What the hell? Beathag was the Campbell’s cousin? He should not be surprised they came from the same soiled blood. How fitting that the pieces would finally come together. Now certain events started to make sense. Not only did they plot together, but now they would die together as well.
Beathag became increasingly uneasy and shifted her weight from foot to foot. “Archie, he speaks the truth,” she muttered uneasily.
The Campbell stared at her, confounded. He dug his fingers into her flesh, pulling her forcefully to the side. “What is this? What do ye mean he speaks the truth?”
She flinched at the tone of his voice. “Archie, the MacDonell is her uncle and that man is her cousin. She was to travel to Glengarry, but I didnae think her—”
“Nay, ye didnae.” The Campbell glowered at her and then turned away. He spoke to all, but gazed at Beathag. “It appears the MacDonell—”
“Will be taking his cousin,” bellowed Alexander, unsheathing his sword and raising it high in the air. Ciaran and Alexander’s men followed suit as their men came thundering into the hall from the courtyard. The Campbell stared with complete surprise upon his face.
Ciaran took out two guards and easily deflected a few choice blows. He would slay every Campbell that got in his way and held him from his purpose. Alexander’s men fought by his side and showed no mercy. No one touched his own. Ciaran glanced over as the Campbell tried to slither out of the great hall. He would not escape that easily. He knew for certain that Archibald Campbell, seventh Earl of Argyll would die this day by his hand—the hand of the MacGregor.
Rosalia had backed up against a far wall and Alexander was fighting his way over to her. She would be safe. “Ciaran, behind ye!” shouted Aiden, working his way toward him.
Ciaran turned in time to lunge his broadsword into the neck of a Campbell. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw that two men held Aiden at bay. He was about to move when Declan stormed into the great hall with his sword raised high and screamed, “Ard-Choille!” He took down one of the guards and held his own.
Ciaran continued to maneuver his way over to his brothers and, with a deep thrust, took out another Campbell along the way. “Aisling?” he shouted to Aiden.
Aiden turned, deflecting another blow. “She and Teàrlach are out!” he shouted through the clanking metal sounds of battle.
Taking another glance at Rosalia, Ciaran saw that Alexander was almost there and would see to her safety. It was time to find the bloody Campbell. Deflecting several more blows, he fought his way out of the great hall and into the courtyard. The Campbell was making his way toward the gate. Ciaran let out a piercing whistle to his men who encroached on the barmkin wall and waved his arms for them to close the gate. Other than a few skirmishes within the courtyard, his men had already started to gather and secure the Campbells. It would not be long before all of the men were held.
Thundering across the courtyard, Ciaran pulled off his headgear. “Ard-Choille!” he bellowed, charging at the Campbell.
The Campbell’s loyal guardsmen placed him at their back and lunged at Ciaran. “Kill him! I wish to have his head!” the Campbell shouted, cowering behind his guardsmen.
Ciaran easily brought one man down but still held two at bay.
He pushed one of the guards to his enemy, then turned to deflect a blow aimed at his head. He knocked his opponent to his back and buried his sword deep into the man’s chest with a crushing sound. A burning sensation ripped through his arm. As he turned, the last man was coming in on him fast. He did not get out of the way quickly enough and received another slice to the shoulder. He grunted, holding his blood-soaked shoulder.
Spinning with an upper cut, Ciaran sliced his opponent’s chest, and he fell to the ground with a thud. Ciaran’s chest heaved as he turned and gave the Campbell a mocking smile.
The Campbell paled.
“Ciaran!” Beathag screamed.
He whirled to stare at her, quick anger rising in his eyes. Beathag held a dagger to Rosalia’s throat. Alexander moved out of the corner of his eye, but Ciaran told him to stand down with only a shake of his head.
The Campbell let out a great peal of laughter. “Verra well done, Cousin.”
“Ciaran, have your men open the gates,” Beathag said.
He gave the order for his men to open the gates. Beathag moved slowly, guiding Rosalia toward her means of escape.
Ciaran shifted his eyes to Rosalia and she gave him a knowing look. Before he could figure out what she was about, she pulled on Beathag’s arm and pretended to stumble. Lifting her leg, she pulled her dirk from under her skirts. Pivoting with a backward thrust, she impaled Beathag on her dagger.
Beathag yelled out in surprise, placing her hand to her stomach. When she pulled it away, it was covered with blood.
“An diobhail toirt leis thu!” The devil take you! Rosalia snarled, shaking with rage.
Ciaran whipped around and grabbed the Campbell. “Nae so fast. Where do ye think ye are going, ye bloody coward?” he said through gritted teeth. Raising his sword, he held it at the Campbell’s throat. “Ye killed an innocent man. Ye left a wife without a husband and a child without a father. Ye attacked my brother. Ye took my sister and my nephew.” He pushed the blade deeper. “Ye took my woman,” he said, seething with mounting rage.
The color drained from the Campbell’s face. His eyes became sharp and assessing. “King James—”
“Ye have nay honor,” Ciaran bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the courtyard. “King James will know of your deceit and disregard of his orders. All of this madness and for what? To gain my lands?”
The Campbell’s eyes widened as Ciaran raised his sword and swung the fatal blow. “I protect what is mine,” he grunted, pulling out his sword, “and so did my father.” He bent over and wiped his bloodied sword upon his jupon.
The Campbell stilled.
Rosalia still stood like a stone statue until he reached her with purposeful strides. “Och, Rosalia…” Ciaran pulled her trembling body to him. Shock, stark and vivid, flashed in her eyes. She began to shake uncontrollably and Ciaran shouted for someone to bring him a blanket. Pulling her into the circle of his arms, he whispered soothingly into her ear.
***
“Rosalia…” someone called to her. She could hear the voice in some faraway place in her mind.
“Easy, lass. Donna move too quickly,” the voice spoke silkily.
Rosalia took a moment to catch her breath. The solid ground was underneath her and she felt a soft tapping to her cheek. She sat up abruptly, the vivid recollection of the day’s events flooding her with emotion.
A warm hand rubbed her shoulder. “Donna move too quickly,” Ciaran instructed, pushing her tresses out of her face.
Lifting her hand, she stared at Beathag’s lifeblood, blood she spilled. Ciaran grabbed her hand and placed it back down. “Donna look upon it, Rosalia. Ye did what ye had to do.”
“Cousin, are ye well?” asked Alexander, kneeling beside her and placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder.
How was she supposed to respond to that? She was not fine. She had killed someone. She opened her mouth to speak, but words escaped her.
Fingers gently lifted her chin and she gazed into eyes of compassion. Ciaran gave her a tender smile. “I know how ye feel, but trust me when I speak this will pass. Ye defended yourself, lass. Beathag deserved her fate.” At the mention of Beathag, she pulled her eyes away from him and turned to view Beathag’s lifeless body upon the ground. She gulped hard.
“Come…” Ciaran hefted her into his arms and walked several feet in the courtyard. Bending over, he placed her gently on a bench. His heavy arm encircled her shoulders and she leaned into him. Holding her tenderly, he continued to whisper words of comfort.
A woman wept in the distance. Lifting her head, Rosalia gla
nced around the courtyard. Liadain was kneeling upon the ground next to the lifeless Campbell. There was so much death.
She stood and released the blanket, hastily making her way to Liadain. She thought she heard Ciaran call for her, but it didn’t matter. She could not allow Liadain to be alone. “Liadain, I am truly sorry for your loss,” she murmured, her brow creased with worry and her own voice sounded strange upon her lips.
Hesitantly, Ciaran approached and cast a questioning glance.
“Ciaran, this is Liadain. She helped us and brought Aisling and Teàrlach to safety,” she spoke solemnly.
He nodded in gratitude. “Ye have my sincere thanks.”
Liadain nodded in return, turning her attention back to the Campbell, her eyes clouded with tears.
“Will ye stay?” Rosalia asked her searchingly.
She closed her eyes. “I donna know. I need to bury my brother.” Opening her eyes, she placed her hand on the shoulder of the Campbell before she stood.
Rosalia turned to Alexander and raised her brow. “Are ye truly my cousin?”
He smiled in earnest. “Aye. I am your cousin, Alexander.”
She embraced him. “Ye have my thanks, Alexander. I owe ye much.”
“Ye owe me naught. Ye are my kin, Rosalia. We protect our own. Ye take your leave with MacGregor and rest, Cousin. Your seanmhair anxiously awaits ye at Glengarry.”
Feeling a warm hand at her back, she settled back into Ciaran. She needed his comfort and strength.
Seventeen
Ciaran lifted Rosalia and placed her upon Noonie, but instead of riding his own mount, he swung up behind her. He grunted upon securing his seat and winced when he touched his shoulder.
“Och, Ciaran. Ye are injured,” she said, leaning forward in the saddle and trying carefully not to bump into him.
He waved her off. “’Tis naught but a scratch.” Placing his arm around her waist, he pulled her back against him. For a long moment, he looked down at her. “Please tell me ye are well,” he said, brushing the tips of his fingers over her cheek.
As Noonie took his time walking along the path, Rosalia started to relax against him. “Lass,” he murmured soothingly into her ear. “I need to ask something of ye and then I promise we willnae speak of it again.” Silently, he waited for her response.
Almost as if she did not have the strength to do so, she nodded her head. “Aye?”
He sighed. “I know this may be difficult to speak, but I need to know… Did the Campbell touch ye?” There was no simple way to ask and he needed the truth.
“I mean to ask if the Campbell forced himself upon ye as a man.” When she did not immediately respond, he raised his hand, gently rubbing her tresses. Terrible regrets assailed him. “It will be all right, Rosalia. I want ye for my wife.”
Rosalia was stunned. Ciaran offered to wed her because he believed the Campbell ruined her. That was so… Ciaran. A few days past, she would have jumped at the chance to be his wife. Now it seemed they disagreed on the very nature and meaning of love.
She spoke with quiet firmness. “’Tis verra generous of ye to offer yourself as my husband, my laird, but there is nay need for such offerings. The Campbell didnae touch me as a man.”
He blew out an abated breath. “I am relieved to hear it. I worried so,” he murmured, leaning forward and kissing her on the top of her head. Weariness enveloped her, and with a long, exhausted sigh, she fell asleep in Ciaran’s arms.
***
Upon their return to Glenorchy, Ealasaid ran to Rosalia. That was exactly what she needed. She was safe. She was home. When Alexander and his brothers returned a few hours later, Ciaran met with Alexander in his solar. Sitting behind his father’s desk, he sealed the missive to King James with the MacGregor seal. “Do ye think ’tis enough?”
Alexander sat forward in his chair, leaning his arm on the desk. “When I give this to him in person and the Campbell’s sister confirms what ye stated in the missive, I think he will accept it. Will ye be sending Aiden with me?”
Sitting back in the chair, Ciaran contemplated the decision he already made. “Nay. Aiden needs to see to Aisling and Teàrlach. Aisling has been through much and needs him right now.”
“Who will ye send in your stead?” asked Alexander, raising his brow.
Damn his shoulder. Although the stitches kept it closed, it throbbed more than the devil and caused him more pain than he cared to admit. He could not chance making the trip to court and risk infection. He had no choice. “I will be sending Declan in my stead.”
Alexander merely studied him. “And upon my return, I will be taking my cousin to Glengarry.”
Ciaran’s eyes narrowed. “She willnae take her leave with ye. I willnae allow it.”
Alexander smirked. “Ye donna have a choice, MacGregor. She isnae your wife,” he simply stated.
“I will have her as my wife.”
“We shall see,” Alexander said doubtfully, rising and picking up the missive. “I leave for court on the morrow.”
“Declan and the Campbell’s sister will be ready on the morrow.”
When Ciaran told Declan he would be representing him at court, his brother’s expression was unreadable. Ciaran would just have to pray his reckless brother would take the task seriously and not end up on the gallows. He ran his hand over his father’s desk. He hoped his father was proud.
His mind drifted to Rosalia. She deserved to be happy. He remembered the look upon her face when she was—with him. Looking up to the gods, Ciaran prayed for forgiveness from his father. The vow to his father plagued him, but realizing he almost lost Rosalia brought him back to reality. When she was taken, he had felt an extraordinary void. The thought of losing her was almost his undoing. He had to convince her to stay—to be his wife. He was a fool to think otherwise.
***
Rosalia slept like the dead. She did not even think she shifted her position the entire night. Pulling herself from the bed, she approached the washbowl. She donned her day dress and made her way to the only place she felt tranquility.
Looking out at the loch from the parapet, she sighed.
“I thought I would find ye here,” said Ciaran, approaching her and giving her a sly grin.
She turned back and tried to imprint the picture in her mind. She would sorely miss Glenorchy. “’Tis truly beautiful.” He gently took her hand and she yanked it away from him. “Please donna.”
He nodded his head in consent and glanced out at the loch. “How do ye fare?”
“I am fine. When my cousin is ready, he will escort me to Glengarry to my seanmhair,” she said, casting her eyes downward.
“Alexander, Declan, and the Campbell’s sister took their leave this morn to journey to court. When your cousin returns, I donna want ye to take your leave. I wish for ye to remain at Glenorchy.”
“What?” She was bewildered by Ciaran’s behavior. Frankly, he was driving her mad.
“Respond with the truth. I would expect naught less from ye.”
She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “I donna know what to speak, my laird,” she blurted out.
“I would want for ye to stay.”
She gasped. “Why?”
He looked at her in utter nonbelief. “Why? I would want ye for my wife.”
Rosalia rubbed her fingers over her eyes then flung them down at her sides. “Why, Ciaran? I told ye the Campbell didnae touch me. Ye donna have a reason to take me as a wife,” she said, her breath came raggedly in impotent anger. Her expression bordered on mockery. “I wouldnae wed Dunnehl for coin and I sure willnae have ye wed me out of pity!”
“Pity?”
He was about to speak again and she abruptly cut him off. “Before I was taken by the Campbell, ye were bound and determined to take me to Glengarry. Ye openly stat
ed ye donna love me. My answer is nay, Ciaran. I willnae wed ye.”
She looked away from him and he raised her chin with his finger. “I would want ye to look at me when I speak to ye.” Ciaran waited for her eyes to reach his and he held them intensely. “Ye are truly the most stubborn lass I have ever known.” When she huffed and attempted to pull away from him, he held her in place. “Nay, ye donna. Ye will stand and listen to what I have to speak.”
She closed her eyes and nodded her head in consent.
When he spoke again, his voice was softer and warm, and his mouth curved with tenderness. “I enjoy the speech we have every eve in front of the fire. I enjoy the jesting between us. Ye seem to have taken to Glenorchy and everyone around ye. Aisling has become as a sister to ye and Aiden and Declan as your brothers.” He paused and took a deep breath.
“What ye heard me bellow to Aiden was my attempt to get him to cease his matchmaking. ’Tisnae how I truly feel for ye, Rosalia, and I believe ye know the truth to that. I hope one day to earn your love because I take ye as a wife verra willingly.” He touched her cheek in a wistful gesture and she closed her eyes to hold back her tears. “I am nae done,” he murmured.
“I have ne’er known a lass as ye and I donna want to know another. I want ye. I want all of ye—your kindness and compassion, your dislike of wearing skirts, your cut tresses, your nervousness when ye look down at your hands, your nightmares so I can will them away, your ire so I can kiss it away, and mayhap even one day I can earn your love.” His eyes bore into hers. “Tha gaol agam ort.” I love you.
Rosalia choked back a sob. Grabbing his hand, she kissed the inside of his palm. She smiled, her cheeks wet with tears. “Ciaran, I donna know where to begin.”
Patiently, he waited for her to continue.
“I wouldnae even be alive if it wasnae for ye.” He started to shake his head, but she held him in place. “Nay. I listened to ye, but ye will also listen to me.”
Temptation in a Kilt Page 26
