Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

Rosalia was almost embarrassed at how happy that made her, and she flushed miserably. “I enjoyed being with ye as well, my laird.”

  Leaning forward, he grabbed her hand. “We need to speak about Beathag.”

  She moaned and rolled her eyes. “Do we need to do that now?”

  His expression stilled and grew serious. “Aye. I will speak with her on the morrow and she will take her leave before ye break your fast.”

  “Aye,” she sighed. She wondered where Beathag would go or if she had family that would take her in.

  He smiled at her knowingly. “Rosalia, ye cannae save everyone. After all she said to ye, she doesnae deserve your pity. Besides,” he said, patting her hand, “save your compassion for me when I unintentionally fire your ire.”

  “Ciaran, ye are a man and predestined to fire my ire,” she chuckled.

  Sitting back in the chair, he bobbed his head. “Aye, so Aisling tells Aiden, Declan, and me—repeatedly.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say to that? Aisling is a wise woman.” She yawned and raised her fingers to her lips.

  He stood and held out his hand. “Come. Ye will feel better after a good sleep.”

  Placing her hand into his, she stood. “Ye know? This is one time I think I agree with ye.”

  He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed the top of her hand, looking into her eyes with warmth she had come to savor. “Good sleep, my lady.”

  “My thanks, Ciaran… for everything.”

  He nodded his head and turned toward the adjoining door, pausing after he stepped through it. Turning, he winked at her and then proceeded to gently close the door.

  Rosalia sighed in contentment. She fell back on the bed and did not even worry about changing into her nightclothes. She would only rest her eyes for a moment.

  ***

  Ciaran had not tossed and turned in total frustration for a long time. Even his own release did not satisfy the burning hunger he felt for Rosalia. She would have actually permitted him to bury himself deep within her luscious body. Sometimes his honor and chivalry were a pain in the arse. A few years ago he wouldn’t have second-guessed himself. She would be his in mind, body, and soul. His mind raced as he thought of what he must do to proceed with his own life. First, he must see to Beathag. Second, he would need to ensure Declan was on a straight path. How he regretted his promise to his father.

  Having no tolerance for sleep, Ciaran threw the blankets from the bed and dressed. The sooner he could be done with the first task, the sooner he could see to the second. He descended the stairs in search of Beathag. He found her in her bedchamber and nudged her awake. “Get dressed,” he said tersely. “I will wait outside the door.”

  Appearing moments later, she did not seem surprised to see him. He escorted her into his solar and closed the door. He had many words he wanted to speak to her, but he would not make this more difficult than it needed to be. He must maintain his purpose, and that was solely to remove Beathag from the walls of Glenorchy.

  “I gave ye fair warning and ye disobeyed me. Ye are to take your leave of Glenorchy and ne’er return. Ye arenae welcome here,” he said with steely determination. Beathag smiled at him with a cold, soulless glare. Her lack of emotion caught him unaware. He was prepared for battle, but she did not even raise her verbal sword. In fact, she did not speak a single word.

  Grabbing her firmly by the elbow, he escorted her to the front gates as the rising sun cast its first rays of light. Beathag took her leave with not even a fare-thee-well or a backward glance. He would not dwell on her further; she was not worth it. At least she could no longer cause Rosalia grief within his walls.

  As Ciaran walked through the bailey and into the great hall, he spotted Declan breaking his fast—the second task to which he must attend. He prayed this was not a hopeless task. He was anxious to move forward with his own life and have a wife of his own. He knew the perfect woman.

  ***

  Beathag grudgingly stepped away from the front gates. She refused to look back and give the MacGregor whoreson the satisfaction. She had to remain calm, focused on her plan. She would get the coin promised to her and leave this wretched land forever without looking back.

  Men and their games—what they did not realize was that she could be just as dangerous and deadly as any man.

  Twelve

  “Nay. I willnae accept these.” Rosalia folded her arms over her chest, shaking her head in disapproval.

  Ciaran rose to his full height. “Ye can be such a stubborn lass,” he said, exasperated. “Ye are in the Highlands. The first snowfall is upon us, and ye need suitable clothing lest ye catch the ague.”

  She huffed. “I have Aisling’s—”

  “And they donna fit,” he countered.

  “Ye arenae going to leave me in peace, are ye?”

  He shook his head and smiled in return. “Nay.”

  Pausing, she glanced at her trunk. “If ye insist I accept the clothing, ye can at least grant me a boon,” she said as she bent over to open the trunk. When he stood behind her and placed his arms around her waist, she jumped.

  “And what boon might that be, my lady?” he whispered silkily into her ear. She pulled out of his embrace and shoved a pouch into his hands. He held it up and cast a questioning glance at her. “What is this?” He shook the bag as clanging noises came from within.

  “Coin. ’Tisnae much, but ’tis all I brought with me from Mangerton. ’Tis but the least I can do to repay your kindness, my laird. Ye have offered me shelter, clothing, bed me…” She immediately caught her slip of the tongue and blushed. When he smiled with male satisfaction and simply raised his brow, she swatted at him. “Fed me. I meant to say ye fed me, clothed me, and I could go on as such.”

  Giving her an amused grin, he tossed the coins back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut. “Please save us both the time. I willnae take your coin and ye will take the clothes.” Approaching her, he gently grabbed the bottom of her chin. “Ye are so stubborn, but I know ye can be sensible as well. ’Tis how I know I will see ye wear the newly made clothing.” He kissed the tip of her nose. Turning, he walked to the door. “I must go to the village. I will return for the midday meal.”

  “Ciaran?”

  He spun around. “Aye?”

  “Will ye please take Noonie? I am sure he needs a run.” Nodding his head, he opened the door. “And Ciaran? Ye have my thanks for the clothing.”

  “Ye may thank me later,” he said with a roguish grin, slowly closing the door.

  Rosalia’s heart hammered against her ribs. She wondered if he would ever stop affecting her that way. She shook her head as she glanced at the bed. Holding up a newly made cloak, she wrapped it around her and smiled when she realized that it covered her perfectly. It was finely made and perfect for her height. Placing it back upon the bed, she lifted a day dress and held it up in front of her. Stacking it back on the pile, she counted five dresses. There was no way she could ever repay his kindness. As Rosalia tried to lift the gowns from the bed, something caught her attention. Shifting the dresses to the side, she gasped in astonishment.

  A beautiful gown was conveniently hidden beneath the other clothing. The fabric was of fine quality and beautifully made. It was a lovely blue, the color of the sky, accented with gold ribbon and a low bodice. Why would Ciaran have bestowed such a gift upon her? This was clearly a gown to be worn in London amongst King James’s royal court. Such niceties were not something to be worn at Glenorchy, or Glengarry, for that matter. Where would she ever wear such a gown? She held it to her frame. Pulling out the skirts to the side, she spun around and smiled. She could almost imagine herself among royalty. Better yet, she could almost picture herself on Ciaran’s arm as his wife, dancing away into the wee hours of the night. She smiled when she realized she must look like quite the fool.

>   Lowering the gown back onto the bed, she hefted the day dresses and was hunching over to place them in her trunk when she spotted a pair of doeskin boots sticking out from under the bed. Setting the dresses on her trunk, she bent over and scooped up the boots. Not only did Ciaran have clothing made for her, but she had warm boots for the winter solstice. As she examined the boots, she was astonished to discover matching blue slippers stuffed inside them—slippers that matched her radiant gown. Ciaran was clever. She would give him that. He knew she would never accept all of this willingly.

  She fled her bedchamber in search of Aisling since she was sure her friend had a hand in Ciaran’s plotting. She finally discovered the culprit in the nursery with Teàrlach. When Rosalia entered, Aisling was down on all fours in an apparent attempt to make Teàrlach smile. “Is it working?”

  “Stubborn as Aiden, I tell ye. I get on the floor with him and try to make him laugh, but he stares at me like I am daft. I have yet to make him smile. Declan even makes him smile, but his own mother doesnae. ’Tis quite annoying actually,” she mumbled under her breath.

  “Come now, Aisling. Teàrlach is obviously a lad with much sense. He already laughs at the men,” Rosalia countered, sitting down on the floor.

  “There is that.”

  Teàrlach gnawed on his tiny fist and Rosalia rubbed his red curls. “Did ye know that Ciaran went to the village?”

  “Aye. Aiden as well.” Aisling rose and picked up Teàrlach from the floor. “Could ye please hand me his blanket?”

  Pulling herself to her feet, Rosalia handed her the blanket. “I had quite a surprise in my chamber this morn.”

  “Ye did? And what might that be?” Aisling asked innocently, wrapping the blanket around Teàrlach.

  “Now why do I get the feeling ye are playing me, Aisling? I think ye know Ciaran had clothes made for me, and I cannae help but wonder if ye had a hand in that as well.” She folded her arms over her chest and waited for her friend to respond.

  Aisling studied her. “Och, ye have been in Ciaran’s presence too much. Ye two are sounding and looking much the same.”

  “Mayhap, but I will know the truth if ye had anything to do with the clothing.”

  “And if I did?” Aisling shrugged with indifference and did not wait for Rosalia to respond. “Ye said yourself that ye havenae been to the Highlands. Our Highland weather is much more severe than what ye are accustomed to. Ye need proper clothes for the winter solstice and now ye have them. Ye should be thanking me instead of attempting to scold me.”

  “I truly thank ye. They are beautiful.” Rosalia relented.

  “And ye would have done the same for me. Ye cannae tell me ye wouldnae.” Aisling gave her a knowing look. “And how did ye like the gown?” she asked, rubbing Teàrlach’s back.

  “’Tis truly verra beautiful, but I donna know where I would wear it. ’Tis as if I should be attending King James’s court.”

  “Donna think too much upon it. Mayhap Ciaran just wanted ye to have something fanciful to wear, should something of importance present itself.” Aisling smiled and nudged her arm.

  Rosalia rolled her eyes. “Cease your plotting.”

  “Now what is she plotting?” asked Declan, strutting into the nursery. He smiled at both of them in amusement. “If she is plotting, I would run, Rosalia—far, far away.”

  “Cease. Both of ye. I donna plot. I merely strongly recommend, and if it happens, it happens,” Aisling countered with a trace of laughter in her voice.

  “And how does my wee nephew fare?” asked Declan, rubbing Teàrlach’s curls. As if on cue, Teàrlach’s face lit up and he grinned from ear to ear. Aisling moaned and rolled her eyes. “What?” Declan asked with a questioning glance to Aisling.

  “Ye see? I try everything to make him smile and he doesnae. Ye walk in and simply ask how he fares, and he smiles for ye.”

  A lively twinkle came into his eyes. “’Tis because he knows his Uncle Declan. He more than likely doesnae want to be around ye women all day.”

  “Women?” Aisling’s voice went up a notch and Rosalia cleared her throat.

  “Why donna we go and see if Ealasaid prepared biscuits for the midday meal?” she redirected.

  “I am right behind ye,” murmured Declan, promptly following Rosalia out the door.

  “Coward,” Aisling smirked.

  “Ye know it,” called Declan from down the hall.

  ***

  Ciaran rode to the village with Aiden to collect the rents and ensure everything was in order. He would also be sure to thank Cylan for Rosalia’s clothing. A smile played on his lips as he realized Rosalia was softening toward others providing for her. She had not put up too much of a battle when she was presented with her dresses—although, he chose the coward’s way out and took his leave before she found the fanciful gown or the boots, for that matter.

  “Did Rosalia spar with ye about the clothing?” asked Aiden.

  “At first, but I took my leave before she had the chance to scold me further.”

  “Coward,” his brother chided him.

  “I learned from ye. Your wee wife still frightens ye.”

  “There is that.”

  In an apparent attempt for freedom, Noonie tried to pull his head. He was spirited this morning, and if his prancing feet and agitated movements were any indication, he obviously wanted to run. “Why donna we let our mounts run to the village?” Ciaran patted Noonie on his muscular neck. “He wants to run.”

  Aiden kicked his mount, making a mad dash off. Ciaran gave Noonie his head, and it was not long before he thundered by Aiden. With the sound of pounding hoofbeats in his ears, the cool breeze whipping him in the face, and the rush of blood pumping through his veins, he could not help but let out a blood-pumping battle cry. Aiden reined in beside him and followed suit. The two of them looked as if they were riding into battle instead of enjoying a brief moment of horseplay.

  As they approached the village, they slowed their mounts, seeing that dense, black smoke billowed through the air. Riding to the center of the village, they were greeted with expressions of terror upon the faces of women and children. Shrill screams pierced the air. It was a state of sheer panic and chaos.

  “My laird!” screamed a lad, stepping out in front of Noonie. “The stable is burning!”

  “Is everyone out?” yelled Ciaran, approaching the stable.

  “I donna know,” screamed the lad in return.

  Reaching the stable, Ciaran saw that smoke was rising fast and furious, and they jumped from their mounts. He was met by a woman with soot on her face and her young daughter, who was in tattered, soot-covered clothing. He recognized the woman as Mary, the stable hand’s wife.

  “My laird!” she coughed. “My husband is still in there trying to get the animals out,” she rasped. “Please help him!” she begged, bending over and gasping for breath.

  Releasing Mary into Aiden’s care, Ciaran ran into the stable. At first, he could not see anything in front of him. The heat was so overwhelming that he could barely breathe. He shouted for the stable hand and received no reply. The stable started to collapse. A heavy wooden beam crashed beside him to the ground in a fiery blaze, its smoldering ash billowing into the air. He called one last time before he had no choice but to turn back.

  As soon as he came out of the stable, Aiden handed him a wet cloth. Ciaran took a couple of deep breaths to clear his lungs and coughed uncontrollably. A crowd gathered as some of the men made futile attempts to douse the flames. He glanced over to see a few of them covering themselves with wet blankets and held up his hand to stay them. The stable was falling apart. He could not chance anyone else getting in harm’s way.

  Mary approached him with a questioning look. “My laird?”

  Aiden intercepted and draped his arm gently around her shoulders, pu
lling her away. He glanced at Ian’s daughter as tears streamed down her smeared, sooty face. Something twisted inside him like a punch to the gut. Taking another look at the blazing flames, he covered his mouth with the wet cloth. He heard Aiden’s warning shouts in the distance as he raced back into the stable.

  He kept the wet cloth firmly pressed against his mouth and nose, but it did not assist his watering eyes. He proceeded quickly and cautiously, working his way further into the stable while avoiding the falling debris. When he thought he saw something on the ground a few yards in front of him, he pushed himself even further. Ian lay motionless on the ground before him.

  He dropped the wet cloth and managed to swing Ian’s arm around his neck to pull him up, but his lungs felt as if they were afire. Just as Ciaran was about to collapse, someone grabbed him and pulled him to his feet.

  Aiden grabbed Ian’s other arm, supporting his weight, and led them back through the maze of falling debris.

  When at last they stepped out of the stable, Mary ran to their side. “Ian! Ian! Please be well,” she sobbed.

  They carried Ian a safe distance away from the blazing flames and laid him down on the ground. Aiden saw to Ian while Ciaran stepped away, bending over and gasping for breath. All he could hear between his gasps for air and the intensity of his coughing were the piercing sobs of Mary and her daughter.

  “Papa! Papa! Please donna leave me! I love ye! I love ye, Papa!”

  Ciaran was weighted with a heavy heart knowing those words would be forever imprinted in his mind. As he turned, Aiden somberly shook his head.

  Ian was dead.

  Aiden pulled Mary away from Ian’s lifeless body and she embraced him. “He was my life,” she sobbed. “Why would anyone want to kill him?”

  “Kill him?” Aiden asked, throwing a questioning glance at Ciaran.

  Ciaran approached them, and Mary gazed back and forth between them. “Aye. Eallie and I were in the pasture when three riders approached.” She pointed in the direction the men came from. “They threw something on the walls and then lit it afire,” she cried, wiping her tears.