Page 156 of Taming the Highland Misfits

Ramsay wanted to be the man whom she could trust, whose shoulder she could cry on when she had to, and the man who made her laugh. He wanted to be the one who stood up for her if she felt threatened, and even fight for her if he had to. Most of all, he wanted to be her shelter, her home, the place she felt safe and cherished.

Ailsa was the part of him he had not known he was missing. He realised that he had only been half alive before; she completed him, and he wanted her to know that. He did not know if she shared his feelings, but he thought she might have some affection for him. If only she felt the same as he did!

They both jerked out of their reverie when they heard a sudden clamour coming from the entrance to the cells. Ailsa sat up and then listened to the commotion for a few moments longer before she stood up, intending to see what was going on.

“Be careful,” Ramsay warned, as he watched her open the cell door and pass out of his sight.

Ailsa ran to the place where the prison guards usually sat, but there was only one man there, and she realised that the noise had been caused by half a dozen sets of booted feet running up the stairs.

“What is happening?” she asked the solitary guard urgently. “Why is everyone panicking?”

The man opened his mouth to answer her, but at that moment the Laird came rushing downstairs with a contingent of half a dozen more armed men beside him. He swept past Ailsa and unhooked a set of keys from the rack on the wall, then hurried down to Ramsay’s cell, which he opened quickly.

“Da!” Ailsa cried as he pulled Ramsay out of his cell none too gently. “Where are you taking him?”

“The Ormonds have come here with an army,” the Laird said harshly. “Larry Jamieson is demanding Ramsay and John Ormond back again, so I am going to give them to him.”

“But you can’t do that,” Ailsa cried. “They will kill him!”

“And if I don’t they will start yet another war with us.” Her father’s voice was grimmer than Ailsa had ever heard it sound before, and it sent a chill through her.

However, at that moment, Ramsay spoke up. “Ailsa, let me go,” he said gently. “This is what I knew would happen, and I am not afraid anymore. I have resigned myself to my fate, and I deserve it. I should not have allowed John to put himself in such danger, or you, for that matter. This is for the best.”

Suddenly one of his men called the Laird away for a moment and he cursed, then dashed away, beckoning the rest of his men to go with him. He gave Ailsa and Ramsay a last warning glance over his shoulder, and a moment later they were alone. Ailsa stepped towards him and reached out a hand to clasp Ramsay’s. It was so big compared to her own and she could feel the roughness of his skin as he closed his fingers around hers, yet he was so gentle. Almost against her will, she closed the distance between them, drawn by the same invisible force that both of them had felt from the beginning of their relationship. She wondered fleetingly if they should try to escape, but her father was nothing if not thorough. Every exit from the castle would be bristling with guards.

Ramsay felt her touch before their bodies made contact, Ailsa stepped into his arms and her body pressed against his. Oh, god, this was wonderful. If only…

Then all rational thought ceased as he closed his arms around her.

The first touch of Ramsay’s mouth on hers was like nothing Ailsa had ever felt before. As his lips caressed hers, so gently but so sensually, she felt herself ascending to another plane of existence, a place where there was no one but the two of them, locked in this heavenly embrace.

Ramsay was not surprised at the softness of Ailsa’s lips, which yielded to the pressure of his own without persuasion. He teased her mouth open gently with the tip of his tongue and found that she tasted as sweet as honey, as he had known she would.

Ailsa was a little shocked to feel Ramsay’s tongue in her mouth, but no more than a few seconds later she began to stroke his with her own, lost in pleasure. She heard him give a little groan, and when she took a step forward her body pressed even closer to his, she felt the bulge of his arousal against her.

Her own body was beginning to respond in its own way, flooding her with moisture and a sweet, fluttering pulse between her legs. It was glorious.

The kiss was timeless; there was no past, no future, only this moment. The past was behind them and the future did not yet exist; there was only now, and the feel of their lips caressing each other with pleasure and love.

How long it lasted neither of them knew, but it had to end, and as they drew apart reality came crashing back to overwhelm them again.

Ramsay was about to be snatched away from her again, Ailsa realised, and he would have to face some as yet unknown punishment which she could not bear to think about.

As he looked down at Ailsa, Ramsay tried to commit each one of her features to memory, because he knew it would be the last time he would ever see her. He would never hear her deep, husky woman’s voice, look into her bright green eyes, or see the smile that had always looked like the sun coming out. Worst of all, he would never hold her again; this had been their first and last kiss, and he would have to treasure its memory for whatever time he had left, for there would never be another.

The Laird came striding back down the corridor and ordered one of the guards to take Ramsay by the arm. As he was led away, Ramsay gave Ailsa one last look over his shoulder and as he moved out of her sight, Ailsa could feel her heart break.

13

The Laird emerged from the main entrance to the castle and stood, tall and dignified, staring out at the Ormond men who were standing staring defiantly back at him. “Who is your leader?” he called.

“I am,” Larry rode forward, a fierce scowl on his face. “I am Larry Ormond Jamieson, Laird Broderick Ormond’s nephew, and I demand that you release my cousins or our peace negotiations will be over.”

He dismounted from his horse and marched towards Malcolm McBain, a fierce frown on his face. This was the man who had broken his mother’s heart, and at that moment he would happily have run him through with the sword he was carrying by his side.

“Your cousins will be here in a moment,” Laird McBain said calmly. “And I would like to speak to Laird Ormond myself before I enter into any further conversation. I have no doubt that you are quite a capable substitute, but your uncle and I know each other well.”

Larry felt like a young boy who had just been put in his place by his father. For a moment, he stood as still as a statue, and his face curled into a fierce scowl; it looked as though he might leap at Malcolm McBain and try to close his hands around his throat. Then his gaze moved behind the Laird to where Ramsay was being led out to meet him.