Temptation in a Kilt (17 page)

When Beathag recognized her hesitation, she chuckled. “Ye mean to say when ’tis safe to travel to Glengarry—Lady Rosalia Armstrong of Liddesdale. Do ye nae?”

Rosalia paled.

“I cannae help but wonder why a
lady
would be traveling alone—well, nae unless she runs from something or someone. Donna worry overmuch,
Lady
Rosalia. I keep my mouth closed to anyone that would mayhap find an interest in these facts… as long as ye stay away from Ciaran,” Beathag warned. “Ye wouldnae want anything untoward to befall ye or our laird now, would ye?”

Rosalia was speechless and shook her head until the words came to surface. “Nay, of course,” she spoke quietly.

“Naught will ever happen as long as ye keep your distance from Ciaran.” Taking another step closer, Beathag closed the distance between them. Raising her hand, she fingered Rosalia’s cut tresses. “I donna know what ye
think
is between ye, but Ciaran will always care for me. We are close—
verra
close. Tell me,
Rosalia.
When he is between your legs, does he tell ye how beautiful ye are? Does he tell ye how he loves your body?” She shook her head with disgust. “Nay, of course he doesnae. How could he? Look at ye.” Beathag ran her hands over the front of her body. “And look at me.”

Rosalia was sure she turned brilliant shades of red. She was completely aware of the fact that she was no great beauty, but to have it thrown at her in such a way irritated her beyond belief. She had never met someone so completely venomous. “Pray excuse me.”

“Of course. Run away, wee mouse. Pray excuse me,” she snickered. “Did I say
wee
?”

Rosalia bit her lip to keep matters from becoming worse. If Beathag knew who she was, it would only be a matter of time before men would be pounding on Ciaran’s front gate. Maybe Dunnehl’s men. Beathag would try to cause her grief—of this she had no doubt. Not wanting to provoke Beathag further, Rosalia chose to remain silent when what she wanted to do was pull out her dirk and ram it down Beathag’s whore-ish throat.

Rosalia stormed out of the stable, needing to breathe. Her forceful strides brought her quickly to the parapet door. She would break it down if it did not open. The bolt slid easily and she sought solace in the place she had shared with Ciaran. Beathag’s words replayed in her mind. Rosalia needed a release and quickly. Gaelic curses flew from her mouth as fast as she could think them. She whipped them out like stones. Even the cool breeze could not stop her racing heart or cool her raging ire.

After grunting every curse she knew at least twice over, she sought the comfort of her bedchamber until she could figure out what to do.

***

Ciaran had not felt this lighthearted for some time. Declan trained with the men, actually putting forth an effort. Perhaps his brother was back on a course. Ciaran was pleased and he prayed his threats would work. They had to. He slapped Declan upon the shoulder, giving him a sign of approval.

“Donna touch me. Donna even breathe on me,” said Declan, gasping for breath. Sweat poured down his face, and his jaw had turned several shades of purple and yellow.

Ciaran laughed. “Ye havenae practiced your swordplay for a while, Brother. It will come back to ye.”

“Before or after I die a slow death?” Declan moaned.

“Ye did well this day, Declan.” Ciaran nodded his head in praise.

Declan leaned up against the stone wall and closed his eyes, grimacing as he lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his face.

“Is he dead?” Aiden chuckled.

“I wish,” Declan grunted.

“Ye did better than a lass for nae practicing for so long,” said Aiden, giving him a playful punch to the shoulder.

“
That
is supposed to make me feel better, Brother? If I wasnae so sore, I would take ye to task.”

“Ye willnae touch one hair on Aiden’s head, Declan MacGregor.”

All of the men turned at the same time. Aisling stood with her hands placed on her hips, scowling at Declan.

“Ye better listen to my wee wife,” said Aiden, placing his arm around her shoulders. “She may take
ye
to task.” Aiden kissed the top of her head and she smiled.

“As of now, she probably could drop me on my arse.” Declan pushed himself from the wall. “I seek the comfort of a warm bath to soothe my aching… everything.”

“It appears ye have come into contact with a fist,” said Aisling in a motherly tone. “Make sure ye see to your face as well.”

He rubbed his jaw. “I have your husband to thank for that.”

A devilish look came into her eyes. “I am sure it was naught that wasnae deserved, ye rogue.”

Declan winked. “Ye know it, lass.” He limped away, rubbing his aching muscles.

Aisling handed Aiden a drying cloth. “Do ye think ye hit him hard enough to beat sense into him?”

Wiping his sweaty face, Aiden shrugged his shoulders. “I donna know. Time will tell if he ceases his ways.”

Ciaran grabbed a drying cloth, wiping his wet face. “He’d best cease his ways if he knows what is good for him.”

“Ciaran, I wanted to speak with ye. Ye may want to see to it that Rosalia has proper clothes. Ye know she has some of my gowns, but she didnae have a cloak. The one I gave her has seen better days.”

“I ne’er thought of a cloak. Aye, she will need… Do ye know enough of her to have some gowns and a cloak made by Cylan?” he asked, thrilled he would come up with such an idea for her.

Aisling smiled. “What a
great
thought, my laird. Of course.” Behind Ciaran’s back, she winked at Aiden as he tried to suppress a smile.

“Speak with Cylan and buy Rosalia whatever she needs. She isnae fond of fanciful gowns, but have one made for her as well.”

Raising his brow, Aiden gave him a sly grin. “My laird, how
delightful
that ye actually know Rosalia isnae fond of fanciful gowns,” he said, mimicking a lass.

Aisling elbowed him in the stomach. “Cease, Husband.” She glanced at Ciaran. “I am sure Rosalia will love your gift.”

“She cannae remain in the Highlands without proper clothes. She will catch the ague. And donna play me, Aisling. Ye know she willnae take these willingly. We will have to ensure that she does.”

She waved him off. “If she is as light of heart as she is this day, we willnae have a problem.”

Ciaran attempted to look occupied. The last thing he wanted was his sister-by-marriage to see the blush upon his face. He hoped he was the reason Rosalia felt so light of heart, but obviously he was not going to share such matters with Aisling.

After finishing his practice in the bailey, he went in search of Rosalia. Odd, no one had seemed to have seen her as of late. He approached her bedchamber door and knocked.

“Aye?” Rosalia called from within.

“’Tis Ciaran.”

There was a pause. “Can I speak with ye later?” she asked, her voice sounding unnatural.

“Ye arenae well?” If she caught the ague because he did not provide proper clothes for her, he would never forgive himself.

“I need to rest.” A tremor laced her voice.

Jiggling the latch, he tried to open the door. “Rosalia, unbolt the door.” What was she about? There was another bout of silence between them.

“
Please
, my laird. I need to rest,” Rosalia pleaded.

A moment later, Ciaran walked through the adjoining door.

***

Rosalia sat on the window bench, gazing out at the loch. When she heard Ciaran’s footsteps walk away from the door, she prayed he would leave her alone until she was able to gather her wits. She decided to distance herself from him and would not take the chance that Beathag would live up to her threats. Her brief solace was interrupted as he walked casually through the adjoining door she had forgotten to lock.

Damn.

Ciaran strode toward her with a worried look upon his features. Raising his hand, he felt her forehead. “Are ye unwell?” Switching hands, he checked her again for fever.

“I am well.” She glanced at her hands.

He dropped down beside her, facing her. “Then why wouldnae ye open the door?”

Closing her eyes, Rosalia shrugged. “I needed a moment to rest.”

By the look upon his face, he clearly did not believe her. If she was to keep him at bay, she needed to be much more convincing. She mentally chided herself. What would she speak to James? “My monthly courses have arrived and I—”

“Have fallen into that trap once. I donna fall twice,” Ciaran said, shaking his head. “Ye can still have your monthly courses and speak with me.” Rubbing his palm over her cheek, she shied away. “What has changed since this morn? Aisling said ye were… er, fine.” He shifted his weight, clearly becoming agitated. He was not going to relent.

Maybe a little honesty but not the entire truth would satisfy him. “Did ye ever have something occur ye knew would have several different outcomes depending upon how ye addressed it?” Rosalia asked.

He thought for a moment and glanced back at her. “Aye. Life.”

She smirked. “’Tisnae that simple, Ciaran.”

He intertwined their fingers and smiled. “In my experience, most things are ne’er as bad as they appear as long as ye have someone to share them with.” He raised her chin with his finger, his eyes gentle and caring. “And ye have me. What could be so verra bad ye couldnae share with me?”

Smiling, Rosalia placed her hand into his. Looking into his eyes, her breath quickened, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly very dry lips. The prolonged anticipation was almost unbearable.

Ciaran leaned in close, brushing her lips. His kiss was slow and gentle. Her heart beat faster, and she could not hear through the blood pounding in her ears. She pulled him closer, her body aching for his touch. She deepened the kiss, running her fingers through his hair. She was powerless to resist him.

When his fingers gently brushed her, he fueled a gently growing fire.

“Ah, sweeting, ye taste sweet as honey,” he murmured, the huskiness lingering in his tone. His hand roamed intimately over her breast and she leaned into him. The mere touch of his hand sent a warming shiver through her. She had no desire to back out of his embrace. Her trembling limbs clung to him and she could no longer deny herself his touch.

Ciaran pulled back and his gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her neck. “Ye are so beautiful.”

She stiffened and every muscle in her body tensed as if he had slapped her. Those were the words he had said to Beathag. Why would he speak the same to her? Her throat closed up.

Feeling her change in demeanor, he gazed upon her searchingly. “What is wrong?” Ciaran repeated the question, and still she could not answer.

Rosalia jerked to her feet and tried to put as much distance between them as possible. He rose in one fluid motion, quickly closing the gap between them. With his powerful hands, he turned her to him. He had a habit of muddling her thoughts when he was so close.

He reached out, holding her at arms’ length. He studied her intently and refused to waiver. “Something troubles ye and I will have the reason now. ’Tisnae a request.” When his eyes suddenly filled with a fierce sparkling, she stared wordlessly. Her heart pounded and her voice would not come. “Rosalia,” Ciaran warned, his vexation was evident.

Her eyes quickly darted around the room. “I-I-I… I cannae.”

“Cannae or willnae?” His tone demanded an answer. She remained silent in a futile attempt to find the words she wanted to speak when his anger became a scalding fury. “Damn it to hell, Rosalia! How can I help ye if ye donna trust me to tell me what troubles ye? I thought we were beyond this.”

When she lifted her trembling hands in a defensive gesture and cowered before him, it infuriated him even more. “I have
ne’er
raised my hand to a lass, let alone ye. The fact ye even
think
I would strike ye… I give ye nay reason to fear me, but your lack of trust in me is disconcerting.” He worked off his anger by pacing.

A wave of apprehension swept through her, and she attempted to clutch his hand. “Ciaran, please.” Pulling his hand free of hers, he continued to storm back and forth, throwing heated looks her way. Nervously, she ran her hands through her tresses. “Ciaran, this isnae—please, come and sit,” she offered, gesturing to the chair.

A sudden icy contempt flashed in his eyes and he smirked but, to her relief, eventually took a seat.

He glared at her, frowning.

Rosalia hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. She wondered if she should confess her doubts to him. Now it was her turn to pace. “I meant nay offense to ye. When ye raised your voice, my body only reacted as I am accustomed,” she explained. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax, but his expression was thunderous. His angry gaze swung over her and he continued to clench his jaw.

A tense silence enveloped the room.

She stopped in front of him, easing into a smile when he simply raised his brow and folded his arms over his chest. Why did men have to be so frustrating? He was as stubborn as James. In an attempt to calm him, she knelt before him and reached out for his hands.

“Ciaran, I know ye wouldnae strike me. I honestly donna have control over how my body reacts. I have had a thrashing so many times that I come to expect it. My apologies if I offended ye and I meant nay disrespect. I
do
trust ye. I trust ye with all of my heart.” She caressed his hands with her fingers.

“But nae enough to tell me the reason of what troubles ye,” he said, coolly disapproving. “Ye say that ye trust me and yet ye donna.”

Rosalia bit the inside of her cheek, attempting to have more time to weigh her options as Beathag’s warning replayed in her mind. She did not understand all of what was between them, but of this, she had no doubt. She truly cared for Ciaran and did not want him hurt, or perhaps worse. If she told him the truth, would he believe her? If something happened to him, could she forgive herself because she did not tell him? Placing her head down on his thigh, she moaned in total frustration, feeling his muscular leg immediately tense. After a moment, she lifted her head.