Temptation in a Kilt (4 page)

“I am Laird Ciaran MacGregor of Glenorchy.” A smile played on the corner of his lips. “Will ye gift me with your name?”

She was not sure where Glenorchy was, but hopefully it was far enough from her home that he would not recognize her name. She glanced down for a brief moment to decide whether or not to speak it. After further consideration, there was not much he could do with a first name. “I am… my name is… Rosalia,” she said quietly.

“Rosalia?” He cast a questioning gaze and then his face split into a wide grin. “’Tis a beautiful name.” He partially lifted her tunic but left enough material to cover her breasts. Taking out his dirk, he cut her bindings. “Now I must touch ye to check your ribs.” He hesitated, waiting for her response.

She nodded her consent.

He applied pressure and she inhaled a sharp breath. Stepping around her, he bent down behind her. “Rosalia, I am going to check your back.” He paused for her response.

“Aye,” she whispered.

Slowly, he touched her back and then pulled down her tunic. He walked over to his mount and returned with a sack. Sitting down, he dumped the contents in front of her. “I donna believe anything is broke now, but ye do have bruised ribs.” He ripped pieces of cloth into sections. “Binding will help the pain.”

It was apparent he had done this many times before. She continued to study him and stare at his broad shoulders and the corded muscles on his frame. He was much bigger than she remembered him being. What was the matter with her? She was injured. He just reminded her of James. Sure, that was it. Even though James never seemed to make her breath quicken when he glanced at her. Then again, perhaps it was the pain in her ribs. She wondered if she’d hit her head.

“Where are your men?” she asked, glancing around the small clearing.

“They are around. They will return when I call for them.” He grabbed the strips of cloth and gently lifted her tunic. “Are ye able to hold it up?”

“Aye,” she grunted. He wrapped the strips of cloth around her and bound her ribs, tying off the strips. For someone who was so incredibly large, his touch was surprisingly gentle.

“That should help the pain in your ribs, and this should help the pain in your face,” he said, holding up a salve. “May I?”

“Aye.” She felt the heat rise in her face. Thankfully, the color was masked by the bruising—at least, she hoped it was. He applied the salve to her bruises and seemed naturally kind. She would be sure to thank him before she took her leave.

“There, all finished.” The beginning of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. He gathered up the remainder of the supplies and bundled them back on his horse. Returning with a wine sack, he sat down beside her and offered her a drink. “Do ye think ye can ride, Rosalia?”

She choked. This was not wine. It was… stronger, and it burned her insides.

“Careful. ’Tis my own ale.”

Plagued with a coughing fit, she felt like her throat was on fire. She hastily handed him back the wine sack and he repeated his question. “Aye, I can ride. I thank ye for seeing to my injuries, my lair—”

“Ciaran,” he simply stated.

“Ciaran. Ye and your men have my thanks.” She tried to smile, but her lip cracked open. Instinctively, she raised her hand and placed her finger to her sore lip.

“It will heal with time.” He hesitated, measuring her for a moment. “Rosalia, I must know. Is your husband giving chase?”

“Husband?” Her voice unintentionally went up a notch. “I donna have a husband. I am nae wed.” Why would he ask if she had a husband?

A strange look crossed his features before he quickly masked it. “If ye arenae wed, then who did this to ye, lass?”

Lowering her head, she stared at her hands. “Again. I must thank ye for caring for me, but donna let me keep ye from your journey. I am sure ye and your men wish to return home.
Mòran taing.
”
Thank
you
very
much.

***

“Mòran taing?”

Did she think he would honestly leave her here to fend for herself? Maybe he should. That would surely teach her a lesson. Did she not realize the dangers of traveling alone? If she were his sister or even his wife, he would throttle her. He briefly wondered where that idea came from. No matter, he would take her to the next village and see to it she received care.

Her sudden, jerky movements pulled him from his thoughts.

“I havenae had an opportunity… What I mean to say is… I need a moment to…” Her flush deepened to crimson and she looked away from him.

“What?” Ciaran realized from her actions what she was trying to convey. He stood and held out his hand. “Let me help ye up. Can ye walk?”

“Slowly, but I can walk.” Taking his hand, she stood and held her ribs. Unsteady on her feet, she took a step back. He caught her by the elbow to assist her and she waved him off. “Nay, please. I can do it myself.”

He watched her take unsteady steps into the trees. When he’d lifted her tunic and noticed a woman’s breasts, several thoughts had come to mind. Why would a woman cut her tresses and dress in a lad’s clothing? And when she spoke her name, something clicked in his mind. Ciaran had a vivid recollection of the woman at court. Her troubled face still haunted his dreams, but when she’d graced him with a smile… Due to the extent of her bruising he was not sure she was the same woman, but he would pull the truth from her eventually. He did know there was only one logical reason for her actions. She was running from someone or something. He most definitely did not need a woman’s woes to keep them from returning home.

They needed to move.

He blew out a loud whistle for his men to return and Aiden cast him a questioning gaze. “What the hell was that about?”

Ciaran waved for his men to come near. “Ye willnae believe… The lad is a
lass
. We need to take our leave.” When all of his men held similar shocked expressions upon their features, he added, “Aye, she has cut her tresses and wears a lad’s clothing. Those arenae bruises from a fallen mount. She was badly beaten. She runs from someone but willnae say who. She says she is unwed but willnae say why she runs. Mount up. I donna want trouble. We will take her to the next village.”

The lass emerged from the brush and his men gawked at her. She shifted from foot to foot and stared at her hands.

Silence grew tight with tension.

“We will ride with ye to the next village,” said Ciaran, his voice ringing with command.

She immediately tensed. “Nay, ye have done enough. My thanks to ye and your men,” she spoke firmly, her eyes proud.

“Lass, we willnae leave a woman, especially an injured woman, alone. We will all escort ye to the next village and seek the healer,” he insisted. When she did not move and held her ground, he stared at her, perplexed. No one ever disobeyed his orders and this would not be a first. He grabbed her mount and led him over. Dropping the reins, Ciaran moved to assist her.

She placed her hand on his forearm, and a shiver ran through him from her mere touch. “Please, nay, I can do it.”

Was she completely daft? Why was she so insistent on doing everything herself when she could barely stand to take care of her personal needs? Women. She was a frustrating lass. His eyes widened when the black beast actually started to kneel upon the ground.

Wincing in pain, she pulled herself upon his back. She kicked him once and the beast actually rose. “He is mine. I didnae steal him.” She spoke with light bitterness.

He shook his head in nonbelief. This woman was an ever-changing mystery. He and his men mounted their horses and moved in single file. He rode behind her for her own protection, but also to ensure she did not flee. For some reason, he would not have been surprised if she tried. They continued to ride in companionable silence for the next couple of miles. It was a slow pace, but at least he was getting closer to home. He longed for the mountains of the Highlands.

The lass was quiet—too quiet. When Rosalia placed her hand at her side for support and stretched her back, he knew she was uncomfortable.

“How do ye fare?” Ciaran asked with concern.

She jumped at the sound of his voice and her horse shied, but she easily controlled her mount. “I am fine. My thanks for asking,” she murmured.

He grunted in frustration—loudly. Perhaps he even growled. He was not sure. Was everything “fine” to her? Did she not realize the danger she was in? If someone else had found her, she would surely be… Ciaran shook off the mental image. She was a stubborn lass. It reminded him of why he was not wed. He heard enough of Aisling’s ire to be thankful he was not Aiden. He would never understand women, let alone why anyone would want to be shackled to one—obstinate, bellowing creatures.

Aiden stopped his mount ahead on the path and waited for Ciaran to catch up. “Donna ye think we should rest, brother?” he asked, reining in his mount behind Ciaran.

He chuckled. “Why is it ye always ask me to rest, Aiden? Is it your bloody arse again?”

“Nay, ye daft fool. The lass probably needs to stop and rest,” his brother chided him.

Ciaran sighed. “I suppose. We will stop at the next clearing. Howbeit only for a short time. I want to keep moving in case trouble follows.”

He halted his men at the next clearing, and Aiden quickly dismounted. Rushing to Rosalia’s side, Aiden extended his hand. “Lass, can I assist ye down?”

An easy smile played the corners of her mouth and she remained as still as a stone statue. “Thank ye, sir—”

“Aiden.”

“Thank ye, Aiden, but Noonie will go down for me.” She pulled on the horse’s mane and he went down on bended knee.

His brother shook his head in amusement. “’Tis truly incredible. Noonie?”

“His name.” When she dropped Noonie’s reins and stepped away, Aiden picked them up.

“Here, lass, I will take him for ye and tether him.”

Turning, her movements were stiff and awkward. “There is nay need. He knows to stay when his reins are upon the ground.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.”

Ciaran pulled out a piece of dried beef from his sack as Aiden approached him. “Do ye know the horse will stay when his reins are upon the ground?” Aiden shook his head in amazement.

“I heard her speak as much to ye.”

“Where did she get this mount?”

Ciaran swung his head around as Rosalia struggled to sit upon the ground. “I donna know, but I intend to find out.” He patted his brother upon the shoulder and walked toward her with steely determination.

***

She was going to die. Dropping to the ground, Rosalia attempted to mask her pain. They could not see her suffer. They needed to be gone, and the sooner she could be rid of them, the better. She needed to keep moving. The closer she traveled to Glengarry, the better her chances of escape. The swig of ale she took earlier had only assisted for a short time and was starting to wear off. She winced as she lifted her tunic to adjust her bindings to be more comfortable.

“Do ye need me to assist ye?” When Rosalia yanked down the tunic, Ciaran added, “I didnae mean to startle ye.” He handed her some dried beef and the wine sack. “’Tis just wine. Ye may have another drink of ale before we mount. Did it help the pain?” He sat down beside her.

“For a time.” She placed a piece of dried beef into her mouth and then cast her eyes downward.

“Aiden tells me of your horse. Where did ye get such a trained mount?” When she took a drink of wine and ignored Ciaran’s question, he repeated it. “Lass, ye know I willnae harm ye. I only ask where ye got him.” This time his voice held a degree of warmth.

From his demeanor, she did not think men or women often refused to answer his requests or demands. She spoke cautiously. “I’ve had him since he was young. He was trained that way,” she muttered uneasily.

“And where was he trained?” A suggestion of annoyance at her vague reply hovered in his eyes.

Rosalia chose her words carefully. “Er… Scotland, of course.”

“And where in all of Scotland might that be, lass?” he drawled with distinct mockery.

Suddenly anxious to escape from his disturbing presence, she spoke hastily. “Pray excuse me. I believe my monthly courses have arrived.” Pulling herself to her feet, she bit her lip to keep from crying out in pain. Holding her ribs, she walked stiffly into the trees. She was running out of diversions.

Did she actually tell him her monthly courses had arrived? She was at a loss for what to say and had to think of something quickly, so she spoke the first words that came to mind. That tactic usually worked on James. In fact, it would stop him dead in his tracks and he would always stop questioning her if she broached the subject. Rosalia could never understand why men were so adverse to womanly nature. They had no trouble bedding women, but mention a woman’s time or birthing…

***

Did she intentionally change the subject? Ciaran was usually skilled at getting the answers he sought, but he had to admit he never saw that one coming. He was speechless. She obviously did not want him asking any more questions. When he remembered her response, he had to laugh. She was good. He would give her that.

He gave an impatient shrug as he approached Aiden. “It was all for naught. She would speak of naught. All she said was that the horse was trained in Scotland and she has had him since he was young.” Ciaran placed the wine sack in his bundle. “Let us keep moving and see the lass safe to the next village. Besides, I am sure your wee wife wants ye home.”

Aiden’s mouth twisted wryly. “I am sure she does. Ciaran, ye cannae keep running the lass so hard to get her to the village. She is injured.” Ciaran was about to interject when Aiden cut him off. “Let us ride for a few more miles this day, and if we make it to the village, we make it. If we donna, we donna. Ye cannae stress her wounds even more, brother.” He spoke in a disapproving tone.

“Aiden, ye know trouble will follow her. We will see her safe to the village, but we didnae ask to be her
champions
. I wish to be home to Glenorchy and—”

“Ciaran—”

He held up his hand to stop his interruption. “Ye know someone will come searching for the lass. If nae her, at least the mount—”