Temptation in a Kilt Page 13

  “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.”

  “My thanks. Niall. Ye have met Lady Rosalia?” she asked.

  “Aye, I have had the pleasure.” Giving her a slight bow, he smiled. “My lady.”

  “Madainn mhath, Niall.” Good morn, Niall. “’Tis good to see ye again. And how is Noonie? Ye arenae spoiling him overmuch?”

  “Nay, only as our laird instructed, my lady. I did give him a good brushing, and he may have received some extra oats a time or two. I also had to separate him once from Aiden. He clenched his teeth into Aiden’s hind quarters, he did.”

  Rosalia gasped. “He did? He normally doe
snae bite. Is Aiden all right?” she asked, concerned.

  Aisling laughed. “He probably deserved it, Rosalia.”

  “No worries, my lady. They are just getting acquainted with one another,” Niall reassured her.

  Why did Noonie have to cause trouble? Rosalia cringed. At least he did not bite the laird’s mount in the arse. She guessed it could have been worse. “Do ye want to meet Noonie, Aisling?”

  A flash of humor crossed Aisling’s face. “I am willing to meet anyone who can put Aiden in his place. Ye know I am speaking of my horse Aiden?”

  “Of course,” Rosalia said, a glint of humor finally returning.

  When they approached Noonie’s stall, he pawed at the ground. Placing her head to his, Rosalia rubbed him behind the ears. “Och, Noonie. Ciamar a tha sibh?” How are you?

  “He is magnificent. His coat is so verra black and sleek.”

  “Aye. He is a good horse—well, when he isnae biting other horses in the arse,” she chuckled, quickly covering her mouth with her hands. “My apologies, Aisling. My mouth sometimes speaks before I am able to stop it.”

  Aisling waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “I told ye. I have three brothers and I live with the MacGregors. I have heard worse and even spoken worse. Thankfully I met ye after I birthed Teàrlach. If ye would have arrived before then, we wouldnae be friends. Ye should have heard the words spewing from my mouth. I threatened everyone around me, even poor Anna.” Leaning in closer, she lowered her voice. “Aiden insisted on being with me when Teàrlach was born and I actually threatened to cut off the part of him that makes him a man.”

  Rosalia glanced at her in nonbelief. “Ye didnae.”

  Aisling shrugged offhandedly. “I did.”

  Noonie nudged her arm. “Niall did a great job with him. We were caught in the pouring rain and he was covered in mud.”

  “I am nae surprised. Niall really loves all four-legged creatures. Come. I will show ye Aiden.”

  The stalls were filled with many beautiful and impressive horses. Ciaran apparently knew his horseflesh. Why did this come as no surprise to her? In the last stall, a chestnut-colored horse with white markings whinnied. Although he was a couple of hands smaller than Noonie, he was a striking horse.

  “And this is Aiden,” said Aisling, rubbing his nose.

  Rosalia pointed to the horse’s coloring. “He has perfect white markings on all four of his legs. I have ne’er seen a horse with perfect white markings. He is beautiful.”

  Aisling’s smile widened in approval. “My thanks. When I am nae so sore we can ride together.”

  “I would enjoy that. How do ye fare? This is your first day out. Do ye feel the need to rest?”

  Aisling moaned and rolled her eyes. “Please, I beg ye. Donna sound like Aiden. I am still fine, but I will rest after the midday meal.”

  “I am sure your husband would be thankful.” In that moment, Rosalia realized she had much in common with Aisling—including that neither of them wanted to be lectured.

  “Did ye see the garden? My apologies, Rosalia, I didnae know how much Ciaran had showed ye. It might be easier if ye tell me what all he has shown ye.”

  Passion…

  Awkwardly, Rosalia cleared her throat. “I have seen the view upon the parapet but havenae been anywhere else.”

  Linking her arm with Rosalia’s, Aisling led her out of the stables. “Then come. I have much to show ye.”

  ***

  Ciaran finished training with his men and was burning. Not just from the swordplay, but from Declan’s self-destructive behavior. Declan always made it a point to address his oldest brother sarcastically, but when he called Ciaran “your majesty” in front of his men, that sort of behavior clearly had to cease.

  Grabbing a drying cloth, Ciaran decided he needed a dunk in the loch to calm him. He walked over the cabhsair with long, purposeful strides and placed the cloth on the ground. Removing his kilt and sword, he stood in all his Highland glory. It was getting too late in the season to be swimming in the loch, but he desperately needed it. There was only one way to do it.

  He dove in headfirst.

  Freezing water rushed over him from head to toe. As he surfaced, he let out a roar that surely frightened away any four-legged creatures that were about. Hearing laughter upon the barmkin wall, he gave his men a hand signal only they would understand. When they roared with over-exaggerated merriment, he shook his head because on the morrow, his men would all be practicing their swordplay… extensively.

  A sudden splash caught his attention. Ciaran whipped around, but there was no one there. As he looked around cautiously, his battle-hardened senses came into full awareness as something grabbed him below the waist. Reaching down into the water, he felt… an arm?

  He hefted the mass out of the water.

  “I have missed ye, my love,” purred Beathag, wiping the water from her face and pressing herself against him.

  “What are ye about?” he asked, pushing her away from him. She did not wear any clothing, and when his gaze lowered, so did his voice. “What is the meaning of this, Beathag?”

  He did not understand her purposeful disobedience. Prying her vise-like grip from around his neck, he twisted around and spotted Aisling and Rosalia standing on the cabhsair.

  Rosalia paled. Beathag glared at Rosalia with a smug look upon her face. “Now I see the truth. ’Tis why ye nay longer want me. How sweet,” she spoke with bitterness. “Tell me, Ciaran. Does she take ye into her mouth as I do?”

  He stood to his full height. “I donna know what games ye play. Unless ye want yourself removed from Glenorchy, I suggest ye cease your scheming. We are done. I told ye,” he said. Beathag meant nothing to him. She was a means to satisfy his lust—no more. He refused to have his life ruined due to an error in judgment. After all, he was laird and he would be obeyed.

  Turning his back on her, he stormed out of the loch. Grabbing his drying cloth, kilt, and sword, he twisted around to see her still standing in the water. “I told ye we are done. If anything like this happens again, I will personally remove ye from Glenorchy with naught but the clothes on your back. Do ye understand me, Beathag?”

  “Aye. Perfectly, my laird,” she said, icy contempt flashing in her eyes.

  ***

  The garden still displayed autumn’s blooms. A warm breeze blew the scent of blossoms and tickled Rosalia’s nose. Aisling had already taken her leave to see to Teàrlach, so Rosalia was thankfully left to her own devices. She needed time to compose herself. When Aisling suggested a walk across the cabhsair to the loch, Rosalia had imagined it would be refreshing. She did not expect a display of Ciaran and Beathag in a lovers’ tryst. At times, she could be so daft. She was a fool to think she meant anything to him. What she needed was to focus on her goal. Her mission was to start a new life in Glengarry—not Glenorchy.

  Sitting on a garden bench, she enjoyed the solitude and tranquility. In a few months, she would have a new beginning at Glengarry. She prayed that all of her efforts would come to fruition and that her seanmhair would welcome her with open arms. All too quickly, she was running out of diversions. No matter how she tried to occupy herself, her mind would not let her rest. The mental image of Ciaran with Beathag plagued her. At least, Rosalia told herself, she was not foolish enough to believe her embrace with Ciaran on the parapet had meant something. Frankly, she was tired of dreaming about such romantic notions. It would be the last time she would make such an error in judgment.

  “I am such a fool,” she murmured, slapping her hands to her head.

  “Now, lass… Ye couldnae be a bigger fool than me,” Declan chuckled.

  She jumped.

  “My apologies if I startled ye.” He gave her a warm smile. “May I?” He gestured to the bench.

  She shrugged with indifference. “Aye, but I am
in nay mood for your charms.”

  “Donna worry. I am in nay mood to be charming,” he countered.

  They sat on the bench in silence. Her thoughts continued to torture her, and Declan was being… Declan. “My apologies that my brother took me to task in front of ye and Aisling. Ye didnae need to see such.”

  She raised her brow in surprise. “Declan MacGregor, is that a sincere apology?”

  He gave her a sheepish grin. “I suppose ’tis sincere.”

  “Ye know, Declan? My brother is much as ye are. We spoke constantly about everything. If ye ever want to speak to me…” She thought it better to keep her invitation open ended.

  Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

  “It must have been hard for ye being the third son of the MacGregor,” she said sympathetically.

  He threw up his hand in the air. “Hell, it wasnae easy, if that is what ye’re saying.”

  “Declan, ye are a score and…?”

  “Three,” he simply stated.

  She shook her head. “One day ye will wed and have a family of your own.”

  “Ye sound like my brothers and Aisling,” he said bitterly.

  “Nay, Declan, I envy ye.” When he raised his brow, Rosalia gave him a gentle smile. “Aye, envy. Ye donna have Ciaran’s responsibilities. He must care for everyone and ensure the coffers are full, King James is pleased, the men are trained to defend your home, and I could continue.” She reached for his hand. “Ye donna have to worry overmuch on that. Ye are free to choose your wife as ye will and make your own life. What ye make of that life is your choice. Ye donna understand,” she spoke passionately. “Ye have a choice, Declan. And aye, for that I envy ye. Donna be too quick to choose the wrong path and throw away your life and your chance at happiness only because ye are angry.”

  She paused. For a moment, she believed she actually reached him.

  “And what of your choice, Lady Rosalia? If ye had to choose, would ye choose me or the MacGregor?”

  By all the saints…

  “In truth? Neither.” She rose in one fluid motion.