Temptation in a Kilt

by Victoria Roberts

  “Take the chance, Rosalia,” she said in an encouraging tone.

  She inclined her head in a small gesture of thanks and walked briskly away with a purpose.

  ***

  Ciaran reviewed the accounts in his solar and his mind fought for clarity. The harder he tried to ignore the truth, the more it persisted.

  Declan would not change.

  As far as he knew, his brother had not wenched within his walls, but as of late, he was deeper in his cups. And to think, there was a time when he’d believed his youngest brother had finally straightened his path. That only lasted for as long as the blink of an eye. When had his life become a bitter battle of the wills? Sitting back in his chair, Ciaran ran his hand through his hair and sighed. This is not how he wanted things to be. His vow weighed on him, choking him. He had no choice but to take Rosalia to Glengarry. It was a bitter decision.

  “How goes it, Brother?” asked Aiden, walking into the solar.

  Ciaran straightened, his mouth pulled into a sour grin. “Nae well.” Aiden sat down casually and studied his brother, waiting for him to continue. “I will be taking my leave to Glengarry by the end of the sennight and ye will act in my stead. The accounts are in order, and I trust ye to keep watchful eyes on the border. I donna know if the Campbell vermin plot, but I want us to plan in case they do.” He knew he sounded curt, abstracted. Frankly, he did not care.

  Aiden stared at him with complete surprise upon his face. Leaning forward, he rested his arm on the desk. “Do ye think that wise, Brother? I mean to say, I thought ye cared for Rosalia and would make her your—”

  “Declan doesnae change his ways.” Ciaran ground out the words between his teeth. “And ye cannae say ye havenae seen him back in his cups as of late.”

  “Aye. ’Tis only because of Mother’s death,” said Aiden.

  “’Tis always because of Mother’s death. He doesnae cease. ’Tis nay easy decision for me to make, but ’tis my decision.”

  His brother smirked. “And what of Rosalia? What does she say of your decision?”

  “I havenae yet spoken to Rosalia. She knows naught,” Ciaran simply stated.

  Aiden raised his brow questioningly. “And when were ye going to speak to her, Brother? The morn ye take your leave?”

  Ciaran rose, not appreciating the tone in Aiden’s voice. “That isnae your concern, but ’tis best to speak upon it at the last moment—for everyone.”

  “For ye or for Rosalia?”

  “My decision is made,” he repeated firmly.

  He shook his head. “So ye say.”

  “So I say.” Ciaran’s annoyance increased when his brother rose, blocking his escape to the door. He knew the family had grown fond of her, but this was difficult for him. He did not need Aiden rubbing salt in an open wound.

  Aiden’s expression stilled and grew serious. “For being a great laird, ye can also be so daft. The two of ye have been inseparable for months. She doesnae walk past ye without ye giving her a raking gaze. Ye care for her and ye cannae tell me ye donna.”

  Taking a step away from his brother before he throttled him, Ciaran ran his hand through his hair. “It doesnae matter what I feel for Rosalia.”

  “’Tis where ye are verra wrong, Brother. It does matter how ye feel for the lass. If ye love her, ye wouldnae take her to Glengarry. Ye wouldnae let her take her leave. Ye would fight for her. Ye would make her yours,” he said with determination.

  Aiden had not made a promise to his father. Had he done so, he would have done the same as Ciaran was doing. “I made a vow to Father and I will honor my word,” he said curtly.

  “Aye, the bloody vow. How many times must we speak to this? Father didnae want ye to cease your life only to look after Declan. Declan chooses his own path, and he is a grown man whether ye admit it or nae. Donna let the love of your life go, Ciaran,” Aidan said in a raised and angered voice.

  Love of his life? He had to admit that he cared deeply for Rosalia, but love of his life? At one time he believed he could have made her his wife, but his vow was not fulfilled. And he would honor his vow. He grew tired of Aiden’s prodding. “Aiden,” he warned.

  “Ye donna listen to reason. I see the way ye look at Rosalia. ’Tis the same way I look at Aisling. Can ye imagine Rosalia with another? Can ye imagine yourself without her in your life? Ye take her to Glengarry and there is nay taking her back. Think this through. She will be gone from your life, Ciaran,” he said tersely. “Any blind fool can see ye love her. Just ask yourself if ye can live without her.”

  Ciaran strode to the door. “I willnae discuss this with ye again. My decision is made and ’tis final.” He almost made it through the door when, almost as a second thought, Aiden spoke. Ciaran stilled at the tone of his brother’s voice. It was ice cold and coolly disapproving.

  “Ye are going to lose the only woman ye have ever truly loved.”

  Ciaran hesitated and a muscle quivered at his jaw. How many times must he have this conversation? Aiden was aware of his commitment to his father. He’d given his word. His word was his bond. His word was—everything. It did not matter what he did or did not feel for Rosalia. All he knew for certain was that he did not want to spend the rest of his days listening to his brother’s lectures on finding a wife—or letting one go. He knew his duty. His father had taught him well.

  With increasing intensity, Ciaran raised his voice. This time, he would ensure that his brother understood his purpose. “For the last time… I donna love Rosalia, and I will take her to Glengarry at the end of the sennight.” As he turned on his heel and thundered through the door, azure eyes stared back at him, glittering with raw hurt.

  Rosalia…

  ***

  Ciaran stopped dead in front of her. He attempted to pull her into his embrace, but she withdrew from his arms and moved to the right.

  “Rosalia…”

  She froze, mind and body benumbed. How could she be so foolish? She swallowed hard and squared her shoulders. “Pray excuse me.”

  Aiden stepped from the doorway and reached out, grabbing Ciaran’s arm. “Donna…”

  Rosalia ran at lightning speed, so distraught she did not recognize anyone in her path. A few servants scrambled out of her way on the stairs as she flew past them and down the hall. The first thing she did when she entered her bedchamber was latch the adjoining door.

  Her pride had been seriously bruised by Ciaran’s open declaration and she was intensely humiliated. After spending so much time together and sitting every eve in front of the fire, she’d actually believed they were closer than ever. Closer? She was a fool. They were never further apart. It seemed they even disagreed on the very nature and meaning of love.

  Love? Who was she fooling? Ciaran did not love her at all. She shuddered, thinking of his warm kisses and the way he touched her. All of those moments meant naught. She meant nothing to him. In fact, she meant nothing more to him than—Beathag.

  Her sorrow was a huge, painful knot inside. All of those months of pure heartfelt pleasure now left her with nothing but bitter memories. Her sense of loss was now beyond tears. There was only one detail that continued to surface—the undeniable and heartbreaking fact that Ciaran simply did not love her.

  Fourteen

  Someone knocked at her door. Maybe if she ignored it, they would walk away. All Rosalia needed was to be left alone with her misery to accompany her, but apparently she was not going to get that. A few seconds later, there was another rap. Surely Ciaran was not foolish enough to attempt such a feat.

  “My lady? I come from the village. Our laird’s brother needs ye,” a young boy whispered through the door. Reluctantly rising from the bed, she swung open the door to find a young lad standing sheepishly before her. His tousled head glanced down the hall and back, and his clothes were dirty and torn. His hazel eyes darted ner
vously back and forth before her. “My lady? I come from the village. Our laird’s brother told me to seek ye out.”

  She raised her brow questioningly and folded her arms over her chest. “Declan?”

  He nodded. “Aye, my lady. He told me to seek ye out when ye were alone. He made me say these words over and over until I got ’em right. I am to speak them to ye the same as he told me.” She waved her hand for him to continue and he held a determined look upon his features. “I am deep in my cups. I had a mishap with my horse and my clothes are bloody, but I am well. I need ye to grab clothing from my chamber and bring it to me in the treeline south of the cabhsair. Donna speak of this to anyone lest Ciaran has my head. Please make haste.”

  Rosalia closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Did she not just tell him to have a care? Now the rogue involved her in his debauchery. She would be sure to give him a piece of her mind when she saw him. How would she be able to bring him clothes undetected? She would have to sneak like a thief in the night. If Ciaran ever discovered Declan deep in his cups again, there would be bloodshed. No matter her feelings toward his lairdship, at the moment, she still cared about Declan. She would not want anyone to face Ciaran’s wrath.

  The lad continued to study her, shifting from foot to foot. Declan’s reckless behavior certainly was not his fault. She approached her trunk and pulled out her sack. Opening the pouch, she reached in and grabbed a coin. When she spun around to give it to the boy, he was gone. Declan probably had already paid him for his trouble. She tossed the bag back into her trunk and slammed the lid. Although Ciaran’s words hurt her beyond belief, she did not like deceiving him. The sooner she got this over with, the better. One thing was for certain. Declan would receive an earful. How could he place her in the middle of his carelessness?

  She donned her cloak and opened the door. Observing no one in the hall, she stepped out and gently shut the door. As discreetly as she could, she walked to Declan’s chamber. Giving one last look down both sides of the hall to ensure no one was about, she entered. Latching the door with a soft click, Rosalia leaned back against it, breathing a sigh of relief no one had seen her.

  Rummaging through his trunk, she searched until she found trews and a tunic. Pulling them out, she stuffed them underneath her cloak. Her mission was complete. It was time to take her leave. She did not want to remain in his chamber any longer than what was required. Cracking open the door, she peeked through the slit. If anyone saw her, she would have a lot of explaining to do. Not hearing or seeing anyone in the hall, she stepped out and silently shut the door. Rosalia glanced around sharply and breathed in a deep sigh of relief. She had made it.

  Almost.

  Turning on her heel, she bumped straight into Aisling, who held Teàrlach with an unreadable expression upon her features. Rosalia tried desperately to mask her guilt. God’s teeth! What other reason would she have for being in Declan’s chamber other than the obvious? She needed to think, but any plausible explanation escaped her. They both froze in a stunned tableau.

  Trying not to panic, Rosalia smiled at her sheepishly. “Aisling. ’Tisnae as ye think.”

  Aisling shook her head, her eyes widening in astonishment. “And what do ye think I am thinking when ye sneak out of Declan’s chamber?”

  This was not going well. Surely Aisling knew she would never let Declan woo her let alone… Before she had a chance to respond, Aisling stormed past her. She was reaching for the latch of Declan’s door when Rosalia spoke in a rush of words. “He isnae in there.”

  Aisling glanced at her in nonbelief. “Then ye willnae mind if I look for myself.” She pushed open the door and walked in. Studying his chamber, she cast a puzzled look. “Declan isnae here.”

  Rosalia met her accusing eyes without flinching. “As I stated,” she said sternly.

  Aisling studied her. “Then what were ye doing in his chamber?” Entering the room, Rosalia closed the door. She unfastened her cloak and pulled out Declan’s clothes. “Are those Declan’s?” asked Aisling, lowering her gaze in confusion.

  Rosalia sighed. “Aye. Ye willnae believe what he did now.” When she hastily explained the entire tale, they both flinched. At least Aisling no longer wanted to kill her. Now she had her sights on someone else entirely.

  “I say we bring him his clothes and take him to task. He expects ye, but he willnae expect the both of us. If he is deep in his cups then I am sure his head aches.” Aisling paused as she plotted against him. “We may as well get some enjoyment out of this. Let us nae speak of this to the men. There would be a battle for sure since Declan was daft enough to call upon ye. Come.” She opened the door and pushed Rosalia through. “We will take Teàrlach, and if anyone asks, we go for a walk. Mayhap we should take his clothes and leave him bare as the day he was born.” She giggled. “I think he would be daft enough to fall for something as that.”

  “He would deserve it.” Rosalia chuckled. She tried to push back the ache of how much she would truly miss Aisling. She had become as a sister to her.

  As they walked through the bailey, Aiden yelled after them. “Wife? Where are ye going?” He ran up beside them and Rosalia caught herself glancing uneasily over her shoulder. She had not seen him since Ciaran’s open declaration. She cast her eyes downward.

  “We go for a walk,” Aisling said, kissing Teàrlach on the head.

  He rubbed Teàrlach’s curls. “Can I come along?”

  “Nay,” Aisling simply stated. When he looked as if he would question her further, she quickly added, “Ye see, I got my monthly courses, and Rosalia and I—”

  He quickly waved her off. “I donna have to come. I will see ye later.” They started to walk away when Aiden cleared his throat. “Aisling?”

  “Aye, Husband?” she asked, turning around with a look of innocence.

  “Stay to the front of the loch. If ye journey further, ye will need an escort. Ciaran doesnae want any of ye too far away.” He gave Rosalia a compassionate smile and turned away.

  Aisling giggled. “Ye are right, Rosalia. They run away as quickly as they can when ye mention monthly courses or birthing. I will remember to use that again.”

  They walked across the cabhsair and continued to walk south. Approaching the treeline, they looked for Declan. “I donna see him. Declan, are ye here?” Rosalia shouted.

  “Over here!”

  Aisling nodded toward the trees and they walked into a heavily wooden area. Everything was silent and they did not even hear a cracking tree branch. Standing quietly with the exception of Teàrlach’s cooing, they searched the area and still did not see him.

  Rosalia shouted again. “Declan? Where are ye?”

  “Over here!”

  Aisling’s skirts became tangled in some branches. “Och, he is going to get a good thrashing when I see him,” she bit out, tugging at her skirts and balancing Teàrlach in her arms.

  Rosalia helped Aisling to clear her skirts and turned her head around. “I still donna see him. Declan!” she shouted louder.

  “Shh! Over here!”

  They dredged further into the trees, pulling their skirts out from under the branches and thistles along the way. She finally spotted his mount. As they approached, he was sprawled out upon the ground. Blood smeared his face and head, and he was motionless.

  Rosalia dashed to his side. She placed her hand under his head, which she found was wet with blood. “Och, Declan.”

  “I thought the lad told ye he wasnae hurt,” said Aisling. Her tone held a degree of warmth and concern.

  “He did,” Rosalia said worriedly.

  Declan moaned and started to move. “Declan.” She gently shook him. “Can ye hear me? Declan, ’tis Rosalia.”

  “Rosalia? What are ye doing here?” he asked with a glazed expression, disoriented.

  She hesitated, blinking with bafflement. “What am I doin
g here? Ye sent the lad from the village, ye big oaf. Aisling and Teàrlach are here as well. Ye called out to me only a moment ago to tell me where ye were. Ye donna remember?”

  He lifted his hand to reach for his head and then noticed his blood. “Nay.”

  “Donna try to move,” said Aisling. “Mayhap he is injured in the head.”

  “Aisling? What are ye doing here?” he slurred, staring at her, perplexed.

  “Ye called for Rosalia and I came with her.” She cast Rosalia a look of concern.

  Sitting up abruptly, he reached for his head and screamed in pain. “Take your leave. Now!” he bellowed, grabbing his head in agony.

  They regarded him with searching gravity and were halted by the tone of his voice. “What? We willnae leave ye here,” said Rosalia. Perhaps he’d hit his head harder than they thought.

  “I didnae call upon Rosalia! Run!”

  Without warning, a hand closed over Rosalia’s right shoulder and something was thrown over her. That was the last she remembered before everything went black.

  ***

  Declan was swimming in a haze of confusion. He fought through the cobwebs, shaking his head in an attempt for clarity. Called for Rosalia? He did not call for Rosalia. Why would he call for Rosalia? And why was Aisling here with Teàrlach?

  God’s teeth! It was a trap!

  He sat up abruptly, trying to ignore the shooting pain through his skull. “Take your leave. Now!” he screamed, grabbing his head in pain. Why were they not listening to him?

  A man sprang out of the brush and threw a sack over Rosalia. He knocked her on the back of the head, and she fell to the ground instantly with a heavy thud. Declan felt like his heart was being torn out and shown to him. He was pulling himself clumsily to his feet, ignoring the shooting pain, when someone dropped him to his knees from behind. He raised his head as one of the men ripped Teàrlach from Aisling’s arms. Another man covered her with a sack, knocking her motionless to the ground.