Page 155 of Taming the Highland Misfits

Laird Malcolm stood up concerned, and moved around the desk to help him. “Calm down, Angus. Get your breath back then you can talk to me.” He poured a small glass of water and made the other man drink it before asking, “What is the matter?”

McGowan straightened up, but his face was still crimson, and it took him a few more seconds before he could speak. “M’Laird,” he spluttered, “there are dozens o’ Ormonds out there an’ one o’ them is the nephew o’ the Laird. He wants tae speak tae ye an’ he says ye must bring his cousins out wi’ ye.”

The Laird paused for a moment, digesting the information. “He has come with his garrison?”

“Aye, M’Laird,” McGowan answered. “There must be over a hundred foot soldiers there, and many more on horses.”

“This truly is a nightmare.” Malcolm was being assailed by a number of conflicting emotions; confusion, surprise, and last but not least, fear. Why had the Ormonds come on the offensive if they wanted peace?

“I know Broderick Ormond well now, I can talk to him. However, I know nothing about Larry Ormond Jamieson at all apart from the fact that he is the Laird’s nephew.” He looked up at Angus McGowan again. “How did he seem to you, Angus?”

Angus was a man in his early fifties who prided himself on being a good judge of character. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly before he spoke. “Well, M’Laird, he seemed like a young man who is very sure o’ himself. He an’ his men didnae stop. They came right through the village without slowin’ down an’ made mincemeat o’ our guards. He will be able tae come intae the castle any time he pleases. We were no’ even able tae get the gate down. We were no’ ready for this. I think ye will have tae handle him carefully. Now, will ye come an’ speak tae him?”

The Laird nodded briskly and began to make for the door, but Lady Davina, who had just entered the room, caught him by the arm, and he looked down into her anxious face.

“Do not put yourself in danger,” she begged. “I could not bear to be without you.”

Laird McBain hugged his wife. “I am not going to war,” he said softly. “Merely to parley, my sweetheart. Be at ease. I love you too.” Then he turned and left before he changed his mind. Lady Davina stood looking at the door for a long time after he had gone and then burst into tears.

* * *

“I do not expect to be here much longer,” Ramsay told Ailsa as they spoke to each other through the bars that separated them.

“Why not?” she asked, puzzled. She was lying next to him, and the only thing keeping them apart was the set of rusty iron bars that separated each cell. She was so close to him that if she had been brave enough she could have reached out, touched him, or even given him a light kiss. The bars would stop her from giving him a much more passionate one, which was torture since her body ached for him. It had been longing for his touch, she realised, ever since the first time she saw him.

Yet now that she feared that he was going to be taken away from her, the yearning was almost desperate. She would give her eye teeth just to be able to put her arms around him and was determined to be standing at the door of his cell when they led him out if that was the only chance she ever got to kiss him.

“The Ormonds will come looking for John,” he replied. “They will find out what happened to him and will blame it on me or the McBains or both of us.

Either way, I cannot see any chance that they will take me back to Balmuir and embrace me as part of the family. They never did before, and if I leave here with them it will be to spend the rest of my natural life in the dungeon or to be hanged straight away. Nobody cares what happens to me, Ailsa.”

“I care,” she answered softly, reaching through the bars to touch his cheek. “I care very much. During the short time we have known each other I have come to admire you for being an honest, generous, and honourable man. Never forget that.”

Ramsay was astonished at the affectionate tone in Ailsa’s voice and the soft light in her bright green eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I never ever thought anyone would ever say something like that to me, Ailsa.” He took her hand and kissed it. “You are the only person, except for John, who has ever believed in me.” His face took on a look of deep sadness, and he lay back on his pallet and looked at the mould-covered roof. This was a horrible place.

“I will always believe in you, Ramsay,” she whispered.

“I do not know anyone else who would deliberately come into a prison cell just to be with me.” He smiled. “You are the one thing that has made this nightmare bearable, Ailsa.”

“And you are the one person who makes my life challenging,” she replied. “I never in my life thought I would be occupying a prison cell, but?—”

Ramsay jerked upright, and fixed her with a horrified stare. “Please don’t stay here if you want to go, Ailsa.”

“No, that is not what I mean,” Ailsa said hastily. “You did not ask me to be here. I came of my own free will, and I’m glad I did because now I know you better, and I would not have missed that opportunity for anything. I can walk out of here any time I want to, but I do not.”

“Thank you, Ailsa,” he whispered, raising her hand to his lips. “That means so much to me.”

They gazed at each other for a long time, each lost in the other’s eyes.

For Ramsay, it was a magical interlude, because despite John’s death he was utterly content at this moment. Later, he knew, the situation would change. Later he would try to go to sleep and would be plagued by nightmares that would not leave him alone, but now, for these few seconds, he was in heaven.

Ramsay was in love. He had never believed that such a thing could happen to him, but by some miracle it had. Somehow, even though he was the illegitimate son of a woman nobody seemed to know, even though he was regarded with contempt by everyone he knew, it had happened to him. He could pinpoint the moment because it had all begun the night he had first seen this beautiful woman in the red dress.

He had never before been able to imagine what love was like; god alone knew, there had been so little of it in his life. He knew what lust was, and he could not lie to himself that he enjoyed that feeling, especially when he satisfied it, but this was far, far more than lust.

Granted, his body yearned for Ailsa—indeed, at that moment his manhood had stiffened as he lay so close to her—but what he was feeling was more than that. He wanted her soul.

Ailsa was everything he had ever dreamed of in a woman; she was generous, loving, and sympathetic. She listened to his sorrows, understood his feelings, and was happy to share her own. As well as that, she was forthright and unafraid to speak her mind, but she could take criticism without suffering from hurt pride.