“Duncan, there is ale on the stand,” Ciaran interrupted, nodding toward the stand.
Placing her head to Ciaran’s chest, Rosalia closed her eyes and his comforting arms encircled her. Her collectedness was cracking. When Ciaran pulled back, Duncan handed her the ale. Slumping down on the chair, she gulped a healthy, burning mouthful. Perhaps the fiery liquid would take away the numbness she felt.
“Easy, lass,” murmured Duncan.
Rosalia laughed. “’Tis Ciaran’s own ale. I am quite used to it, I assure ye.” Ciaran rubbed her shoulder, and spoke in hushed tones to Duncan.
“If there is more, my laird, I will hear it. Ye donna have to shelter me,” she chided him.
He watched her with a critical squint. “Are ye sure? Ye have been through—”
“I am sure.” Turning to Duncan and Ealasaid, Rosalia gestured for them to sit. “Please, ye have traveled far to see me. I will be fine.”
Duncan and Ealasaid reluctantly sat down. Duncan hesitated before he spoke. “When James returned with Lord Dunnehl’s men, he discovered your father’s body. Lord Dunnehl had already taken his leave and left word for his men to return to Northumberland. He doesnae search for ye.”
Clearing his throat, Duncan wiped his brow. “Your father repaid his debt with his lifeblood, lass. The remainder of your father’s men disbanded, and there was only Ealasaid and me. James sent us straight away to ye and had one of his trusted men escort us. He has already taken his leave. James told me that ye were here with Laird MacGregor at Glenorchy. He didnae want to take a chance he was being watched so he sent us to deliver this message.
“He will ensure Lord Dunnehl nay longer searches and will meet ye at Glengarry in the spring when ’tis safe for him to travel to ye.” Duncan turned toward Ciaran. “And if Laird MacGregor will have us, we will travel to Ealasaid’s sister in the spring.”
Ciaran nodded. “Ye are welcome to stay at Glenorchy for as long as ye wish.”
Perhaps it was her own uneasiness, but something was missing in Duncan’s words. “And what of Mother?” Everyone turned to stare at her with blank expressions. Something cautioned Rosalia not to ask, but she must know the truth—all of it. She turned to Ealasaid, repeating the question.
Ealasaid played with the fabric of her skirts, then gave her a sympathetic smile. “She is with Lord Dunnehl, lass.” She spoke sympathetically and cast her eyes downward.
She gasped. “The beast took my mother? He killed my father and took my mother?” Rosalia jerked to her feet and started to pace.
Ealasaid gave her a sheepish grin. “Nay, lassie. Your mother went willingly.”
She stopped dead in her tracks. “She what?” she bellowed. “She went with him willingly? That English cur killed my father, and my mother went willingly with the man who had killed my father. Is that what ye are telling me?”
“I think Rosalia has had enough,” Ciaran interjected.
She whipped around and glared at him. “Och, nay. I will have the entire tale, Ciaran.” She turned back to Ealasaid, who was studying her skirts and would not lift her eyes to hers. She certainly did not want to frighten Ealasaid, but she needed the truth and she would have it.
Raising her head, Ealasaid glanced at Rosalia with compassion. “Aye, lassie. She claimed there was naught more she could do at Mangerton and wanted to go back to England.”
Rosalia could not think through the blood pounding in her ears. Ciaran opened the door to his solar, ordering someone to show Ealasaid and Duncan to their rooms.
Duncan approached her, placing his hand to her shoulder in a fatherly gesture. “Ye are safe now, lass. ’Tis all that matters.”
“Aye, lassie. Ye rest and come see us later,” said Ealasaid, giving her a look of comfort.
Rosalia embraced them both. “My apologies. I am glad ye are both here and safe. I will speak with ye later.” She embraced them both again. “I am truly joyful ye are both here.”
***
Ciaran ordered Seumas to have one of the maids fetch Rosalia’s cloak. The lass stood in front of him looking so lost and alone. He was not sure how to comfort her. Although she had been mistreated by her father, he was still her father nonetheless. She should mourn his passing, but Ciaran would not allow her to blame herself. Her sire chose his own fate. He never respected a man who raised his hand to a woman or sat by while someone else did harm.
He smiled his thanks when the maid returned with Rosalia’s cloak. His memory strayed as he remembered the pain he had felt at the loss of his own father.
He gently wrapped the cloak around her shoulders. “Come, sweeting,” he said tenderly. He pulled her close to his side, and they walked together. He led Rosalia to the parapet, hoping fresh air would bring her some relief. She stared blankly out at the loch, and he was caught off guard by the sudden vigorousness in her voice.
“I always wanted to travel to the Highlands, but I ne’er expected such an adventure,” she said solemnly.
He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and she leaned into him. He kissed the top of her head.
“I cannae believe my father is dead, let alone that my mother went with my father’s murderer.”
He squeezed her shoulder. “Your father and mother made their choices, lass. Ye needed to make yours and ye did what ye had to, Rosalia.” Turning her to face him, Ciaran smiled gently. “I know ye are distraught and ye have reason to mourn your father, but ye donna have reason to blame yourself. I willnae allow it,” he ordered, brushing his fingers lightly on her cheek.
She smiled. “Ye know ye can be verra persuasive, my laird.”
“So ye have said,” he whispered, lowering his head and brushing a soft kiss on her lips.
Wrapping her arms around him, Rosalia nestled her head into his chest. “Ciaran, I feel so many ways. I donna know what to do. I cannae think clearly.”
He placed his chin on the top of her head. “Let me help ye. Let me be here for ye. Let me share your burden, but donna close yourself from me.”
She sighed. “I struggle with the words ye speak. Ye are laird and are already burdened. Ye donna need me as well. Isnae Declan burden enough?”
Ciaran chuckled. “There is that, but I want ye to think upon this.” He paused, placing his lips close to her ear. “I am stuck with Declan, but I choose ye.”
Pulling away, she glanced at him searchingly. “And I choose ye, Ciaran MacGregor. If I am thankful for anything that has happened of late, ’tis that I met ye. Ye are a great and honorable man.”
He knew his face colored and he turned his head away from her. After all, he was a Highland laird, a warrior. “Come now before ye swell my head.”
***
Rosalia ate her meal in her bedchamber. She should have been more attentive to Ealasaid and Duncan after they had traveled so far, but she could not bring herself to entertain them with pleasantries. She needed time to recover.
There was a knock at the door and Aisling entered. Giving Rosalia a sisterly embrace, she expressed sympathy for her father’s passing. “Come,” said Aisling, guiding her to the bed. “I know just what ye need.” Propping up pillows, they lounged casually upon the bed. “Now tell me, how do ye fare?” she asked with concern.
Rosalia leaned back and briefly closed her eyes. “I have seen better days. I assure ye.” She adjusted the pillows at her back. “I cannae yet believe my father was murdered and my mother—well, I donna even have the strength to put into words how I feel.”
“’Tis all right to be angry and hurt, Rosalia. Donna keep these feelings all to yourself lest ye go mad,” said Aisling, patting her on the leg.
“I know ye are right. I blame my father for many things, but he was still my father.”
Aisling grabbed her hand in a comforting gesture. “I understand. I think ye need to focus on the present. Ye are
starting a new life. Look how far ye have come, Rosalia,” said Aisling in an encouraging tone.
“I actually had the same thoughts this morn. Ye are a wise woman. Thank ye for your counsel, Aisling.” She enjoyed having a woman she could speak with freely.
Aisling waved her off. “Please, we are as sisters. ’Tis but what we do. I almost forgot.” Leaning over the side of the bed, she pulled up a covered basket that Rosalia had not even noticed through her doldrums. Aisling uncovered the bundle and reached in. “I was instructed to give ye these.” She handed her a biscuit.
Rosalia grinned. “Ealasaid?” She took a bite, immediately knowing the source that created such splendid bliss. “Och, Ealasaid,” she moaned.
Grabbing another biscuit from the basket, Aisling pointed to Rosalia. “Donna keep them all to yourself,” she said, tossing a piece into her mouth. She moaned. “’Tis truly incredible,” she said, closing her eyes in enjoyment.
“What is truly incredible?” asked Ciaran, walking into the room through the adjoining door.
“Ye men,” Aisling smirked. “Always at hand when food is present, but if we need ye for something, ye arenae to be found.”
Reaching out, he took a biscuit and sat down on the bed next to Rosalia. Placing a piece into his mouth, he grunted. “These are truly incredible. Where did ye get them?” he asked, wiping the crumbs from his chin.
Rosalia giggled. “Ealasaid. They are my favorite,” she said, wiping the crumbs from her chin as well.
“I can see why.”
“What can ye see?” asked Aiden, also ambling into the room through the adjoining door.
Aisling laughed. “Ye see? Always at hand when food is present but conveniently disappearing if we call upon them.”
“Are those biscuits?” asked Aiden, reaching into the basket.
Aisling slapped his hand. “Aye. There is only one remaining and they were made for Rosalia,” she chided him.
He had such a look of disappointment on his face that Rosalia handed him the last one. “My thanks.” Aiden gave her a sympathetic smile and took a bite. He closed his eyes and grunted.
She laughed. “Ealasaid. Her biscuits are much comfort.”
“And how long will she be with us?” he asked hopefully.
“Long enough for ye to get your fill of biscuits, Husband,” Aisling chuckled.
Aiden wiped the crumbs from his chin. He turned his gaze back to Rosalia.
“As I am sure my brother has said, if ye need anything, ye need only ask,” said Aiden with sincerity.
“Ye all have my thanks—truly.”
Aisling stood up abruptly. “Well, ’tis getting late, Husband. Shall we take our leave?” Her voice sounded odd, her eyes widened, and she gave a slight nod for Aiden to follow.
Aiden stared at her, confounded. “’Tisnae late, Aisling.” When her eyes bore into him with silent expectation, it was if something clicked in his mind and he turned on his heel. “Aye, Wife. ’Tis late.”
Ciaran laughed as they departed. “Ye would think they were newly wed,” he chuckled, studying Rosalia for a brief moment. “Ye seem lighter of heart. How do ye fare?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “Now that I am away from Mangerton, I see the truth of how my life really was. ’Tis quite maddening actually. I couldnae think while I was there. Now that I have been away, I am able to think more clearly.”
His mouth curved with tenderness. “I know of what ye speak. I find if I am troubled, I am able to think much clearer if I am away from what troubles me.”
Lifting one hand, she caressed his cheek. “Then I hope I donna trouble ye, Ciaran.”
He kissed the palm of her hand. “I love the sound of my name upon your lips,” he murmured.
When her mind relived the velvet warmth of his kiss, she yanked him closer until his lips were almost touching hers. “Ciaran,” she whispered, bringing his mouth to hers. She boldly kissed him with a hunger that belied her outward calm. She was shocked at her own eager response, giving herself freely to the passion of the kiss.
She leaned back on the bed and pulled him close. Reclaiming his lips, she crushed him on top of her. Any reflections Rosalia had, she willed away. She was tired of thinking.
Ciaran pulled back slightly and traced his fingertip across her lip. His smoldering look burned her deep within her soul. God help her. At that moment, she realized the truth. She loved him.
She slid her hands under his tunic as she felt the evidence of his desire rise between them. Her heart pounded furiously against his. He was so hot. She melted into him.
Pressing kisses along his jaw, she savored the hint of salt and the scratch of his jaw against her lips. She sensed he was holding back, but she would not have it.
She rubbed her body against him and closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden rush of heat between them. She felt passion rise in her like the hottest fire, clouding her brain, her senses. She wanted—him.
***
Ciaran was on fire. He had never been more aroused in his life. Rosalia’s innocent touches were driving him mad. All of his honorable intentions were forgotten. All he could think of was tearing off her gown and thrusting up high inside her until the burning stopped.
His kisses became demanding. He wanted her to know what she did to him. Never had he experienced this kind of urgency. His tongue delved into her mouth with eager abandon. She was so hot and willing. He could not get enough.
His tongue circled hers, probing in an anxious rhythm that mirrored his pulsing erection. Her soft mewling sounds only heated his desire for her. He slid his hands down to her waist and over her hips, molding every sweet curve closer to his body.
He loosened her bodice enough to pull it past her shoulders and molded her breasts into his hands. The soft pink flesh was more than enough to fill his hands, more lush than he remembered. He lifted her breast to his lips and encircled her nipple with his tongue. “Rosalia, ye taste so sweet,” he murmured.
He cupped her mounds with his rough hands, and she groaned as he caressed their softness. She was like velvety fruit that was ripe for the picking. He wanted to savor her sweetness.
He eased his hand up the edge of her skirts, sliding up the center of her silky thigh, and she moaned against his ear. Hell. She was so damn responsive. His finger swept her sex… so wet. She was more than ready for him. He wanted nothing more than to strip off every piece of clothing and bury himself deep into her warm, welcoming heat.
He teased her with his hand, and her hips started to arch against him. He would make her come. Her tiny whimpers increased in urgency as she grabbed his arms, sculpting his muscles. God’s teeth! She was going to come apart in his hand.
When he felt her break apart, he pressed his finger against the sensitive part of her. His tongue delved into her mouth with the same rhythm as his finger pressing against her womanly heat.
She arched her back and cried out his name. He could not take his eyes off her face. She was so damn tempting with her lips parted and her passion-glazed eyes. Her desire and responsiveness drove him wild. She was so damn beautiful.
He needed to be inside her.
He unfastened his trews and her eyes widened, forcing him to address the sudden wave of reality that came upon him. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, pausing for a moment to pull himself together. “Rosalia, I know ye are distraught so I must think for both of us. If we do this—”
“Donna think, Ciaran,” she pleaded.
“Rosalia…”
“Donna think. Take me, Ciaran,” she said, pulling him to her.
He choked. God’s teeth! She was going to unman him like some untried lad. His insecure, sweet lass was a siren! He was a battle-hardened warrior—at least, that was what he kept telling himself. Control. He must regain control.
Ciaran closed
his eyes for collectedness. “Ye arenae yet mine to take,” he bit out, trying to calm his racing heart.
“What? Ye cannae offer me such a gift and then say I am nae yours to take,” she said, gasping for breath. “I donna understand.”
He rolled onto his side and gently caressed her bare shoulder. “’Tis the only gift I am able to give ye now—at least, nae until…”
“Nae until…?” she asked.
He had already spoken too freely. He needed to regain control, and to his dismay, there was no other way. Reluctantly, Ciaran rose from the bed. “Your pleasure was what I sought, lass. Pray excuse me,” he said abruptly and walked through the adjoining door. He would seek his own release and then his mind would be clear.
***
Rosalia did not have the strength to dwell upon Ciaran’s words, but she had to admit she was concerned about his actions. He sprang from the bed and took his leave without as much as a backward glance. Granted, she was not skilled in the ways of what a man and a woman shared. Ciaran offered her pleasure and held back from seeking his own. That’s why she was caught off guard when he took his leave so abruptly after their—well, she was not sure exactly what that had been.
Slowly rising from the bed, Rosalia straightened her clothing. Her legs could barely support her, and she had a gentle, calming sensation as well. What was that about? Wicked memories of Ciaran plagued her. She sat in the chair before the firelight, still smiling at what had occurred between them. It was a welcome distraction—a very welcome distraction. In fact, she would enjoy being distracted much more often.
He entered her bedchamber and his expression was not as tight as before. Smiling, he approached her and brushed a soft kiss to her lips. His mood seemed suddenly buoyant.
“I didnae think ye would return,” she said searchingly.
“Of course I would return,” Ciaran said, sitting in the opposite chair. “I enjoyed being with ye, lass.” He gave her a roguish grin.
Temptation in a Kilt Page 18
