Temptation in a Kilt (13 page)

She could not look him in the eye. “Aye. My thanks.”

Neither one of them spoke as he escorted her back to her chamber. He did not know what to say. Opening her door, he waited, both of them remaining perfectly still and afraid to speak to their thoughts.

“Ciaran…” She spoke softly, her eyes focused on the floor. “I donna understand all of what is between us, but I donna want ye to just take me for a tumble—”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “A tumble? Rosalia, look at me,” he said, raising her chin. “I donna understand all of this either, but I assure ye, my intentions arenae just to take ye for a tumble.” At least he spoke the truth. He was not sure what his intentions were.

She entered her bedchamber and turned around and smiled. “Good sleep, my laird,” she said, slowly closing the door in his face.

Why the hell did she stir such thoughts? The question hammered at him until something clicked in his mind. If he fulfilled his vow to his father, he could move on with his own life—his own desires. Damn. Declan needed to find his path… quickly.

***

Declan’s head felt as if it had been run over by a stampede of horses. Staggering through the bailey, he could not see straight. Someone really should remind him not to get so fully into his cups. He took another drink of ale from his tankard and headed toward the stables. Perhaps Aiden would keep him company. If anyone saw him drinking with Aisling’s horse, they would surely think him daft. What the hell did he care anyway? He could damn well do as he pleased.

“
Halò
,” said a soft voice.

He looked up from his tankard and smirked. “And what could
ye
possibly want? His lairdship is sure to be somewhere… lairding,” he slurred.

“I donna seek Ciaran. I was seeking ye,” Beathag spoke silkily. Slithering toward him, she took his arm, leading him into the stables.

“Now what could ye possibly want me for?” he asked, trying to keep his head from moving and finding it difficult. Everything was spinning.

“Ye know? I have always found ye the most handsome of the brothers,” she said in an alluring voice.

Declan raised his tankard in mock salute. “Ye know it.” He took another swig of ale.

“Your brother underestimates ye at every turn. I see how ye took charge when he departed. Ye are a strong and handsome man, Declan MacGregor,” she purred, rubbing her hands over his chest. “The men respect ye, Declan. Ye are a true leader.”

“Well, nae everyone around here thinks as ye.” He caught himself as he almost toppled over.

Beathag steadied him.

“What do ye want, Beathag?” he asked, annoyed. Could a man not have a simple drink and talk with his faithful companion alone?

“Ye,” she said, pulling him close. Kissing him, she ran her tongue over his lips.

He pushed her away, still holding one hand on his tankard. “I may be in my cups, but nae enough to know ye are still my brother’s—”

“Nay. I am not.” Grabbing his cock, she began to stroke him.

He stilled her hand. “What are ye about?”

“Just take what I give ye,” she murmured as she resumed her purpose.

“And ye donna think my brother will have a say?” He tried to keep focused on the conversation and not to be distracted by her ministrations.

“He doesnae want me. He told me so. We are done,” she bit out.

So that was the truth of the matter. “And ye are here with me because…?”

“I always favored ye best,” she purred. “Ye want me. I can tell,” she said, still stroking him.

“And what makes ye think I want ye?” he asked through clenched teeth.

Glancing down at his apparent arousal, she had a smug look upon her face. “Besides the obvious? I know ye and your brother well, Declan. Ciaran thinks too much, but ye are as me. We donna care about anyone.” She knelt on the ground before him and lifted his kilt, attempting to take him into her mouth.

He pushed her shoulder away from him with his free hand. “Ye know, Beathag? There is something ye donna know about me and my brother.”

Fighting his restraining hand, she leaned in close, licking the tip of his manhood. “And what is that?”

Declan poured the rest of his tankard over her head. “We donna share whores.” What a waste of good ale, he thought, pulling down his kilt.

Rosalia barely slept. Memories of Ciaran’s hands and skillful mouth touching her body replayed in her mind. He was so warm, so big, and so very strong. How could she grant him such liberties? What was wrong with her? Thinking of his kisses, she actually did not understand his intentions. Perhaps he sought some enjoyment before he took her to Glengarry and believed such liberties were his payment for escorting her. Nonetheless, she could not let herself get attached to him. What would happen when she took her leave for Glengarry? Her heart would be shattered. How she wished James was here so she could seek his counsel.

Her pain had lessened from the day before. After seeing to her morning needs, she dressed, cringing when she remembered her promise to Aisling. Aiden’s wife would be cross with her, but there was nothing she could have done differently. Ciaran tangled her mind and muddled her thoughts. Opening the door to her chamber, Rosalia took a deep breath. This was a new day. She would not allow him to affect her.

As soon as she walked by Aisling’s door, Aiden swung open the door and smiled. “Are ye going to break your fast?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Aye. Where is Aisling?”

He rolled his eyes. “Escaped. Early this morn.” He chuckled.

“I hope she wasnae too cross with me for nae coming back yestereve. It was late and I thought she would be resting,” she explained, hoping she was not in hot water.

He shook his head as they descended the stairs. “Nay. She thought Ciaran took ye upon the parapet.”

Heat rose in her cheeks and she glanced away from him.

They approached the dais where Aisling was already seated. Placing his hand on the back of her chair, Aiden bent to kiss his wife on the cheek. “Good morn, sweeting. I see ye escaped before I even awoke this morn.” He pulled out his chair and sat down.

“Of course, Husband. My confinement is over,” she said as if the answer were obvious. Turning her attention to Rosalia, she raised her brow.

“And how is our Laird MacGregor?” Aisling asked.

“I am just fine,” said a warm voice from behind Rosalia.

Ciaran sat down at the table. “I see ye are up and about early this morn, Aisling.”

“Aye. I am finally freed from the walls of my prison,” she said, pausing to take a drink from her tankard.

“And how are ye this morn, Rosalia?” asked Ciaran, huskiness lingering in his tone.

Why did he have to look at her so knowingly? Memories of their embrace on the parapet replayed in her mind and she answered quickly, choking on her words. “I am fine, my laird.” Clearing her throat, she studied her trencher. Maybe a change of subject would be a good idea for them both. “So what do ye do on your first day of freedom?” Rosalia asked.

“Now donna push yourself too soon, Wife,” said Aiden, a hint of censure in his tone.

“Husband, ye worry overmuch. Howbeit ye worry about ye, and why donna ye let me worry about me?” she chided him.

“And what do ye do, Rosalia?” Ciaran redirected.

Besides
thinking
about
your
lips
kissing
me
and
your
hands…

“I donna know. I wanted to visit with Noonie and also see how he fares to ensure Niall doesnae spoil him.”

Ciaran chuckled. “Well, there is that. I train with my men this morn in the bailey, but I can take ye to see more of my lands if ye want. Mayhap after the noon meal.”

“Aye. I would love to see your home, my laird.”

Seumas walked forward, stopping in front of them. He nodded to Ciaran. “The men are ready when ye are. We shall meet ye in the bailey.”

“I will be there shortly.”

“Aye, my laird.” Seumas gave Rosalia a slight bow. “My lady.”

She groaned as he walked away. “Why do Seumas and Calum insist on ‘my ladying’ me when I tell them time and time again that they had been calling me by my given name? After all we have been sharing as of late, ye would think they would accept that,” she said with irritation.

“Probably the same reason why ye keep ‘my lairding’ me, lass,” Ciaran noted. “They only show respect.”

“Well, ’tis annoying.”

“As I told ye before, my men are dependable, but I didnae say they werenae annoying.” Tossing the last of the biscuit in his mouth, he rose. “I will meet with ye later.”

“Aye—well, give Seumas another swing upon your sword and be sure to let him know it was from me.”

“It would be my pleasure, lass.” He nodded to Aiden. “Do ye come now, Brother?”

“Aye.” Aiden rose, but not before he kissed Aisling on the cheek. Rosalia wondered if the gods would ever grace her with such a marriage.

Aisling tapped her on the arm. “Now that they take their leave, I will go and see to Teàrlach. Do ye want to come along?”

“Aye.” Rosalia pushed back her chair and stood. “He is such a beautiful bairn, Aisling.”

Aisling portrayed the image of a proud mother. “My thanks.”

They entered the nursery where an older woman who Rosalia assumed to be Bessie was holding him. “He sleeps,” the woman whispered.

Aisling stretched out her arms and cradled her son. She sat down in a chair, rubbing her finger over his tiny cheek. Glancing up at Rosalia, she smiled. “’Tis my favorite time with him. He sleeps and has such a look of peace upon his face.”

Rosalia bent down beside her. “He is so small. Aiden is right. Ye are so good with him. Have ye been around many bairns before Teàrlach?”

“I just remember my youngest brother, Ailig, when he was a bairn. ’Tis verra different when ye have your own.”

Rosalia could not remember sharing this type of closeness with her mother. She hoped one day she would be able to have the same experience with her child. Closing her eyes, she tried to shut out her mother’s voice chipping away at her sanity and telling her she was already more than likely barren. Granted, she was one and twenty. Although, studying Aisling, she noticed that the new mother did not appear to be much younger than herself.

Aisling stood with Teàrlach. “Sit in the chair, Rosalia.” When a panicked expression crossed Rosalia’s features, she added, “Donna battle with me. Come now. Sit in the chair.” Rosalia reluctantly sat down in the chair, and Aisling placed Teàrlach gently in her arms. “All ye need to do is support his head. He cannae hold it up by himself yet. Ye are doing it. Ye see? ’Tisnae hard.”

Rosalia rubbed her hand over the baby’s tiny curls as a warm glow flooded her with emotion. Gazing into his tiny face, she caressed his cheek lightly with her finger. He was so soft. It amazed her that such a little life could be brought into the world. His innocence brought her sheer joy. She sighed and as soon as she started to relax, Teàrlach screamed loudly—well, now he was not so peaceful. Bessie came over and took him from Rosalia’s arms.

“Ye know? I need to walk. I think some fresh air will do me good. Bessie, I will be back for Teàrlach before the noon meal,” said Aisling, kissing Teàrlach on the head.

“I was going to visit with Noonie. Do ye want to walk to the stables with me?”

“Aye.”

They had just stepped out into the bailey when the sound of banging swords and grunts caught their attention. “Ah, the men still train,” said Aisling, pointing to the other side of the bailey. “Do ye want to watch for a time?”

“They donna mind if we watch?” Rosalia asked, her voice rising in surprise.

“And give them a chance to show off their prowess?” Aisling paused, tapping her finger to her chin. “I think… nae.”

As they walked to the other side of the bailey, the clanking sound of swords was much more prevalent. Some of the bailey was shaded, but the men practiced their swordplay in full sun.

“Nay! I told ye to wield your sword in a high arc! As such…” Ciaran shouted as he approached the center of the circle of men. He raised his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. His bare chest glistened and his kilt rode low on his lean hips. He was as chiseled as a statue, his sculpted muscles rippling with every move he made. No wonder he was as hard as a rock when she touched him. She continued to survey him kindly. He was so wet and her mouth was suddenly so dry.

“Now!” he yelled. The other man attacked him with a low swing. Ciaran raised his sword in a high arc and descended on his opponent’s sword, knocking it out of the man’s hands. Ciaran gave the man a curt nod and handed him back his sword. Turning, he addressed his men. “Now do ye see what I speak?”

“Aye!” the men yelled.

He gestured for the men to continue.

Aisling leaned lightly into Rosalia and whispered close to her ear. “So what do ye think?”

Her words hurled Rosalia back to earth, and she tried to think with clarity. “Of what?” she choked out.

Giving her a knowing look, Aisling nodded to Ciaran.

She stammered in bewilderment. “Ciaran is… kind.”

“Kind? Ye have feelings for him, do ye not?” Aisling’s voice was edged with curiosity.

She glanced around to ensure no one overheard their words. “Aisling, it doesnae matter what feelings I have or donna have for Ciaran. Even though I will be here until I travel to Glengarry, I will still travel to Glengarry. Besides, Ciaran has Beathag,” she whispered, turning her head back dismissively and studying the men.

“Nay, he doesnae. He told her they are done,” Aisling whispered back.

Rosalia managed to shrug and say offhandedly, “Aisling, one day he will wed a wife who will bear him many sons.”

They sat silently for some time.

“Aye, he will. What is the matter?” Aisling stared at her, a slight hesitation in her eyes. Reaching out, she touched Rosalia’s arm.

She stirred uneasily on the bench. “Please donna do this,” she pleaded. When Aisling narrowed her gaze, Rosalia knew her friend was not going to relent. Fine. If Aisling wanted the truth, she would spill the shocking truth. Perhaps then Aisling would cease her matchmaking.

“I am a score and one and I will soon be a score and two. I havenae yet wed. I am sure to be
barren
and your laird will want many sons. Besides, Laird MacGregor is a powerful Highland laird and is granted audiences with King James. A match with me would ne’er happen. My father is but a lowland Scottish laird and my mother is English. There isnae coin in the coffers and I have nay dowry. I have naught to bring to a marriage,” she said curtly. That should surely cease Aisling’s matchmaking.

Declan staggered toward them with a wolfish grin upon his face.

“And how are the two most beautiful lasses in all of Glenorchy?” asked Declan silkily.

Aisling rolled her eyes. “We are fine. And how is the biggest rogue in all of Glenorchy?” she repeated in the same mocking tone.

Rosalia laughed.

“Donna speak untruths.” Approaching the middle of the bench, he attempted to sit between them.

“Declan, what are ye doing?” asked Aisling, a critical tone in her voice.

“Sitting between two beautiful women,” he simply stated.

Rosalia and Aisling huffed, moving to the side of the bench as Declan sat down between them. “Why donna ye train with the men, Declan?” Rosalia asked, regarding him searchingly.

Aisling’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Howbeit he was up late last eve wenching and into his cups.”

“Now, Aisling… Ye are sounding more and more like my brothers all the time.” Signs of annoyance hovered in Declan’s eyes.

“And one day ye will know we speak the truth, Brother,” Aisling chided him.

Declan stiffened briefly as though Aisling had struck him, but then he relaxed and cast her a roguish grin. “If it wasnae for me, ye would have naught to speak of. Ye must admit, I kept ye entirely entertained while my brothers were at court doing—well, whatever ’tis they do at court.” Placing his arms around them both, he leaned back casually against the stone wall and crossed his feet at the ankles. “Besides, if I straightened my path, I wouldnae have the enjoyment of ye taking care of me.”

Aisling elbowed him in the stomach and he took a sharp intake of breath.

“Och, what did ye do that for?”

She shoved his arm off her shoulder. “Cease. Now.”

“Declan!” Ciaran bellowed. His face was a glowering mask of rage. The scene unfolded before them in a matter of seconds, the men looking at Declan with stern glances of consternation. Ciaran stood in the middle of the circle, powerful and alarming. His chest was heaving and he had his sword pointed at Declan. “Come. Take your place,” he ordered.

“Well, ye see,
Your
Majesty
, I cannae. I donna have my sword. At least nae the kind of which ye speak,” Declan smirked.

Aisling moaned into her hands.

Storming through his sea of men, Ciaran thundered toward the bench. His purposeful swagger made Rosalia involuntarily sit back. She imagined that when he was at his fiercest, he was not a man to be reasoned with. “Remove your
arse
from the bench,” he said through clenched teeth. Forcefully, he pulled Declan up by the tunic and dragged him away. One-handed, Ciaran slammed his brother into the stone wall, holding him there.

Declan grunted.

“What ye call me when we are alone, I have tolerated. Ye
will
show me respect in front of my men. I will
give
ye a sword and I expect ye to practice your swordplay. Naught has changed, Brother,” Ciaran spit out. “Do we have an understanding?”

“Aye,” said Declan through gritted teeth.

“Aye,
what
?” Ciaran did not budge.

“Aye,
my
laird.
”

Releasing him, Ciaran thundered back to his men. Declan followed him in the wake of the storm, rubbing his neck.

“Aisling, can we go to the stable now?” Rosalia whispered.

Aisling was already on her feet. After the uncomfortable turn of events with Declan and Ciaran, both women were eager to escape to the confines of the stables. They walked in companionable silence until they saw Niall brushing one of the horses.

“Good morn, Niall,” said Aisling.

He glanced up, surprised. “My lady, how wonderful to see ye up and about. I am thankful ye and your son are well. Your husband has brought him around to show us all. He is a strapping young laddie.”