Free Temptation in a Kilt by Victoria Roberts

car asad! ” she screamed. The devil couldnae get the best of ye!
    His men sat up and he waved them off. Drawing on his experience the night before, Ciaran wrapped his arms around her waist, whispering soothing words into her ear.
    “James! James, please help me! James!” Rosalia yielded to compulsive sobs that shook her.
    “Shh… ’tis me, Ciaran,” he said soothingly. Her eyes flew open, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her body trembled with fear. “Lass, who is James?” Ciaran asked, just before he felt a cold, hard blade at his neck.
    “Me…”

Five
    “Give me reason to slit your throat, ye bloody cur,” James bit out, pressing the blade against Ciaran’s throat. Rosalia slowly pulled away from Ciaran and not so gracefully stood. As she paused to catch her breath, she needed a moment to process the scene before her. James held his sword to Ciaran’s throat with a look of murderous intent upon his face. Calum lay still upon the ground at his post, and a man held a blade at the throat of Seumas as well. She turned her attention back to James as he glowered at Ciaran.
    “James…” Fortunately, no one noticed the tremor in her voice.
    He may have momentarily ceased glowering at Ciaran, but now James glared at her, looking upon her as though she were filthy vermin. “I see ye are well, Lady Rosalia. Where have ye been? Your betrothed anxiously awaits your return.” His curt voice lashed at her.
    She glanced around nervously and recognized some of her father’s men, but not all of them. From her count, there were roughly eight. James had a reputation of prowess on the battlefield, but she prayed she did not have to witness it firsthand. She had to make an attempt to calm him. Ciaran’s life depended on it.
    “James—”
    “Donna speak, wench! Ye have disgraced yourself and your family. ’Tis a wonder Lord Dunnehl still wishes to wed ye.” A chill hung on the edge of his words and he seethed with anger. Ciaran shifted beneath the blade that held him and James whipped his head down. “Donna even attempt escape lest the wench sees your blood spilled upon the ground,” he growled, repositioning the blade at Ciaran’s throat.
    Icy fear twisted around Rosalia’s heart. Why would he not calm down? He was not even giving her a chance to speak. She had to try to soothe his ire. “James—”
    He gave her a hostile glare. “I told ye to cease your tongue, wench !”
    She jumped and panic welled in her throat. She had never seen James so hostile toward her. When she glanced at Ciaran, she saw a lethal calmness in his eyes. Rosalia recognized that steely determination. Blood could not be shed. She had to stop this—now.
    “Howbeit your mother anxiously awaits your return and I am here to see ye safely delivered. Ye will come back with me to wed Lord Dunnehl, but first I must ask ye…” James paused, cocking his head at Ciaran. “Would ye rather me cut off his head for looking at ye or his hands for touching ye?” Lifting his eyes, James gave her a conspiratorial wink.
    The men around her laughed as something clicked in her mind. James would never force her to wed, let alone return her to her mother. She glanced around to see most of the men watching their exchange. It finally dawned on her that James had a plan. Rosalia would follow his lead and play along, but from the coolness in Ciaran’s eyes, the plan had better be a darned good one.
    She grunted and bent to pick up Ciaran’s sword. It was heavier than it looked. How could men lift such things? She raised her head and straightened herself with as much dignity as she could muster.
    “Nay, Rosalia. Donna…” Ciaran murmured, the pressure of the blade cutting off his speech.
    James laughed. “Ye can barely lift the sword. What damage do ye think ye can bestow upon me, wench? A lass with a sword dressed in a man’s clothing. Ye know to strike me with the pointy end right?” When he gazed down at the sword pointed at his manhood, she could