Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2012 by Victoria Roberts

  Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.

  Cover design by Jamie Warren

  Illustration by Stephen Youll

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks, Inc.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.

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  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Excerpt from The Highlander’s Prize

  Excerpt from True Highland Spirit

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  To my family, for their unwavering support and dedication to this Bad Boy. For my son, who understood at such a young age that Mommy was editing. For my daughter, the only Gaelic-speaking lass in the fifth grade. And for my husband, who makes dinners countless nights. I could not ask for a more encouraging bunch. I love you all, and you have my heartfelt thanks and appreciation. I could have never done this without you.

  It’s kind of fun to do the impossible.

  —Walt Disney

  One

  Royal Court, England, 1603

  Sometimes being a Highland laird was a royal pain in the arse.

  Laird Ciaran MacGregor of Glenorchy was tired and wanted to be home. It felt as if he had been attending court for more than a fortnight. The courtly games alone were enough to make a man impale himself on his own sword. As soon as he was finally granted the audience he had requested from King James, Ciaran and his men would depart.

  Sounds of laughter and snatches of song filled the air. As Ciaran glanced around the great hall filled with several hundred members of nobility, he was thankful to have discovered an unoccupied wall. Frankly, everyone was grating on his nerves. Men socialized and were dressed in their finery. To him, they all looked like exotic birds—peacocks, perhaps. The heat was so unbearable that he did not know how the women managed with so many layers of clothing. He pulled at his restricting silk doublet at the thought.

  “Ye have held up exceedingly well, my laird.”

  “Aye, as well as can be expected in this madness.” Ciaran scowled at his brother and knew his vexation was evident, but frankly, he did not care.

  “We are all ready to be off,” said Aiden, slapping him upon the shoulder. “Have ye given any thought to whether Glenorchy still stands with Declan in your stead?”

  Running his hand through his hair, Ciaran sighed. “I think of it often. He had best be out of his cups and have ceased his wenching before we return. I only hope my walls still stand.”

  Only a king’s summons would have forced him to leave his reckless fool of a brother in charge. At least most of Ciaran’s actions were defended at court—well, except his skirmishes with the bloody Campbells. Hence the reason for his delayed departure. If upon his return he found Glenorchy destroyed by the bloody Campbells or under siege by Declan’s wenches, he would not be shocked. He hoped that leaving additional guards behind would have protected against both.

  When Ciaran received the summons, he had no doubt Aiden would prove more beneficial at court. Had he brought his younger brother… he shivered at the mental image. Between constantly worrying about the neighboring clan’s machinations and wondering if his home was still in one piece, he needed a drink.

  Recognizing his familiar expression, Aiden cast a wry grin. “Ye worry overmuch. He knows the duty that befalls him. I cannae speak to whether he is in his cups, but Aisling would have speech with him if he was wenching within your walls. Of that, I have nay doubt.”

  “I have noticed your wee wife has found her voice since she is with child.”

  “Ye’ve noticed, have ye?”

  “Brother, we can hear her bellowing at ye from across the bailey. At least ye seem to be the only one provoking her ire as of late.” A smile played on the corner of his lips.

  “’Tis only because ye run at the sight of her, ye coward.” A flash of humor crossed Aiden’s features. “She says she cannae find comfort and I must suffer as well because of her condition.”

  It was difficult not to notice how much his brother had changed since Aisling had become with child. Even though his lady wife would cry, laugh, and call him to the devil in the same breath, Aiden seemed to be both happy and content. Ciaran hoped Aiden’s contentedness would rub off on Declan—well, one could always pray to the gods for a miracle.

  They exchanged a subtle look of amusement. “And I wish ye luck with that. Praise the saints, I donna yet have a woman to make me suffer. Howbeit I do have enough troubles with Declan,” Ciaran grunted, rolling his eyes.

  “He may go knee deep into his cups more often than he should and he may also wench a time or two or thrice, but ye know if ye needed him he would be at hand. ’Tis ironic to hear ye speak as such lest ye forget it wasnae long ago when ye fondled a lass with one hand and held a tankard in the other,” Aiden smirked. “Granted, ye took your responsibility seriously when Father passed. Listen to reason, Ciaran. All Declan needs is to find a strong woman and wed. Aye, mayhap he will even be lucky enough to find himself a lass with Aisling’s ire.” A mischievous look twinkled in Aiden’s eye.

  That was surely something to think upon. Perhaps a wife was what Declan needed. Ciaran could go daft remembering all of the times he had tried to save his brother from himself. His head was starting to throb. No longer interested in having this discussion, he was about to take his leave for some much needed air when a raised voice held his attention. His private wall was no longer his own.

  “How many times have I told you to watch that Highland tongue of yours, Rosalia? It makes you sound daft. I will not tolerate your deliberate attempts to thwart your chances with an English gentleman. You are one and twenty. How many chances do you think you have left? No one shows interest in you. Did you notice your midriff is much larger than the other women in attendance? I will not tell you again—do as I say or suffer the consequences.”

  Ciaran watched the English she-dragon spread her wings and fly across the floor, but not before she pinched the young woman in the arm. Stains of scarlet appeared on the woman’s cheeks, but when her heightened color subsided, her features were exhilarating. Loose tendrils of hazel-colored tresses softened her features, and her fully rosy lips beckoned to be kissed. She had more curves than most, but she was a wild beauty.

  For a brief moment, her azure eyes met his. He attempted to ease
her embarrassment by offering her a gaze as soft as a caress. She returned a shy smile and inclined her head in a small gesture of thanks before she walked off in the wake of the fiery beast.

  “Och, I pray for a son,” murmured Aiden, a suggestion of annoyance hovering in his eyes. “We need women such as that on the battlefield—aye, brother? Her venom alone would bring a man to his knees.”

  Ciaran shrugged dismissively, but his eyes still followed the young woman.

  “Ye know, Ciaran. Mayhap while we are at court ye should seek a wife.” His brother shifted, giving him a better view of the woman.

  “How many times must we speak of this? Ye know I cannae seek a wife until my vow to Father is fulfilled.”

  “Aye, the vow,” Aiden drawled with distinct mockery. “And ye think Declan will straighten his path because ye made a promise to Father?”

  Ciaran’s body stiffened in response. “I gave my word.” He was tired of having the same speech with his brother. He needed a respite—from everyone.

  ***

  Lady Rosalia Armstrong of Mangerton was crimson with humiliation. She prayed no one had heard her mother’s venomous tongue. When she discreetly glanced around to ensure no one had overheard their words, she saw him standing there, devilishly handsome. She did not know who he was, but his profile spoke of power and ageless strength. Even in a crowd, his presence was compelling.

  He was over six feet and stood tall and formidable. He had a generous mouth, a straight nose, and a smile that was a dazzling display of even, white teeth. He had a ruggedness and vital power that definitely attracted her. His full chestnut hair brushed the rich outlines of his broad shoulders which strained against the fabric of his clothing. The muscles under his silk doublet quickened her pulse, and she found it impossible not to return his captivating smile.

  Keenly aware of his scrutiny, Rosalia could see that he obviously pitied her. Taking a deep breath, she brightened her smile and straightened her spine. She had to step away from his observant eyes before she was made any more the fool. Seeking her mother and father in the crowd, she finally found them huddled with a man in deep conversation. Upon her approach, the man lifted his head and openly studied her. His dark eyes shifted and seemed to undress her.

  A shudder passed through her.

  Walking casually to her father’s side, Rosalia remained silent, trying to watch that Highland tongue of hers. Her father cleared his throat. “Lord Dunnehl, allow me to present our daughter, Lady Rosalia Armstrong.” His eyes were intent on watching Lord Dunnehl’s reaction to her.

  Lord Dunnehl gave her a low bow and then stood. When she extended her hand, he brushed a brief kiss on top, his expression one of faint amusement. “A magnificent creature indeed. Clearly, she gets her beauty from you, Lady Armstrong.”

  “You flatter me, my lord.” Joy bubbled in her mother’s laugh and shone in her eyes.

  Rosalia was unimpressed. “A pleasure, my lord,” she responded with a nervous smile.

  During the discussion that followed, Rosalia did not pay attention. There was no need. Her mother and father entertained Lord Dunnehl with pleasantries and she was happy for the respite. For the first time, Rosalia was grateful for her mother’s endless prattle and it gave her an opportunity to inspect the “English gentleman.” Rosalia swore if she heard those words one more time, she would surely lose her contents.

  Height was definitely not in his favor. Although Rosalia was taller than most women, she was at least a head taller than he. His eyes were of a muddy brown color, and the few hairs he had left on the top of his head were a thin tawny-gold. He was quite large around the middle, and the courtly fashions did nothing to flatter his appearance. A man of his station would be expected to dress in such a manner, but the clothes made him look like a peacock.

  With a sigh, Rosalia shifted from foot to foot. Her eyes darted around the room, and when she found the man with the handsome smile, he was looking directly at her. Quickly, she lowered her gaze.

  “Rosalia?”

  She could not resist another peek at the man. Every time she glanced at him, his gaze returned to her. She tried not to be caught staring and found a joyous satisfaction in studying his profile. Her mother’s firm nudge brought her back from her woolgathering.

  “Rosalia!” her mother repeated with authority.

  “Aye?”

  “Lord Dunnehl has taken his leave. You could at least have feigned an interest in the conversation,” she said curtly.

  Rosalia nodded briefly, turning to her father. “Father, who is that man standing…” When she twisted around to show her father, she spotted his broad back walking briskly out of the hall.

  Her father glanced around her. “What man?”

  “It does not matter what man,” said her mother, attempting to correct their brogue. “We leave for Mangerton on the morrow. Your father must see to the crop, and we need to prepare for an important guest.”

  Rosalia raised her brow searchingly. “An important guest?”

  Her mother smiled at her knowingly. “Lord Dunnehl.”

  She paled.

  Two

  Liddesdale, Scotland

  “What do ye want me to do, Caroline? The coin is almost depleted.”

  Rosalia wanted to cover her ears to shut out another of her parents’ heated arguments outside her bedchamber.

  “We shall keep Cook, and Rosalia will need to attend us,” spat her mother, her voice ruthless. “I am through with idle chatter, Ronald. You need to offer her hand. It is the only way to fill our purse. Be a man for once in your miserable life. There is no other choice!”

  Her father sighed with exasperation. “Caroline, ye cannae fail to notice she is a score and one, and the truth that she has nay dowry isnae too promising for prospective suitors. As ye know, the only prospect from court is Lord Dunnehl and he is most unpleasant.”

  “He is not unpleasant, and you had best not treat him that way when he arrives on the morrow. Let me ask you, Ronald—have you given thought to how you will provide for me when the coin is depleted? No, of course not. When Lord Dunnehl comes to Mangerton, you shall be opening another means to fill our purse. After all, it is your responsibility to see the coffers filled, is it not?” Her voice was laced with sarcasm.

  “We do not have to battle on this, Ronald. Offer her hand and you will see all of our worries gone. Furthermore,” she huffed, “after everything I do for you, this is the least you could do for me.”

  Rosalia could not move.

  That was the true reason why they had taken her to court. Rosalia was perfectly aware that marriages were arranged for coin, land, or title, but that was not the life she sought. Was it too much to ask for a husband who loved her and wanted her, who would make her feel like the only place she belonged was by his side? She was mindful of the fact that it was past time she wed, but how cruel to have a man as unsavory as Lord Dunnehl selected as her mate. The last thing she desired was to be caught in a loveless marriage—the same fate as her mother and father.

  Although her sire had been born and raised in the Highlands, her mother was from England and refused to make the journey to the barbaric north. Rosalia had always been told that her father had given up everything upon his marriage to her mother, agreeing to reside at their estate at Liddesdale so her mother could cross the border to her beloved England. And Liddesdale was the northern most part of Scotland her mother was willing to go. Rosalia’s seanmhair, her father’s mother, still had her home in Glengarry, but Rosalia was never permitted to travel there. She had given up on asking the reason why long ago. As a result, her parents were all the family she knew.

  Reluctantly, Rosalia proceeded to the great hall where her mother and father were already seated for the midday meal. Wiping her sweaty palms on her day dress, she walked to the table and slid out the heavy wooden bench, a
ttempting to take her seat unnoticed. To her dismay, she failed. Her mother cleared her throat, raised her cheek, and waited. Having no choice, Rosalia grudgingly rose and kissed her mother’s uplifted cheek.

  Nodding her head in approval, her mother gestured for Rosalia to take her seat for the second time.

  “Rosalia, eat, but not too much. Your clothing is getting tighter around your midriff—again. Finish your meal and then we wish to have speech with you.”

  “Aye, Mother.”

  She had barely finished her meal when her trencher was yanked away. “That is enough. We have something to discuss with you.” Pausing, her mother took a sip of wine. “I want everything prepared and in order for Lord Dunnehl’s arrival. I will be inspecting.”

  Rosalia stole a glance at her father. Clenching her jaw, she struggled to rein in her temper. Unfortunately, that did not assist her in holding her tongue. “Mother, if ye and Da are thinking of offering my hand, donna ye wish to ask my thoughts?”

  Her mother rose in one fluid motion and hauled Rosalia from the bench. The fury that shot from her eyes was all too familiar, and Rosalia felt the sting of the slap before her words were finished. She lifted her hands to protect herself, but it was pointless.

  Forceful hands continued to strike her.

  “You. Ungrateful. Child. Your father and I have provided for you and expected nothing in return! You will wed Lord Dunnehl if we command you to wed him!”

  “Mother, I beg ye!” cried Rosalia in a choking voice. Her hands covered her eyes and cheeks, and she wept aloud, rocking back and forth.

  “Look at her, Ronald! She is daft. I live for the day when she becomes someone else’s burden.” Her mother’s hard voice held no sympathy. “Rosalia, enough of these tears. You will clear the table now and assist Cook. When you have completed that task, prepare for Lord Dunnehl’s arrival. I have had enough of your foolishness.”

  Hot tears rolled down Rosalia’s cheeks and she lowered her head, staring at her hands. She could not bring herself to move. The smell of blood pulled her from her despair. Hastily, she grabbed for a rag on the table, applying it to her bleeding nose.