Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  “The fire spread right quick. We ran into the stable, and Ian was trying to get all the animals out. We tried to help him, but he ordered Eallie and me to take our leave. He wouldnae leave the animals until every last one was out. My Ian was a gentle soul and ne’er hurt anyone. I donna understand why they killed him!”

  Cylan approached and embraced Mary and Eallie. “My laird, I will take them to my cottage if ye donna mind. They have been through much this day,” she said sympathetically. He nodded his head in consent, and as Cylan led them away, Mary and Eallie looked back at Ian’s lifeless body. Cries of grief made Ciaran shiver to his very core.

  He walked to the men who were still trying to douse the fire. He glanced at Ian. “Someone cover him with a blanket,” he coughed out. One of the men draped a blanket over the stable hand’s body, and Ciaran nodded for Aiden to gather the men close. He tried to speak, but his voice was failing him. He nodded for Aiden to take the lead.

  “I speak on behalf of our laird. Three riders encroached on Glenorchy lands and murdered one of our own. Rest assured they will be repaid in blood,” Aiden bit out as the crowd screamed for vengeance. “If any of ye saw these riders or know from where they hail, I ask ye to step forward.” He and Ciaran glanced over the crowd, and most of villagers shook their heads in disgust.

  “I saw ’em, my laird!” A lad stepped forward.

  “Come forward,” said Aiden.

  Ciaran walked to the boy and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Ye saw the men who did this?” he choked out.

  “John!”

  Cylan’s husband pushed through the crowd and stood behind the boy. “John is my nephew. He stays with Cylan and me as of late.” He turned the boy to face him. “I want ye to think and I want ye to tell our laird everything ye can remember—everything, John. Donna think something is unimportant. Speak everything ye know.”

  John nodded his head in understanding and faced Ciaran. “I did see ’em, my laird. I saw ’em approach from that way,” he said, gesturing with his finger. “They rode in fast and there was three of ’em, there was. They didnae get off their horses. They threw something at the stable and then set it afire with a torch, they did!”

  “Did ye see anything else?” Ciaran rasped out, trying to catch a breath.

  “Did they ride out in the same direction?” Aiden countered.

  “Aye. They rode out as fast as they came in—bloody Campbell cowards,” the lad snarled.

  Ciaran and Aiden exchanged a carefully guarded look, neither one of them wanting to confirm or deny John’s claim. The bloody Campbells were a pain in the arse with their petty reiving, but there was never bloodshed. He would need to be damn sure the Campbells were behind this feat or he would start a bloody war.

  “John, ’tis verra important. I want ye to tell me…” He coughed again uncontrollably and Aiden intervened.

  “John, how do ye know it was the Campbells?” asked Aiden.

  “I can spot them Campbells from far away I can. My Da told me to watch out for ’em. He hated the bastards!” he spat.

  “John,” said Cylan’s husband in a reprimanding tone.

  “But he did, Uncle!” John shook his head in confirmation.

  Ciaran cleared his burning throat. “John, how do ye know it was the Campbells?”

  He huffed, shifting from foot to foot. “My laird, they wore the Campbell colors of blue, green, and black, and I heard ’em yell ‘Cruachan’ with my own ears, I did. I know that is the cry of ’em bastard Campbells! I told ye my Da hated the bastards, he did!” He smiled sheepishly at his uncle. “My apologies, Uncle.”

  John’s uncle squeezed his shoulder. “Would ye be needing anything else, my laird?”

  “Nay, I have heard enough,” Ciaran bit out.

  Reaching out, Aiden patted the boy on the shoulder. “Ye did good, lad.” John’s uncle escorted him away and Ciaran pulled Aiden close.

  “We donna discuss this matter here,” he whispered.

  Aiden nodded his head in agreement and glanced to Ian. “We need to seek the priest and have a proper burial.” As if a second thought crossed his mind, he added, “Should we send out scouts?”

  “Nay. They are gone and have crawled back under the rock from which they came.”

  ***

  The noon meal came and went, and when the men did not return from the village, Declan ordered a few of the guards, including Seumas, to ride to the village and locate their laird. Rosalia and Aisling continued to keep themselves occupied with Teàrlach, neither one of them wanting to admit to the other that they were worried about Ciaran and Aiden.

  “Why donna we go to the kitchen and mayhap Ealasaid will show us how to make her biscuits?” Rosalia asked.

  “’Tis a wonderful distraction,” countered Aisling.

  When they entered the kitchen, Ealasaid was sitting at the table making bread. Rosalia inhaled deeply and patted her on the shoulder. “It smells wonderful.”

  “Thank ye, lass,” she said, glancing up from the table. Ealasaid looked over Rosalia’s shoulder, spotting Aisling and Teàrlach. “I didnae know Lady Aisling was here as well with her wee bairn. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “We thought that mayhap ye would show us how to make your biscuits.”

  Ealasaid laughed. “Ye want me to show ye and Lady Aisling how to make my biscuits? Lass, ye ne’er showed interest in making them, only eating them,” she giggled. “Why would ye want to learn now?”

  “Well,” she paused, glancing down at her hands. “Truth be told, the men took their leave early this morn and said they would return for the midday meal. They havenae yet returned and ’tis well past the noon meal. We are attempting to occupy our thoughts.”

  “Lass,” Ealasaid addressed them both, her voice reassuring. “I am sure your men are well and they know how to take care. Ye donna need to know how to make biscuits.” She patted Rosalia’s hand. “I will be able to occupy your thoughts.” Ealasaid rose, wiping her hands on a cloth. She pulled out the bench for them to sit. “Ye both sit.” They plopped down on the bench, grateful for the distraction. Ealasaid cut a couple of slices of warm bread and placed them on a trencher before the two women. “Food is always much comfort.”

  Ealasaid went to check on the other loaves, and Duncan entered through the other side of the kitchen. Having a mouthful of bread, Rosalia was unable to greet him. If his actions were any indication, he did not see them sitting at the table.

  He approached Ealasaid with a roguish grin upon his face. When he squeezed her bottom, she squealed in surprise, turning around and swatting at him with a cloth. “Och, I love it when ye hit me,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

  “Duncan!” she squeaked. “Lady Rosalia and Lady Aisling are here!” She nodded toward the table.

  He turned several shades of red, but he approached the table and smiled. “Lady Rosalia. Lady Aisling.” This was certainly a welcome distraction. Rosalia had always believed that Ealasaid and Duncan shared feelings for each other. Now she knew for certain. Their bantering made her smile. It was obvious they loved each other. She was joyful for them both. Duncan rubbed his hand over Teàrlach’s curls. “And how are ye, laddie?”

  Teàrlach smiled openly, and Aisling rolled her eyes and moaned. “I give up,” she said, nudging Rosalia in the ribs.

  “Probably a wise choice.”

  Everyone froze when there was a sudden ruckus in the great hall. Aisling and Rosalia sprang to their feet and walked briskly into the hall. Ciaran’s guards spoke in raised tones, and angered voices rang out among the men. Impatiently, she scanned the crowd for Ciaran, and when she spotted him, her jaw dropped.

  He was completely blackened from head to toe. He looked as tired and worn as if he had been through a fierce battle. The shock briefly held her immobile, and there was a heavy feeling in the
pit of her stomach. She ran to his side, and he gave her a tired smile. He smelled strongly of smoke and ash. “Och, Ciaran. What has happened? Are ye injured?”

  Turning his head away from her, he coughed uncontrollably. She yelled for a maid to bring him some water. If she could not get answers from Ciaran, she would get them from Aiden.

  “Aiden, what has happened? What has befallen ye?” She tried to mask the panic in her voice.

  “There is much to say, but now isnae the time nor the place.” He frowned, his eyes level under drawn brows.

  Nodding, she spun back to Ciaran. He had finished drinking some water, and his expression was pained. “My laird?” she asked him searchingly.

  Placing his arm over her shoulders, he pulled her close, lowering his lips to her ear. “My voice has failed me. Let me bathe and we will speak. Rest assured I am nae injured. Only my voice suffers, and it should come back in a day or two,” he rasped. Hesitating, he turned his head and coughed again.

  Rosalia nodded her head in consent and assisted Ciaran toward his chamber. He opened his bedchamber door and she followed him in. He turned to smile at her, but his smile did not seem to reach his eyes. He looked so drained. When he attempted to speak, his voice was so raspy that he started to cough again.

  Pulling her close, he whispered into her ear. “Donna worry overmuch. My voice only suffers. I will bathe and then join ye.”

  She studied him thoughtfully for a moment to ensure he was well. “Aye.” She entered her bedchamber through the adjoining door and slumped down on her bed. She was so thankful that Ciaran and Aiden were not injured, but she could not help wondering what had befallen them. Rosalia closed her eyes and prayed it had not been Dunnehl’s men.

  ***

  Ciaran scrubbed himself raw. He could not forget the haunting images of Mary and her daughter as they mourned the loss of a husband and father. Cylan was kindhearted enough to take them in. He would be sure to provide them whatever they needed. He was proud of his clan. They all pulled together. Since the winter solstice was upon them, he needed to ensure that the animals lived and his people would be fed.

  He had to admit that Declan had surprised him. At least he’d had the sense to send out the guard when he and Aiden did not return. He would be sure to tell him he was pleased. Declan had heeded his warning since Ciaran had not seen his brother in his cups for well over a fortnight. That was probably the longest time his brother had kept to a straight path. He was proud of him—well, pleased with both of his brothers. They were dependable and their father had raised them well. After all, family was the most important aspect in life.

  Ciaran finished his bath and dressed. He grabbed some much-needed ale and met Rosalia in her chamber. He had grown accustomed to talking with her in front of the fire. It took all of his strength to take his leave every eve, but he did it—barely.

  “Och, Ciaran. I was worried so. Please tell me ye are well,” Rosalia said, rising to embrace him.

  His arms encircled her, and he placed his chin on the top of her head. “Just let me hold ye,” he whispered. “Ye feel so good to me.” They stood silently until he pulled away and noticed the tray of food.

  “I thought ye might be hungry since ye did not return for the noon meal.” She handed him a chunk of bread.

  “My thanks,” he whispered. He placed the bread back on the table and poured himself a tankard of ale.

  “Do ye think that wise? If your throat is troublesome, mayhap water would be better.”

  “Lass, when ye hear what I have been through this day, ye will understand why I drink ale.” He told her of the fire and Ian’s death. What he did not address was how the fire started and how the bloody Campbells might be responsible.

  They sat in silence and he finished his meal, welcoming the numbness the ale brought. Too bad the bath and the ale did not help him to wash away the day’s events.

  “I feel terrible about Ian,” said Rosalia as she sighed. “How did the fire start?” When he hesitated too long with his response, she repeated the question. “Ciaran?” Leaning forward, she touched his arm. “What is wrong?”

  The lass had become extremely talented at reading his mind, and it was getting much more difficult to keep things from her. But he did not want her having something else to worry about.

  “Please donna tell me it was Dunnehl’s men,” she gasped.

  He immediately grabbed her hands to reassure her. “It wasnae Dunnehl’s men,” he simply stated.

  She had a confused expression upon her face. “It wasnae? If it wasnae Dunnehl’s men, then what happened and what arenae ye telling me?”

  Sitting back in the chair, he rubbed his hand over his brow. He’d had no intention of speaking with her about this and was bewildered when it all came out in one blurted breath. And he did not stop there. In between coughs, he continued to tell her of his past encounters with the bloody Campbells—from their thirst for land, power, and greed to their gaining of King James’s ear.

  “They are full of greed. I will ne’er pretend to understand the ways of men and their need for such power and so much land. Glenorchy is your home, and ye have a right to protect what is yours, Ciaran. The Campbells—my apologies, the bloody Campbells—have so many other lands. Why do they keep attempting to claim Glenorchy?” she asked solemnly.

  “I think I am the only one who takes a stand against the Campbell. I have come to think he enjoys the challenge. As I said, my clan earned Glenorchy and we maintain it by right of sword. I willnae give up my home, but I also donna want to start a war over the mere words of a lad. I need to be certain they were responsible. Of this I am sure, if they were the cause of Ian’s death, there will be bloodshed,” he said sternly. “I willnae put my men in harm’s way until I am certain.”

  “What will ye do?” she asked with a look of concern.

  “I have already spoken to Seumas, and the guard is increased around the borders, should another attempt occur. I donna see another attempt so soon. The bloody Campbell will expect me to increase my guard on the borders.” He sighed. “I have thought on this and will send him a missive on the morrow. If he claims responsibility, blood will be shed, I assure ye,” he said tersely.

  She smiled.

  “What?” he asked her searchingly.

  “Ye are a wise man, Ciaran MacGregor. I think most men would have raised their swords, charged his gates, and nae waited to hear if he was responsible,” she simply stated.

  “And at what cost? Many men would lose their lives foolishly. Many lives have been lost by men rushing into battle with only their hatred or anger to guide them. My father always told me ne’er to act on feeling alone. A planned move is best.”

  “He sounds like a wise man.”

  “He was… the wisest. I am tired of speaking.” He studied her dress and smiled. “’Tis one of your new dresses.”

  “Aye. Ye paid to have these made for me. The least I can do is grant ye the boon to see me in them.”

  “Come,” he said, holding out his hand. She rose, placed her hand into his, and let out a squeal when he quickly pulled her onto his lap. “Ye look beautiful, lass.” He lifted her tresses behind her ear. “The dress suits ye.” She blushed and placed her lips to his. When she pulled back, he growled. “Declan best stay to the path. I donna know how much longer I can bear this torture, Rosalia.”

  “Neither do I, my laird,” she whispered.

  ***

  Archibald Campbell, seventh Earl of Argyll, sat in the great hall and reread the missive that had been delivered a short time earlier. He shook his head in complete aggravation. Out of all the lairds he defeated and all the lands he seized, the MacGregor of Glenorchy was always out of his reach. If he could only claim bordering Glenorchy from that blasted MacGregor, his lands would be massive. Hell, he would own most of Scotland himself and, with King James’s
favor, rule most of it.

  He would be unstoppable.

  There was no reason this scheme should not have worked. After all, he’d killed one of them. His men swore they were seen by some in the village. The MacGregor should have demanded Campbell blood and stormed his gates. He was anxious to see the look upon the MacGregor’s face when he realized he was sorely outnumbered. He wanted him slaughtered to pieces. Perhaps even have his head displayed on a pike. Campbell smiled at the thought but banished it quickly because now the arse had to send him this missive.

  Damn. He needed to provoke the MacGregor into storming his gates so he could kill him and claim his lands. He couldn’t very well do that if the whoreson sent him missives that could be intercepted by King James’s men. King James was tired of the Highland lairds and their squabbles. His Majesty demanded order and the fact that the Campbell personally vowed to enforce peace in the Highlands did not bode well for him if he was to be discovered.

  He sighed as he realized his plan no longer served its purpose. He weighed his options because although he held King James’s ear, he was not sure he could persuade his liege to act in his favor—especially if he replied to the missive admitting such a feat. Hell, either way this scheme was out. The MacGregor was clever. Campbell would give him that.

  Approaching footsteps pulled him from his plotting. “Now will ye listen to reason? I told ye it wouldnae work. He is much too cunning.”

  Another look at the missive and it did not take long for the Earl of Argyll to decide. “I am listening.”

  Thirteen

  Mother Nature was right on cue: the spring equinox arrived and warmed the bitter chill of winter. The winter solstice had brought frigid temperatures along with harsh-blowing winds that cascaded over the loch. Glenorchy had been a desolate blanket of glistening white for far too long. Rosalia could not believe she had actually survived the entire winter at Glenorchy. She was eager to escape outdoors.

  She walked unhurriedly to the stable—as unhurriedly as she could while trying to avoid the mud. She hefted her skirts and lifted her face, enjoying the feel of the sun against her skin. A slight breeze blew against her rosy cheeks and she sighed. She truly welcomed the warmth and vigorousness of spring. She heard laughter and soon realized she was not the only one taking advantage of a warm day.