Temptation in a Kilt (23 page)

She approached Duncan as Ciaran nudged Aiden. “When they return?”

He nodded. “Aye. They went for a walk.”

“Do ye think Rosalia speaks with Aisling?”

His brother gave him a look of utter nonbelief. “Why would ye care if she did? Ye donna love her. Remember, Brother?”

Ciaran scowled.

“I donna know of what they speak. All I do know is they went for a walk and had Teàrlach with them.”

Shouts rang out in the great hall, halting any further discussion. They rushed into the hall where Seumas was bellowing orders to Calum. “Find our laird!” he said, trying to disperse the men.

“I am here.”

“My laird, ye need to come to the bailey,” said Seumas, lowering his voice.

As they strode into the bailey, the men were gathered. “’Tis Declan’s mount,” said Ciaran to Aiden. They pushed their way through the crowd. His brother swaggered before him, bare as the day he was born. He tried to disguise his annoyance in front of his men, but his patience was wearing thin. They flanked Declan as he continued to sway on his feet, the smell of ale overwhelming Ciaran’s senses. He turned his head in disgust. He was a fool to think his brother would cease his debauchery, but he would not be made the fool again. “Seumas, clear the men. Calum, take Declan’s mount to Niall,” he ordered.

“Aye, my laird.”

“’Tis the last time, Brother,” he said through gritted teeth. “Ye brought this upon yourself.”

Declan stiffened at his words. “Ciaran, ’tisnae as ye think.” He raised his hand to steady his head.

Ciaran’s face was a mask of rage. “Save your excuses, Declan. I grow tired of hearing them, and I nay longer have the patience for ye or them,” he replied sharply. Aiden and Ciaran forcefully grabbed him, leading him to the solar. When they reached the door, they shoved him inside. Declan had gone too far. He actually rode his bare, naked arse into the middle of the bailey. What the hell was he thinking? Apparently, he was not.

Ciaran slammed the door in disgust. “I warned ye for the last time! Ye are knee deep in your cups, have nay clothing, and what… fell from your mount?” he bellowed, pointing to his bloodied head.

“Will ye cease the lecture and listen,
ye
bloody
fool
?” said Declan sarcastically.

Ciaran had just reached for the door to escape his brother’s latest disaster when Declan slammed into him from behind. Aiden grabbed Declan and tried to pull him off.

“Ye will listen to me, ye bloody fools! The
bloody
Campbell has your women and my nephew!”

Ciaran shoved him off. “What? What is this ye speak?”

“Listen to me, ye bloody arse! I was knocked over the head. I am nae sure exactly how, but someone spoke to Rosalia and told her to come to me. I donna know why, but Aisling and Teàrlach were there as well,” Declan blurted out.

Aiden punched him square in the jaw. “The
bloody
Campbell has my wife and my son because ye were in your cups and couldnae offer them protection! I should kill ye right now!” he bellowed. “If they are harmed in any way, I will kill ye with my bare hands!” He attempted another swing at Declan, and Ciaran shoved them apart.

“Cease, both of ye! This doesnae help matters!”

Declan ignored Ciaran and grabbed Aiden by the tunic. “Look at me! I am nae in my cups, Brother! I ne’er made it to the village! They knocked me out and set a trap!” he bellowed, releasing Aiden.

Ciaran studied him intently. “If what ye speak is true, then why do ye reek of ale and where is your clothing?”

“Ye have your
bloody
whore
to thank for that,” Declan said through gritted teeth.

“Beathag?” Ciaran asked as a shiver ran down his spine.

Taking a deep breath, Declan sighed. “Aye. She stripped me of my clothing, poured ale over my head, and said ye can collect the women and Teàrlach from the
bloody
Campbell,” he said solemnly.

A heavy silence fell.

Aiden stepped around them and opened the door.

“Where do ye think ye are going?” asked Ciaran, placing a restraining hand upon the door.

“I am going to get my wife and my son.”

“And ye will get yourself and them killed as well. Think, Brother. Think how Father taught us. If ye let your anger guide ye, ye are nay help to anyone. We must think and we must plan. ’Tis the only way.” He called for a maid to bring Declan some clothing. He also called for the captain of his guard.

Seumas arrived and they plotted their course for hours. No one would take their leave until they devised a plan that held the lowest possible risk. Ciaran refused to take even a moment to think about how Rosalia fared for it would surely be his undoing. He knew he must maintain his collectedness or he would get them all killed. He was laird. He was trained for this. He was a battle-hardened warrior. The Campbell had gone too far. No matter what plan they chose to execute, the Campbell would die. Let that be a warning to all future Campbell lairds. No one harmed his own, and no one took what was so clearly his.

The sun settled against the horizon as Ciaran stood on the parapet. It was his favorite place with Rosalia and the closest place he could feel her right now. He briefly closed his eyes and prayed she was well. She had to persevere and know he would come for her. In the meantime, she needed to do whatever she could to survive and come back to him. There was no other recourse.

They would execute their plan in two days. That would give the bloody Campbell enough time to hopefully lower his defenses. He knew as long as he did not take action against the Campbell, he would let them live. What he could not do however, was ensure that the Campbell treated them well. This was one time where he wished he could seek his father’s counsel.

It was completely dark by the time Ciaran descended from the parapet. He would seek a few hours rest and then review the plan again on the morrow. He needed to have his wits about him. He hoped his brothers did the same.

“We are reaching MacGregor lands. Keep a watchful eye,” ordered Alexander MacDonell of Glengarry to his guard. Shifting in the saddle, he ran his hand through his hair. It was a lengthy journey to reach Glenorchy, but it would not be long now. He searched through the trees. Odd, it was silent. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck rose, sending a shiver of warning down his spine. Something was off and he could not quite place it.

“Do ye feel it, Alex?” asked John, the captain of his guard. John reined in his mount beside him, his eyes darting cautiously back and forth.

Leave it to John to sense his unease. He nodded his head, continuing to survey the surrounding landscape. “Aye. Something is amiss. We havenae been greeted by a single man, and I donna see any guards at the border. We are clearly on MacGregor lands. ’Tis too quiet. I donna like it. Make sure our men stay alert,” said Alexander.

With a curt nod of his head, John rode ahead to speak with his men. Pensively, Alexander glanced around him. There was no trace of anyone. He could not stop himself from thinking the obvious. What daft fool would keep his borders unprotected? His father would surely not be pleased.

When the missive arrived at Glengarry from the MacGregor, it took some time for his father to cool his ire. The MacGregor had bollocks, he would give him that. Alexander did not exactly jump at the chance to travel to Glenorchy, but he would do anything his father asked of him, knowing this was important to his father as well as his aunt.

They traveled for some time before the smell of peat smoke billowed in the air from the village ahead. A few of the villagers looked upon them warily as they passed through. Alexander was pleased that his father bestowed this responsibility upon him. After all, his sire was reaching up there in years. If the man did not start entrusting him to do things, how would Alexander be able to prove he could act in his stead? It was so easy to lose track of how many times he had pleaded to assist with courtly matters, but ever so slowly, his father had been giving him more and more responsibility. Alexander could certainly not disappoint him now—he would not.

Raising his hand, he stopped his men. The massive stone castle stood before him—the home of the MacGregor. Alexander stiffened his spine, sitting up straighter in the saddle. He would make his father proud.

***

The men reviewed the plan again—thoroughly. Ciaran needed to ensure everyone knew their strategy well. His brothers looked like hell, but they stayed true to their course. He was confident everyone knew their role and everything would be ready as planned. As they were ready to take their leave, there was pounding on the solar door. He rose to find a pacing Calum on the other side.

“My laird, there are riders at the gates,” he said quickly. “I donna think they are the Campbell’s men. Howbeit they insist to see Lady Rosalia and willnae leave until they do. They hold fast.”

He paused, rubbing his brow. “How many men?”

Calum sighed. “At least a score.”

“A score?” he asked surprised. Who could possibly be at his gates with a score of men if it was not the Campbell? Surely it was not Dunnehl. Montgomery had seen to that. Turning to Seumas, he gestured him forward. “Prepare the men and let them into the bailey under careful watch. Have the archers readied.”

“Aye, my laird.”

His brothers exchanged carefully guarded looks as they followed him into the bailey. Flanking him, they watched the men ride through the gates. “Do ye know these men?” asked Aiden, studying them intently.

“They arenae with the Campbell and I donna think they are Dunnehl’s men, but I am nae sure. ’Tis the last thing we need right now. Keep calm and let us see what they are about,” Ciaran said, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Aiden and Declan followed suit.

A rider approached them and nodded. “Laird Ciaran MacGregor of Glenorchy?” the man asked as he dismounted.

Ciaran did not respond.

The man walked with an arrogant swagger and stood face to face with him. “Are ye Laird Ciaran MacGregor of Glenorchy?”

Ciaran noticed the arrogant arse was not as old as he initially thought. He might even be younger than Declan. “Who is asking?” asked Declan sarcastically.

Turning to Declan, the man smirked. Looking back to Ciaran, he smiled and raised his brow. “I will have your name,” he ordered.

“Watch your tongue or I will have your head,” Ciaran countered.

Declan and Aiden laughed when the man paled.

“Verra well,” he relented, taking a step back. “I am Alexander MacDonell. I come on behalf of my father, Laird Dòmhnall MacDonell of Glengarry. Father’s sister is Lady Rosalia’s
seanmhair
. I request an audience with my cousin.”

Ciaran studied MacDonell’s well-armed men. “How many men do ye have with ye?”

Alexander stood to his full height. “A score,” he said confidently.

“Can they fight?” Ciaran asked with a raised brow.

“Of course. I have some of my father’s most skilled men. If ye attempt anything on my life, they are instructed to raise arms against ye,” he said cautiously, glancing nervously at a man Ciaran thought to be the captain of his guard.

Ciaran gazed at his brothers with a silent understanding. They had recruitments. Adding an additional score of men would increase their chances and lessen the risk of injury to Rosalia, Aisling, and Teàrlach. He visibly relaxed and gave the man a playful slap to the shoulder. “Ye have naught to fear from me, Alexander MacDonell. Come. We have much to discuss. Tell your men they are welcome at Glenorchy.”

It was time to revise the plan.

***

Slowly opening her eyes, Rosalia blinked away the haziness. She was being pulled and dragged while the muffled voices of men echoed in the background. The sack was finally removed from her head, and she was shoved onto a stool. The light was blinding and she could not see. She attempted to move her hands and realized they were not bound. Praise the saints for small favors. She pressed both hands over her eyes and tried to focus on her surroundings. Where was she?

The last thing she remembered was Declan. What was it? Declan screaming about something, and then she… Why did her head ache so badly? She’d blacked out—well, she was knocked out. Several men were gathered around her in what seemed to be a great hall. Finely woven tapestries were displayed on the walls, and fine wood furnishings graced the hall in abundance. This was obviously the home of a man with great wealth.

A path was cleared as another group of men entered the hall, escorting Aisling. She staggered forward, her face streaked with tears. Her muffled cries echoed through the hall as she was pushed onto a stool next to Rosalia. They clasped their hands together in a futile attempt to offer each other comfort.

“How verra touching,” said Beathag, ambling over with a sly grin.

Rosalia’s eyes flashed with outrage. “I suppose we have ye to thank for this,” she bit out.

“Of course. Donna say I didnae give ye fair warning,” Beathag replied, her voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Where are we?” Rosalia demanded.

An older man in full Highland regalia approached them. He wore a kilt of green, black, and blue, and the light sparkled off the bejeweled rings he wore on each of his fingers. He carried himself in an arrogant manner, and something in his dark eyes chilled her to the bone. He gave an impatient shrug to Beathag. “Ye didnae tell them?”

Beathag shook her head at him without speaking.

“Then pray allow me to introduce myself,” he said, placing his hand over his chest and giving them a slight bow. “I am Archibald Campbell, seventh Earl of Argyll.”

Rosalia gasped. “Och, the
bloody
Campbell.” She bit her lip, but it was too late.

The Campbell smirked and Rosalia stared back at the floor.

“Verra well done, Cousin. I didnae think your plan would work,” he simply stated.

Cousin?

“I spoke to ye as such. Ye merely had to listen.” Beathag held out her hand in front of him. “I expect the coin that was promised to me, Archie.”

He laughed and patted her hand. “Ye donna get it that easily, my dear. I believe the deal was for the MacGregor.”

Beathag huffed. Her coolness was evidence she was not amused. “And it will only be a matter of time before he storms your gates.”

Ignoring Beathag, the Campbell took another step toward Rosalia, and his dark eyes examined her from head to toe. She held her breath under his silent scrutiny and did not dare look in his direction. “I think ye are losing your touch, Cousin. I wonder why the MacGregor chose her instead of ye? She is nay great beauty.” He smirked, placing his hand over Rosalia’s breast. “Mayhap she services him better than ye did,” he said with a wolfish-grin.

Aisling jerked to her feet. “Leave her be!”

“And what have we here?” he said, taking predatory steps toward Aisling. He tapped his finger over his lip as he studied her.

“’Tis the second MacGregor’s wife. The whelp belongs to her,” said Beathag.

“Mmm… I only intended on capturing his woman,” he said, gesturing toward Rosalia. He turned back to Aisling and took another predatory step closer. “How fortunate for me I find ye within my walls as well.”

Aisling looked away hastily.

“Ye will look at me when I speak to ye,” the Campbell ordered, his mouth twisted into a threat. Aisling glared at him, and he laughed with subtle amusement. “Och, I do love a challenge, and I love my women with some spirit. I think ye will be both.”

Rosalia turned her head away. She could not let this happen. She had to do something. She silently prayed Ciaran would storm the gates and kill them all.

When Teàrlach’s wails echoed through the great hall, the Campbell made a dismissive gesture with his hands. “Take the bairn out and kill him.” The man left with Teàrlach, and a woman with tresses as black as the night followed him out of the hall. Rosalia watched helplessly as Aisling dropped to the floor and sobbed with such a sound of loss that her cries tore through Rosalia’s heart like a dagger—one that she would gladly put through the Campbell’s black heart.

“Take her to my chamber,” ordered the Campbell.

Aisling no longer fought, and the men had to lift her up and drag her away. Rosalia knew Aisling had just given up hope. She would do everything in her power not to let that happen to herself.

Everything in the hall went quiet.

The Campbell strode away from Rosalia, shouting, “Throw her in the dungeon.” She was roughly pulled to her feet and escorted down a stone staircase. Upon their descent, the remaining light faded and the change in temperature made her shiver. One of the guards lit a torch and escorted her to the last door.

The guard pushed the door open with his foot and smiled with a toothless grin. “Your chamber, MacGregor whore,” he spat, shoving her into the room.

She glanced around her small prison, seeing only a dirty, worn blanket thrown into the corner.

The guard slid the latch, barring the door, and Rosalia was embraced by darkness. She sat with her back against the wall, folding her arms over her knees. She prayed the gods would watch over Teàrlach.

Her eyes were playing tricks on her as light appeared to be coming closer to her prison. She wiped her tears and stood. She did not imagine it. The same guard escorted Aisling to the door. Unlatching the door, he opened it and shoved her inside.

Aisling fell to her knees and Rosalia embraced her. “Och, Aisling,” she said, pushing her hair back from her face. “Please tell me ye are unharmed.” The door slammed shut and the light again faded until they were in complete darkness. She pulled her close and rubbed her hands over her back. “Och, Aisling. Ye are freezing. There is a blanket in the corner. I will get it for ye.”

She rose and carefully slid her foot toward the other wall. The only sound coming from their prison was the sound of her sliding foot. Aisling did not make a single sound or utter a single word. When Rosalia reached the wall, she felt for the blanket with her foot. Picking it up, she shook it out, praying there was nothing in it. It was probably fortunate they were in the dark. At least they could not see the muck.

Carefully making her way back to Aisling, she placed the blanket over her shoulders. “Och, Aisling. Please speak to me. Are ye hurt?” The only answer Rosalia received was a sniffle, and she repeated the question.

“It doesnae matter. My bairn is dead. He killed my Teàrlach!” cried Aisling, sounding unnatural.

Rosalia placed her arms around Aisling and held her tight while Aisling’s body rocked as she sobbed. “My bairn… my Teàrlach, my Teàrlach,” she cried over and over.

Blinking back her tears, Rosalia choked with emotion. She needed to be strong for them both or they would never survive. “Shh… Aisling. I am here with ye. We will get through this.”

“Teàrlach is dead. Why didnae the gods take me? Why, Rosalia? I would have given my life for his! I donna understand why they wouldnae take me! Teàrlach was an innocent bairn!”

Rosalia rubbed her hand over Aisling’s tresses in an attempt to soothe her. “We donna know why the gods do what they do, but I do know it wasnae your time, Aisling. They still have a plan for ye. I am sure the gods watch over Teàrlach.”

“I hope Aiden kills every last one of those
bloody
Campbells,” said Aisling through gritted teeth.

“I know, Aisling. Come…” Assisting Aisling to the far wall, Rosalia held her well into the night. Aisling would sleep and then wake up screaming for Teàrlach, but Rosalia tried to console her friend as best as she could. She must have fallen asleep for a short time because something pulled her from her sleep. It sounded as if something had fallen outside the door. Shuffling noises came from the other side.

“My lady.”

Thinking she heard someone whisper from outside the door, she quickly banished the thought. It was probably her mind playing tricks on her. Listening for another moment, she did not hear anything and shook her head for clarity. The last thing she needed was to lose her wits.

“My lady,” a woman’s voice said louder.