Page 144 of Taming the Highland Misfits

“I see,” Ramsay said dully. “All the more reason for us to find the killer, but how? There is no one I can count on to support me, and I have no resources of my own.” He shrugged in despair.

“You have one person,” Ailsa said firmly. “You have me. I will support you all the way, Ramsay. If you had engineered this situation you would never have deliberately put yourself in the predicament you are in now, so I trust you.”

He sat and stared at her barely visible face. This woman, whose family had been an enemy of his from time immemorial, had just declared that she trusted him. Moreover, she had been so kind to him, so sensitive and understanding, how could he not say the same about her?

Since the first time he saw her, there had been something between them; indeed, there still was, but this time it was not a spark, but a gentle current of attraction and understanding. This woman was not only beautiful; there was an innate goodness and wholesomeness about her that drew him towards her irresistibly. And yet, there was still a niggling doubt somewhere within him.

“Thank you, Ailsa,” he murmured. “But are you sure of that? I would not blame you if you wanted to escape from me as fast as possible. If I were in your shoes?—”

“Which you are not.” Ailsa’s voice was firm. “We are both in the same sticky situation, Ramsay, so let us think of a way out of it.”

What an astonishing woman you are,he thought, almost in disbelief. Many people would have given in to despair or panic, but not Ailsa McBain. She was behaving coolly and rationally despite the circumstances and was thinking about a solution instead of dwelling on the problem.

“If I do not arrive back soon someone will miss me,” Ailsa declared. “So if I return to Mulrigg as if nothing had happened and say that John did not arrive then it will buy us a little more time to make a proper plan.” She looked at the shape on the floor that was the mortal remnant of John Ormond, then before she started to weep again for the loss of his young life, she pulled herself together and stood up.

“Will you stay here with him?” she asked. “I know it will be hard for you.”

“I would not leave him unless I was dragged away,” he replied huskily. “I will stay here to keep the foxes and boars away so that I can still be of some use to him.”

Ailsa nodded. “I will have to clean myself up,” she observed grimly. Her dress was covered in dried blood, and she knew that when she arrived back home it would be fit for nothing but burning. However, now it would have to be washed.

She made to leave the cottage, but Ramsay stopped her. He had changed his mind. A living being would need him more than a dead one.

“I will come with you to help you,” he told her. “After all, John is dead and you are alive. There could be any wild thing hiding in the darkness.”

He took up his sword and they carefully picked their way down to the burn. Once there, Ailsa knelt down, dipped the front skirt of her dress in the water, and scrubbed it between her hands in an effort to dislodge the blood and dirt from the fabric. However, she was hampered by the fact that she could not see what she was doing.

A moment later, Ramsay gathered a small pile of dry grass together and struck a spark from the blade of his sword with a stone, then started a small fire. He pushed a thick twig into it to fashion a makeshift torch and held it out to illuminate the small area in which she was working.

The stain was much worse than Ailsa had anticipated, and although she scrubbed till her hands were beginning to hurt, she made very little headway.

Abruptly, the material was pulled out of her grasp by a much bigger pair of hands than her own. Ramsay handed Ailsa the torch, then took a pebble from the water and began to rub it against the fabric till there was practically no mark left. After that, he wrung the skirt out so tightly that when he was finished, not a single drop of water dripped off it.

“Thank you!” Ailsa looked down at her dress in astonishment. Apart from the damp patch, which she could explain away by making an excuse that she had fallen into the burn, the dress was spotless. “I thought this dress was only fit for the bonfire,” she said in disbelief.

Ramsay smiled for the first time that night. “I’m glad to have saved it,” he remarked. “I was always taught never to waste anything, but you must still be careful when you go back to the castle.”

“I will,” Ailsa answered. She was surprised when he suddenly grasped her hands and squeezed them.

“Thank you,” he said gently.

“For what?” she asked, puzzled.

“For being here with me,” he answered.

“I don’t understand.” Ailsa shook her head in puzzlement. “This would not have happened if it had not been for me.”

“This was not your fault,” he said. “And if whoever did this had not succeeded this time they would have tried something else.”

“I suppose you are right,” she conceded. “But are you not in danger now?”

Ramsay gave a cynical laugh. “Why would anyone want to kill me?” he asked bitterly. “I am no threat to anyone; born out of wedlock, not destined to inherit anything. It would be a waste of a good arrow!”

8

Dawn had broken by the time Ailsa arrived at Mulrigg Castle. Her horse had to be stabled, so she could not creep in quietly. However, she handed the reins to the most junior of the stable lads and slipped him a shilling and crossed her finger over her lips in a gesture that he should stay quiet. The boy nodded and led Maisie away, then Ailsa trudged upstairs to her chamber and threw herself on the bed fully clothed.

She began to think of Ramsay’s last words as she lay on her bed looking up at the ceiling; it must have been dreadful to grow up in an environment where there was absolutely no love and no regard for your feelings. There would have been no one to turn to with problems, no one to give encouragement or help with anything. No wonder he thought so little of himself.