Temptation in a Kilt by Victoria Roberts Page A

of the Royal army as vassal to the Earl of Ross. When the leaders of the army were rewarded, Glenorchy was bestowed upon us.”
    “And they still continue to fight for it after all this time?”
    “Aye. Who hurt ye, Rosalia?”
    She took another swig of ale. “’Tis a question that has nay easy answer,” she repeated in the same mocking tone.
    “’Tis your turn to answer.”
    “Aye. ’Tisnae a pleasant tale to tell to recollect,” she moaned into her hands.
    “Take all the time ye need.”
    She raised her head and smiled at him. “Ye are too kind, my laird… Ciaran…by far.”
    There was a moment of silence and Rosalia found it hard to focus. “The family coffers are near to empty so I was to be bargained to an English lord in order for Mother and Father to obtain a heavy purse.” A heaviness centered in her chest.
    They exchanged a subtle look of amusement as Ciaran waited for her to continue.
    “Verra well. Mother and Father give me a strong hand—a verra strong hand. I gave the English peacock a chance and discovered he was the foulest of beasts. There was also a tale that he killed his own brother for coin. When I told Mother and Father I refused to wed this man… ye can see for yourself.” Her voice did not quite reflect the agony she felt. “I travel to Glengarry to seek my seanmhair, but the gods were kind enough to put ye in the path of my journey, Ciaran MacGregor. I will have a chance to heal and will be able to continue, thanks to ye.”
    ***
    Ciaran’s mind was racing with questions. Her own mother and father had caused these bruises? Glengarry? The Highland weather this time of year was unpredictable. Was the lass completely daft? He had known something untoward had befallen her and he still was uncertain he had the entire tale. He shifted in his chair and his heart pounded through his chest, a mixture of anger and respect overwhelming him.
    “Ciaran, I donna feel so well.” Rosalia rubbed her hands over her eyes. “Could we seek our beds now?”
    He exchanged a smile with her. “Of course, lass.” He rose and grabbed the back of her chair. “Donna stand too quickly, Rosalia.” She put her hands on his arms and tried to pull herself up, barely able to balance on her own two feet. He steadied her and she glanced up at him with trusting eyes—eyes that were the color of the sea. A man could easily drown in them.
    “Ciaran.” Raising her hand, she placed it on his cheek.
    He closed his eyes and leaned into her hand. When he opened them, she looked at him so intensely. Her short, cut tresses fell into her face and he brushed them back behind her ear. What was he thinking? Rosalia was injured and, no thanks to him, in her cups. He could not take advantage of her weakened state. Instinctively, Ciaran glanced down at her parted lips, and all sense of reason deserted him. The next he knew, he was bending his head slowly forward as she closed her eyes.
    His lips gently brushed hers. She melted into his chest, her fingers squeezing the muscles on his arms. She wrapped her arms around him and he deepened the kiss. When Rosalia let out a mewling sound, he pulled back. The last he wanted was to cause her pain. He kissed her bruised cheek and then kissed her on the top of her head.
    She pulled back slightly and raised her fingertip to her lips. “I need to sit before I fall.”
    “Come,” he said. He helped her into bed and covered her with a blanket. Sitting beside her on the edge of the bed, he again brushed her tresses away from her face. When he glanced down, she was watching him.
    “Please donna pity me, Ciaran. From ye, I donna think I could bear it.”
    Ciaran gave her a warm smile and bent down and brushed his lips with hers. “’Tisnae pity ye see upon my face, Rosalia.” He rubbed his thumb on her bruised cheek. “Now ye sleep.” He bent over and kissed the top of her head. He stood and gave her one last look before he blew out the candles and sought the floor. What the hell