Aisling elbowed him in the stomach. “Cease, Husband.” She glanced at Ciaran. “I am sure Rosalia will love your gift.”
“She cannae remain in the Highlands without proper clothes. She will catch the ague. And donna play me, Aisling. Ye know she willnae take these willingly. We will have to ensure that she does.”
She waved him off. “If she is as light of heart as she is this day, we willnae have a problem.”
Ciaran attempted to look occupied. The last thing he wanted was his sister-by-marriage to see the blush upon his face. He hoped he was the reason Rosalia felt so light of heart, but obviously he was not going to share such matters with Aisling.
After finishing his practice in the bailey, he went in search of Rosalia. Odd, no one had seemed to have seen her as of late. He approached her bedchamber door and knocked.
“Aye?” Rosalia called from within.
“’Tis Ciaran.”
There was a pause. “Can I speak with ye later?” she asked, her voice sounding unnatural.
“Ye arenae well?” If she caught the ague because he did not provide proper clothes for her, he would never forgive himself.
“I need to rest.” A tremor laced her voice.
Jiggling the latch, he tried to open the door. “Rosalia, unbolt the door.” What was she about? There was another bout of silence between them.
“Please, my laird. I need to rest,” Rosalia pleaded.
A moment later, Ciaran walked through the adjoining door.
***
Rosalia sat on the window bench, gazing out at the loch. When she heard Ciaran’s footsteps walk away from the door, she prayed he would leave her alone until she was able to gather her wits. She decided to distance herself from him and would not take the chance that Beathag would live up to her threats. Her brief solace was interrupted as he walked casually through the adjoining door she had forgotten to lock.
Damn.
Ciaran strode toward her with a worried look upon his features. Raising his hand, he felt her forehead. “Are ye unwell?” Switching hands, he checked her again for fever.
“I am well.” She glanced at her hands.
He dropped down beside her, facing her. “Then why wouldnae ye open the door?”
Closing her eyes, Rosalia shrugged. “I needed a moment to rest.”
By the look upon his face, he clearly did not believe her. If she was to keep him at bay, she needed to be much more convincing. She mentally chided herself. What would she speak to James? “My monthly courses have arrived and I—”
“Have fallen into that trap once. I donna fall twice,” Ciaran said, shaking his head. “Ye can still have your monthly courses and speak with me.” Rubbing his palm over her cheek, she shied away. “What has changed since this morn? Aisling said ye were… er, fine.” He shifted his weight, clearly becoming agitated. He was not going to relent.
Maybe a little honesty but not the entire truth would satisfy him. “Did ye ever have something occur ye knew would have several different outcomes depending upon how ye addressed it?” Rosalia asked.
He thought for a moment and glanced back at her. “Aye. Life.”
She smirked. “’Tisnae that simple, Ciaran.”
He intertwined their fingers and smiled. “In my experience, most things are ne’er as bad as they appear as long as ye have someone to share them with.” He raised her chin with his finger, his eyes gentle and caring. “And ye have me. What could be so verra bad ye couldnae share with me?”
Smiling, Rosalia placed her hand into his. Looking into his eyes, her breath quickened, her tongue darting out to wet her suddenly very dry lips. The prolonged anticipation was almost unbearable.
Ciaran leaned in close, brushing her lips. His kiss was slow and gentle. Her heart beat faster, and she could not hear through the blood pounding in her ears. She pulled him closer, her body aching for his touch. She deepened the kiss, running her fingers through his hair. She was powerless to resist him.
When his fingers gently brushed her, he fueled a gently growing fire.
“Ah, sweeting, ye taste sweet as honey,” he murmured, the huskiness lingering in his tone. His hand roamed intimately over her breast and she leaned into him. The mere touch of his hand sent a warming shiver through her. She had no desire to back out of his embrace. Her trembling limbs clung to him and she could no longer deny herself his touch.
Ciaran pulled back and his gaze fell to the creamy expanse of her neck. “Ye are so beautiful.”
She stiffened and every muscle in her body tensed as if he had slapped her. Those were the words he had said to Beathag. Why would he speak the same to her? Her throat closed up.
Feeling her change in demeanor, he gazed upon her searchingly. “What is wrong?” Ciaran repeated the question, and still she could not answer.
Rosalia jerked to her feet and tried to put as much distance between them as possible. He rose in one fluid motion, quickly closing the gap between them. With his powerful hands, he turned her to him. He had a habit of muddling her thoughts when he was so close.
He reached out, holding her at arms’ length. He studied her intently and refused to waiver. “Something troubles ye and I will have the reason now. ’Tisnae a request.” When his eyes suddenly filled with a fierce sparkling, she stared wordlessly. Her heart pounded and her voice would not come. “Rosalia,” Ciaran warned, his vexation was evident.
Her eyes quickly darted around the room. “I-I-I… I cannae.”
“Cannae or willnae?” His tone demanded an answer. She remained silent in a futile attempt to find the words she wanted to speak when his anger became a scalding fury. “Damn it to hell, Rosalia! How can I help ye if ye donna trust me to tell me what troubles ye? I thought we were beyond this.”
When she lifted her trembling hands in a defensive gesture and cowered before him, it infuriated him even more. “I have ne’er raised my hand to a lass, let alone ye. The fact ye even think I would strike ye… I give ye nay reason to fear me, but your lack of trust in me is disconcerting.” He worked off his anger by pacing.
A wave of apprehension swept through her, and she attempted to clutch his hand. “Ciaran, please.” Pulling his hand free of hers, he continued to storm back and forth, throwing heated looks her way. Nervously, she ran her hands through her tresses. “Ciaran, this isnae—please, come and sit,” she offered, gesturing to the chair.
A sudden icy contempt flashed in his eyes and he smirked but, to her relief, eventually took a seat.
He glared at her, frowning.
Rosalia hesitated, torn by conflicting emotions. She wondered if she should confess her doubts to him. Now it was her turn to pace. “I meant nay offense to ye. When ye raised your voice, my body only reacted as I am accustomed,” she explained. Taking a deep breath, she tried to relax, but his expression was thunderous. His angry gaze swung over her and he continued to clench his jaw.
A tense silence enveloped the room.
She stopped in front of him, easing into a smile when he simply raised his brow and folded his arms over his chest. Why did men have to be so frustrating? He was as stubborn as James. In an attempt to calm him, she knelt before him and reached out for his hands.
“Ciaran, I know ye wouldnae strike me. I honestly donna have control over how my body reacts. I have had a thrashing so many times that I come to expect it. My apologies if I offended ye and I meant nay disrespect. I do trust ye. I trust ye with all of my heart.” She caressed his hands with her fingers.
“But nae enough to tell me the reason of what troubles ye,” he said, coolly disapproving. “Ye say that ye trust me and yet ye donna.”
Rosalia bit the inside of her cheek, attempting to have more time to weigh her options as Beathag’s warning replayed in her mind. She did not understand all of what was between them, but of this, she had
no doubt. She truly cared for Ciaran and did not want him hurt, or perhaps worse. If she told him the truth, would he believe her? If something happened to him, could she forgive herself because she did not tell him? Placing her head down on his thigh, she moaned in total frustration, feeling his muscular leg immediately tense. After a moment, she lifted her head.
His head was leaned back and his eyes were closed. Slowly and hazily, he opened his eyes and smiled. “I think it best if ye sit in the chair, Rosalia.”
Out of all the responses she thought to get, that was not one of them.
She sat in the chair, and began, “Ciaran, I do trust ye. I have caused ye enough concern and if I speak to ye on this matter, I may bring naught but trouble to your door.”
Pausing, he gazed at her speculatively. “And why donna ye let me decide? I am listening, sweeting,” he said gently.
She cast her eyes downward, playing with the fabric of her skirts. “I will speak with ye as long as ye promise me we will speak on this and ye willnae bellow at me. I will have your word, Ciaran MacGregor.”
“Ye have my word.”
***
When Ciaran watched Rosalia cower before him, he had to willfully rein his temper. After all he had been though with her, it infuriated him that she would think he would strike her. When she explained she did not shy away from him intentionally, he felt some relief. At least they were speaking now. He knew he would have the tale of what was troubling her eventually.
It took nearly an hour’s time for him to pull the entire tale from her. He was aware that Beathag had played her tricks, but he had had no idea she would threaten Rosalia. This changed matters completely. As promised, he did not bellow. He merely sat and listened while Rosalia spoke of Beathag’s tangled web. In fact, his only thought was that Beathag would be removed and banished from Glenorchy. Where she traveled, he cared not. He looked forward to having such a conversation. After all, he did give her fair warning and he was a man of his word.
“Ciaran, ye have barely spoken. Will ye tell me what ye are thinking?”
He frowned. “What I am thinking? My thoughts are quite clear, I assure ye. Beathag will be removed from Glenorchy.” He would see to it that Rosalia no longer had to worry about her.
She stirred uneasily in the chair. “But Dunnehl’s men—”
“Arenae your concern. I told ye nay harm will come to ye while ye are within my walls.”
Rosalia’s eyes widened with concern. “Aye, but ye cannae stop them from coming to your gates. I am concerned for ye, Ciaran.” Glancing down, she studied her hands. “Mayhap we should travel to Glengarry soon and I can seek protection from my family. I cannae put ye and your family in danger.”
He rose and knelt down before her. Clutching her hand, he raised it tenderly to his lips. “Nay one threatens me or mine. Ye are under my protection, and I will see to it that nay harm comes to ye.”
Pushing him away, she jerked to her feet with a purpose. “I release ye from any duty ye feel toward me.”
He laughed as if sincerely amused. “Release me? What is this ye speak?” He stood up and folded his arms over his chest.
She took an abrupt step toward him. “Ye found me and cared for me. Ye offered to escort me to Glengarry. Ye donna have a duty to protect me, Ciaran MacGregor.”
He mimicked her stance. “I donna have a duty to protect ye, Rosalia Armstrong. I do so willingly.” He had to admit that he did not understand where any of this was coming from. Why would she even think he would not offer her protection?
She swiveled quickly, turning her back on him. Approaching the window, she stared blankly out at the loch. “Why?”
He came close and turned her toward him. His fingers trailed down her temple. “Ye donna know?” he asked searchingly.
Rosalia cleared her throat, pretending not to be affected. “Nay, I donna.”
Slowly and seductively, his gaze slid downward. “I… care for ye.”
A look of disappointment passed over her features. “As ye cared for Beathag?” she asked thickly.
Ciaran straightened to his full height as if he’d received a strong blow across the face. “I didnae care for Beathag.”
“Pray excuse me if I donna understand, my laird. Ye say ye didnae care for Beathag, but ye speak the same words to me as ye spoke to her,” she said in a clipped tone.
“Pray excuse me if I donna understand, my lady. I tell ye I didnae care for Beathag, but ye donna trust the words I speak,” he repeated in the same clipped tone.
Rosalia’s eyes were clouded with tears. “Ciaran, she said ye told her she was beautiful, and ye tell me the same,” she cried, wiping her falling tears. “I donna understand why ye would tell me. She is beautiful and I know I donna look… as her.”
This was her concern? Rosalia was nothing like Beathag. Why would she ever compare herself with her? How in the hell could he make her understand the difference? He placed his head to hers. “What men speak in the throes of passion are simply empty words to satisfy their lust. What a man speaks to someone he loves are meaningful words to bring her into his heart.” Pulling back, Ciaran smiled, wiping her falling tears. “Donna ye know ye are in my heart, sweeting? I lov… er, care for ye deeply and ye are beautiful.”
Eleven
Ciaran swung open the bedchamber door. If Seumas was surprised to see him in Rosalia’s chamber, his expression did not show it. “My laird, two riders are at the front gates and insist to speak with only ye. They also have a woman traveling with them.”
“Aye.” Ciaran turned his head around. “Ye stay here until I speak to ye otherwise.” His voice was low and commanding.
The man simply muddled Rosalia’s mind. Now that he took his leave, she was on safer ground and could pull her drifting thoughts together. She could not keep doing this. She had left Mangerton to create a new life, and she could not do it successfully if she kept dwelling upon the future or the past. She needed to stay focused on the present to put things into perspective. Although Ciaran spoke the words, they were only that—words. She needed to cease analyzing everything.
Seumas appeared at the door to her bedchamber with a grim look upon his face. “My lady, our laird requests your presence in his solar at once.”
“Of course, Seumas. Is everything all right?” She was unable to mask the nervousness in her voice.
He escorted her down the hall. “I donna know, my lady.”
Seumas knocked on the solar door and Ciaran bade him enter. Opening the door, Seumas gave her a reassuring smile.
“Lass, there is someone here to see ye.” Ciaran’s smile was almost apologetic.
He stepped aside as Duncan and Ealasaid rose from their chairs. “Och, lass. Ciamar a tha sibh?” How are you? Ealasaid cried. Her face split into a wide grin, and then Rosalia ran into her arms and wept aloud with relief. Ealasaid was everything that was good and pure in this world, and her mere presence brought Rosalia the support she so desperately needed. She did not even realize how much she had needed her until now.
Ealasaid rubbed her hand over Rosalia’s short tresses. “There, there, lassie. Ealasaid is here,” she spoke in a soft and clear, soothing voice.
A strong hand rubbed Rosalia’s back as she reluctantly pulled away, wiping her tears. Those same hands turned her and pulled her into a crushing embrace. “Duncan,” Rosalia cried.
He held her the circle of his arms. “Och, lass. ’Tis so good to see ye. We have missed ye overmuch.”
Giving them both a warm smile, Rosalia embraced them again at the same time. She did not want to let them go. “I am so joyful to see ye, but I donna understand how ye are here.”
Ciaran placed his hand on her shoulder. “’Tis a long tale. Why donna we all sit, and Duncan will explain.” Ciaran gestured to the chairs, and everyone composed themselves and took their seats. Pulling
her cut tresses away from her face, Rosalia tucked unruly strands behind her ear. She must look quite the sight.
Clearing his throat, Duncan spoke hesitantly. “Lass, ’tis nay easy way to speak what I must, but I will try.” There was a pensive shimmer in the shadow of his eyes. Giving him a reassuring smile, she nodded for him to continue. Wiping his brow, he cast a nervous glance. “When James returned with Lord Dunnehl’s men…” He paused, looking away from her.
As his expression darkened with an unreadable emotion, Rosalia stirred uneasily in the chair. “Duncan, what has happened? Is James well?” Her voice faded into a hushed whisper.
“James is fine, lass.” He hesitated another moment and his face was closed. “Lord Dunnehl became enraged when they couldnae find ye and accused your father of trying to cheat him out of coin. He… your father is dead, lass,” Duncan said solemnly.
The color drained from her face. “What?” she exclaimed, rubbing her hand over her forehead. Her father was dead—dead because Dunnehl killed him and dead because of her. She stammered in bewilderment. “Tha mi duilich.” I am sorry.
Strong arms pulled her up and embraced her. “Rosalia,” Ciaran murmured. “’Tisnae your fault, sweeting.” He rubbed her back. “’Tis but what happens when you try to make a deal with the Diabhal.” Devil.
Her mind was spinning. “Chan eil mi a’ tuigsinn.” I do not understand. “Why would Dunnehl kill Father? I am the one who ran and I am the one…”
Ealasaid rose, placing her hand at Rosalia’s back. “Och, lassie. Ye arenae at fault. Ye know there was nay coin in the coffers, and your father and mother would have done anything to fill them. If it wasnae your father, it would have been ye—of that, I have nay doubt, my sweet lass.”
Ciaran gently rubbed Rosalia arms. “Look at me,” he said in a calming voice. “Tha mi duilich, Rosalia, but I know what ye are thinking and I want ye to cease. Ye arenae at fault. Ye knew ye couldnae stay there as much as ye couldnae have wed Dunnehl.” His gaze was steady.
She nodded her head, in a daze. “I know, but I cannot fathom that my father was killed by the English beast. I didnae think he would hold Father responsible for—”
Temptation in a Kilt Page 17