

  “My thanks.” She reached out and took the tankard.

  “My apologies I didnae get to speak with ye again. The men from the village took longer than expected.” When she was getting ready to question him further, he quickly added, “’Tis naught ye should be concerned about.” He did a double take and chuckled, noticing something very familiar. “Is that my tunic, lass?”

  Rosalia’s eyes widened and she started to mumble something he could not understand.

  “Ye actually wear my tunic… to bed?” He found that fact very satisfying.

  “Leave off, MacGregor,” she threatened.

  “Have ye always had nightmares?” he asked softly. She took another swig of ale and gazed at her hands. “Do ye remember them when ye awaken?” He paused. “Rosalia, do ye trust me?” Lifting his tankard, he took a swig and glanced at her over the rim.

  She looked up at him with curiosity. “Of course I do. Why would ye ask that of me?”

  He could not help but notice how bonny she looked in the glow of the firelight. He would have to be a blind fool not to notice. He remembered how beautiful she was at court but would never tell her so. She would be embarrassed. He could not believe he was here with her now. “Every time ye become nervous or donna want to answer something ye stare down at your hands.”

  Instinctively, she glanced down. “’Tis habit. When I become uncomfortable, I know I do that. Mother used to tell me frequently. My apologies.”

  “Rosalia, there is naught to apologize for. I merely…” He made another attempt. “Do ye remember your nightmares?”

  Looking him dead in the eye, she held up her tankard in mock salute. “Aye, every last one of them,” she said, taking another swig of ale.

  “How long have ye had them?”

  “For as long as I can remember.”

  Ciaran was surprised by her response. She had been through so much as of late that he’d assumed her nightmares were a result of all the events that had recently occurred. Reaching over, he squeezed her hand. “Was it that unpleasant for ye, lass?”

  “Aye,” she simply stated.

  He waited for her to continue. As far as he was concerned, he had all eve.

  She huffed. “Ciaran, ye donna want to hear my woes…”

  “’Tis where ye are wrong, sweeting. I want to know all about ye,” he said softly. He could tell his use of the endearment took her aback, but it was how he felt. Why not speak it? She sighed and he knew she was eventually going to relent.

  “Mother and Father ne’er paid me much attention unless it suited them. I was always lonely, but I kept a few of those close to my heart such as James; Duncan, our stable hand; and Ealasaid, our cook.” Gazing into the flames of the fire, she began to speak as if she were in some faraway place in the corner of her mind.

  “What I didnae tell ye before was that Father is a Highland laird. After he married my English mother, they lived in Liddesdale. I donna know much about their past or their families, but it wasnae for lack of trying. When I would ask, the subject would always be changed.

  “My seanmhair, Father’s mother in Glengarry, would send a messenger on occasion. He would always see
k me alone outside of Mangerton’s walls and deliver messages or packages. It seemed my seanmhair did want to see me or I was ne’er far from her thoughts, but I was ne’er permitted to travel to the Highlands. I heard Mother once say that she didnae have a choice but to wed Father, but ’tis all I know. Do ye wish to know more, my laird?” Her eyes never left the flames.

  He squeezed her hand. “Ye may speak to me about anything, sweeting.” She smiled into the flickering light and he continued to hold her hand for reassurance.

  “Mother has a verra bad ire. Ye cannae imagine. Everything must be done her way. If it wasnae, everyone around her paid a price—mainly me. Those close to us knew of her ire. To others, she would portray the doting wife and mother. Father has experienced her wrath as well. He does everything in his power to ensure peace, even sacrificing my future to keep her joyful.

  “He gave her everything without question. Mangerton was decorated with the finest of wares, tapestries, anything worth a lot of coin. He provided her with the finest gowns and the finest of everything. The coffers are now empty and all servants, except a handful, have been dismissed. In order to replenish the coin, I was to be forced to wed the English beast—Lord Dunnehl. I refused. I paid the price.”

  She sighed and took another swig of ale. “My entire existence has been spent wondering how Mother felt from one day to the next. I ne’er mattered. In fact, in her eyes I did not exist. Would I be beaten because I gave her a look? Would I be slapped because I didnae act proper? Would my tresses be pulled out because I didnae kiss her in greeting?

  “Every move I made was under constant scrutiny. I couldnae think for myself. I couldnae speak for myself. Every moment of time was planned for me, and I was always told what to do and when to do it. At times I couldnae even breathe. I didnae even know who I was. When I was ordered to do something, it was because I was ungrateful or unappreciative. I have been told this my entire score and one. I donna know any different.”

  She paused, rubbing the rim of her tankard. “When James found us, I was tempted to return to Mangerton. He shouldnae have to suffer because of me. I know marriages are arranged for coin, land, or title, but I ne’er cared about such things. I was foolish enough to think I could find a love match. I only wanted to find happiness. I didnae want to think only of myself, but I knew in my heart I could ne’er return. I would rather die by my own hand than live another moment there. Now ye know, my laird. I am weak and I am a coward.” She spoke with bitterness.

  Ciaran was breathless with rage, but he swallowed hard, trying not to reveal his anger. The lass was distraught enough. He did not want to add to it. Leaning forward, he intertwined their fingers. “Nay one should ever touch ye that way, Rosalia. What she did wasnae right. I know of men who beat their women into submission, and I think your mother is nay different. She wanted ye submissive. What I donna understand is how your father turned his eye. Ye are his only daughter.

  “I donna understand how ye can say ye are weak and a coward. Lass, ye have more courage than most men. Ye cut your tresses and dressed as a lad. Ye were battered and bruised, riding Noonie for many miles before ye passed out from the pain. Ye are a courageous woman, Rosalia. I only wish I knew how to take away your pain,” he said softly.

  “I am hoping in time my dreams turn to faded memories. I donna enjoy reliving the moments time and again. It feels as if I am still there.”

  Ciaran rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Ye are safe. No one will touch ye while ye are within my walls.”

  She smiled her thanks. “I am frightened this will always be a burden for me to bear. I just want to find peace. I want to find… me.”

  “And I hope I am able to help ye with that. Take all the time ye need, lass,” he said, smiling at her with compassion.

  “Ye have heard enough of me. Please tell me of ye, my laird.” Abruptly, she changed the subject.

  “Me?” Sitting back in the chair, Ciaran was surprised by her request. No one had ever asked him to speak of himself. “And what would ye want to know of me?”

  “Tell me more of your family.”

  He rubbed his brow. “My father and mother loved each other verra much. They raised us to be honorable men. I cannae say Aiden and I didnae cause our fair share of mischief, but Father raised us to be able to eventually take his place as laird while Declan was kept under Mother’s wing. At nay fault of my father. He did what he thought best. Declan was the third son, even though we ne’er made him feel that way. Father made Declan train with us and tried to mold him, but when he took nay interest, Father didnae pressure him to do so.”

  Rosalia smiled in understanding. “That gives some reason why Declan acts—”

  “As an arse?”

  “Well, that wasnae exactly what I was going to say.” She chuckled.

  “Declan wasnae always as he is now. Nae until Mother died. He and Mother became verra close. Father was busy training Aiden and me, and Declan would be with Mother. She loved us all, but we know she favored Declan. Mayhap she tried to intervene because Father spent so much time with Aiden and me. It is difficult to say. After she died, Declan kept to himself. He didnae want to speak with any of us, nay matter how hard we tried. He started whor—er… wenching and getting into his cups.”

  Ciaran ran his hands through his hair. “It was as if he was trying to destroy himself along with Mother. We all told him that Mother had died and he hadnae, but he wouldnae listen to reason. Father tried to help him but couldnae.”

  “That had to be difficult for all of ye. Nae only did ye lose your mother, but ye had to watch Declan lose himself,” she said quietly.

  “Aye. We hoped when Aiden and Aisling wed that Declan would try to find a lass and wed himself, but he wants naught to do with seeking a wife.”

  There was a heavy silence.

  “And what of ye, my laird? Ye ne’er thought to seek a wife?”

  Leaning forward, he grabbed her hand. “’Tisnae as if I havenae thought of it, especially as of late…”

  “Ciaran, my apologies. I loosened my tongue too much. I had nay right to—”

  “Shh… Ye should know the truth.” He paused. “I made a promise to Father before he died that I would set Declan on a clear path. Father felt he’d failed my brother and made me give my word I would help him. I didnae realize that promise would be a battle of wills. I cannae break my vow. To be truthful, it has ne’er caused me too much concern until now. Rosalia, I cannae wed until—”

  She stood and placed her hand to his lips. “Shh, my laird. We agreed nae to speak of such things and to enjoy our time together.”

  He nodded his head in consent.

  “’Tis late. I thank ye for the comfort, Ciaran.”

  He pulled himself to his feet and raised his hand, placing an unruly lock of hair behind her ear. “I am here for ye, lass, if ye need me for anything.” Ciaran brushed a gentle kiss across her forehead. Pulling away slowly, he smiled. “Get sleep. I shall see ye in a few hours.” He gave her one last glance before he closed the adjoining door.

  Knowing sleep would not come now; Ciaran approached his desk and lit a candle. He penned a missive, confident in his strokes. He did not need to compose much, knowing what he had to write. Completing his task, he stretched out his back. Placing the MacGregor seal into the melted wax, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  It was done.

  His chamber brightened with the golden hues of the peeking sun, making him realize he had not slept at all. No matter, he would send the missive by special messenger this morn to Glengarry—well, as soon as the messenger was awake.

  Ten

  Rosalia descended the stairs to break her fast, still smiling at the gift that had been placed upon her chair early this morn. She thoroughly enjoyed being able to bare her soul last eve to Ciaran. As she remembered their conversation, she prayed he did not think her da
ft. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she was some foolish chit. After all, she was not a delicate flower. She just needed someone to offer her comfort and he was a wonderful listener. She was comforted by the fact that James was not the only man she could speak with openly.

  As she approached the dais, Ciaran was already breaking his fast with Aiden. Odd, Declan and Aisling were not in attendance. Aisling was probably with Teàrlach, and Rosalia hoped Declan was not cowering somewhere recovering from a night of debauchery.

  Both men stood upon her approach.

  “And how are ye this morn, sweeting?” asked Ciaran.

  She was startled not only because the endearment was spoken, but because it was expressed so freely in front of Aiden. She cast Aiden a nervous glance, but he just smiled and went back to his meal as though nothing were out of the ordinary. “I am well. And ye, my laird?”

  He kissed her on the cheek and heat rose in her features. Pulling out her chair, he whispered closely, “I would think after last eve ye would call me Ciaran.”

  Turning another shade of crimson, Rosalia sat down on the chair.

  “I left something for ye this morn. Did ye get it?” he asked softly.

  “Aye,” she whispered back, trying desperately to remove the color from her face.

  “I thought ye might want another one for mayhap when we ride again or if ye wish to wear it to bed.” He cast a roguish grin. “After all, ye donna want to wear out my other tunic. The one I left ye was recently made.”

  Her eyes started to stray to her hands, and she forced herself to look him in the eye. “Ye have my thanks.” Rosalia paused, touching him gently on the arm. “Ciaran, about last eve…”

  “What about last eve?” slurred Declan, staggering to the table.

  When Ciaran grunted, she thought it best to redirect. “Aiden, where is Aisling this morn?”