Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  “She is with Teàrlach,” he mumbled, throwing looks of displeasure at Declan.

  “Hmm… And what do ye do this day, my laird?” Rosalia asked Ciaran as Declan tumbled into his chair, knocking over a tankard.

  “Before or after I battle with Declan?” Ciaran spoke through gritted teeth. Leaning forward, he narrowed his eyes at Declan. “Break your fast. Then we practice swordplay with the men in the bailey.”

  Ignoring him, Declan took a leisurely drink from his tankard. When Declan turned his head, Ciaran was annoyed to see how glassy his younger brother’s eyes were. “But my great liege, I already practiced my swordplay yestereve.” Declan nodded to two serving wenches who were giving him smoldering glances from across the hall. “Twice, I do believe. Howbeit ye will be pleased to know they said I mastered it verra well,” he said arrogantly.

  Ciaran and Aiden sprang to their feet, flanking Declan. They moved so quickly that Rosalia jumped. Hauling Declan forcefully from his chair as if he only weighed as much as a mere bairn, they shoved him in the direction of Ciaran’s solar. The hall went quiet as everyone gawked at Declan being abducted while breaking his fast. Rosalia only prayed there would not be bloodshed.

  After finishing her meal alone, Rosalia went in search of Aisling. She did not need to look far. The sounds of Teàrlach’s screams were piercing as Aisling descended the stairs. “Good morn,” Aisling said loudly, closing her eyes in an apparent attempt to bear the sound of Teàrlach’s shrill screams. “I take him outdoors for a walk. I cannae promise it will be soothing, but ye can come along if ye want.”

  “Of course,” said Rosalia, rubbing her hand over his tiny curls.

  Aisling bounced him gently in her arms, and when they reached the bailey, Teàrlach stopped crying almost immediately. “Ye see? He has Aiden’s stubbornness already.” She cocked her head and raised her brow. “Well? Come now. Tell me all of what occurred with Declan this morn.” When Rosalia gave her a questioning gaze, Aisling smiled. “Anna. She tells me all.”

  They leisurely made their way toward the stable. “It wasnae good. Declan could barely stand when he came to break his fast. Ciaran told him after his meal that he would need to practice his swordplay with the men, and I do believe Declan said he had already practiced his swordplay with two serving wenches—twice.” She cringed and Aisling sighed. “Aiden and Ciaran dragged him away. To Ciaran’s solar, I believe. I donna know what occurred after that. I didnae really want to stay and find out.”

  Aisling kissed Teàrlach on the head. “Och, Declan has done it now. He doesnae listen to anyone. I wonder if Aiden and Ciaran finally beat some sense into him. ’Tis up to them now. There is naught we can do.” Aisling studied her for a moment and smiled. “Ye seem lighter of heart this morn. Could it have something to do with a certain laird?”

  “It may be possible,” Rosalia said. Even her walk had a sunny cheerfulness.

  Aisling grinned. “I am joyful to hear it. Do ye want to go and fetch your cloak?”

  “Nay, I am fine,” she said, shaking her head.

  Aisling stopped. “Rosalia, do ye have a cloak?”

  She was silent for a moment. “Ye will think me daft, but nay, I donna. When I took my leave, I took only clothes to travel and blankets. I didnae—”

  “It doesnae matter. Ye are in the Highlands and ye will need a cloak. I will see to it.”

  Aisling had given her so much already—they all had. “I already have your gowns. I cannae accept—”

  “Ye can and ye will. Come,” Aisling said in an authoritative tone, leading her back indoors.

  ***

  Ciaran thrust Declan into his solar and slammed the door while Aiden pushed Declan further into the room and shoved him unwillingly into a chair. Aiden took a seat in the opposite chair as Ciaran sat behind his father’s desk. Briefly closing his eyes, Ciaran took a deep breath before his ire got the best of him.

  “So why the silence, your worship? Now I have to wait the same as a wee lad until ye are ready to give me a scolding?” Declan smirked.

  Ciaran’s eyes flew open and he was just about to kill his brother when Aiden sprang from the chair, pulling up Declan by the tunic. “Ye go too far, Brother. If Father were still alive—”

  “Aye, but he isnae,” said Declan sarcastically.

  Aiden punched him square in the jaw.

  Ciaran flew from his chair, rounded the desk, and pulled them apart. Shoving them forcefully into their own chairs, he then sat on the desk between them. Aiden rubbed his hand as Declan rubbed his jaw. What would his father have thought at such a sight?

  “Declan, for once ye are correct. Father isnae here, which means I am laird and I will be obeyed. Ye are still my brother and my responsibility. I willnae continue to watch ye drowning yourself in yer cups and destroying everything and everyone around ye.” Ciaran spoke in a voice that demanded attention.

  “Nor will I,” Aiden concurred.

  “So what do ye say, Ciaran? Just speak the words ye are holding back,” Declan bit out, leaning casually in the chair.

  Ciaran glanced at Aiden, and he nodded his head in silent confirmation. “As your brother, I cannae stand by and watch ye continue to destroy yourself. The gods have taken Father and Mother, but they havenae taken ye—at least, nae yet. If ye donna straighten your path, ye willnae be far behind them. How can I continue to watch your back when ye donna watch your own?”

  He paused as Declan studied him intently. “As of now, ye will cease drowning in your cups. Ye will cease wenching within my walls. Ye will practice your swordplay daily with the men, and ye will straighten your path.”

  His brother yawned, stretched his legs out in front of him, and crossed his feet at the ankles. “And if I donna?”

  “Ye are on your own—removed from my walls with only the clothes upon your back. Before ye speak, think upon this. Ye are my brother, my blood. I cannae watch ye continue on this path ye have chosen. Ye care for nay one. Ye made this mess and only ye can clean it up. ’Tis all your choice, Brother. I only hope ye choose wisely. Make nay error in judgment, Declan. I am your brother, but foremost, I have a duty as laird. I will be obeyed and willnae be made the fool in front of my men.” His voice rang with command.

  “Declan, Aisling and I have tried to help ye. We want to help ye, but we cannae if ye donna even try to help yourself. Ciaran is right in this matter and he has my agreement. If ye donna cease, ye are on your own, Brother,” Aiden said tersely.

  There was a heavy silence.

  Declan rose. “Well, ye two have obviously decided my fate.”

  “Nay, Declan. Ye make your own fate,” Ciaran countered. “I will see ye in the bailey with the men.”

  “So I am simply being dismissed, your greatness?” Declan walked leisurely to the door and turned around. He gave a forced smile and a tense nod of consent. “I will meet ye in the bailey.”

  When the door closed, Ciaran and Aiden visibly relaxed. “Do ye think he heard ye?” asked Aiden with concern.

  “I donna know. I hope for his sake that he did.” Ciaran ran his hand through his hair. “I donna know how Father handled such things.”

  Aiden laughed. “Ye donna think he felt the same as ye when he was laird?”

  He shrugged. “I donna know.”

  “Ciaran, he had three sons. Ye donna remember the trouble we caused Father? How could ye forget my wenching ways before Aisling? Ye yourself had quite the appetite for the lasses. And let us nae forget one of the many times when ye were in your cups and placed your kilt around your horse,” he chuckled. “I also recall the first time ye were a drunken sot and were caught by the blacksmith taking liberties with his daughter. Father had a lot of explaining to do. I am sure he felt the same as you do. Ye will know more of the same when ye have a son. Speaking of—”

  Ciaran scowled. “Donna start
with me, Brother. Declan will be on a clear path soon enough, even if I have to strap him down and hold him on it.”

  “And Rosalia will wait until that time?” asked Aiden, raising his brow searchingly.

  “Rosalia knows I made the vow to Father.”

  “How verra understanding of the lass.” Aiden chuckled. “Ciaran, will ye take advice from a man that has been wed?”

  Ciaran held up his hand to silence Aiden, but his brother simply waved him off. He would have to remind him again soon who was laird.

  “I donna care what ye speak. I give it freely. Love doesnae happen often in a marriage, and when it does, ye grab hold with both hands and donna let go. I see ye care for the lass. Why donna ye wed and be done with it? Surely ye donna plan to take her to Glengarry. Ye promised Father to see to Declan, but ye didnae say ye would wait to wed.”

  Ciaran slumped down into the chair next to Aiden and sighed. “We have been through this, Brother. It was understood.”

  “By ye or by Father? He would ne’er ask ye to wait to wed.”

  They sat silently for a long time. The lines of awareness deepened along Aiden’s brow and under his eyes. Ciaran knew he was deep in thought. This could not bode well for him. He was about to stand to escape Aiden’s lecture, but his brother spoke before Ciaran had the chance to flee.

  “Think upon this. Your duty as laird is to beget a legitimate heir. The only way to accomplish that task is to wed. And I think ye are sorely lacking in your responsibilities as of late.” Aiden folded his arms over his chest. “I bet ye ne’er thought of it that way, aye?”

  Ciaran sat back, shook his head, and moaned. “Why do the gods grace me with such brothers? One pains me in the arse and the other pains me in the head.”

  “Promise me ye will think upon it or my wee wife will be keeping me up all eve speaking of ye. Surely ye can understand that I donna want to be speaking of ye in my marriage bed, Brother. I donna want to be speaking at all.”

  Rising, Ciaran held up his hands in surrender. “Cease, Aiden. I donna want or need to know what ye and Aisling say or donna say in your marriage bed. Besides, I thought she cursed ye out of her bed.”

  Aiden shrugged, giving him a sheepish grin. “It wasnae exactly me she cursed out of her bed. It was my—”

  “And that is another reason why I donna rush to wed,” Ciaran said, laughing.

  ***

  Aisling gave Rosalia a cloak that was too small, but at least it matched her shortened gowns and would keep her warm. Why did she have to have her father’s height? When she reached Glengarry, she would need to seek proper attire. She did not want to embarrass her seanmhair. As Rosalia walked through the bailey, she saw that Declan had joined Ciaran and Aiden with swordplay. Apparently, everyone had survived the confrontation in one piece. When she reached the stables, she scanned the area but did not see Niall. She enjoyed his company. He had a warm and caring personality that reminded her of Duncan.

  Noonie stomped his feet and whinnied upon her approach. She reached out and rubbed her hands on his sleek black coat. “And how are ye this morn, Noonie?”

  “What an interesting name for a mount.”

  Whipping her head around, Rosalia saw Beathag walking toward her with a sly grin. “He is a fine beast.”

  Rosalia shifted her weight, trying to center her attention on Noonie. “Aye.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Beathag continued to study her intently, but Rosalia refused to display her nervousness. Attempting to keep her focus on her horse, she would not give Ciaran’s former leman the satisfaction of knowing how entirely uncomfortable she felt.

  “What are ye doing here?” Beathag asked, her tone coolly disapproving.

  “I see to my horse,” she remarked, pleased at how indifferent she sounded.

  Beathag’s eyes narrowed. “Nae that. Why are ye here at Glenorchy?”

  To Rosalia’s dismay, her voice broke slightly and she stammered in bewilderment. “I only stay until ’tis safe to travel to Glen—” she paused. It was probably not the best idea to advise Beathag of her plans.

  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 t
ake 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.