Page 176 of Taming the Highland Misfits

When she realised this, her heart began to pound. Here she was, alone except for her six guards who were far away at the back of the room. If any one of the Ormonds decided to attack her she would be helpless.

But Larry would intervene, would he not?

Ailsa realised that the thoughts which were going through her head were completely irrational, but she was seriously outnumbered and it was terrifying. She had no time to worry anymore, however, since there was a commotion at the entrance to the big room and everyone looked around to see what was going on.

Ailsa gasped with shock. Laird Ormond appeared, but he was only a shell of the man he had been the last time she saw him. Granted, he had always been thin and gaunt, but now his skin was grey and wrinkled, and his slight stoop was so much worse that he looked as though he was bending down. As well as that, he had lost weight, and his hands looked like claws as he leaned heavily on his walking stick, grimacing as if in agony.

Indeed, he was in pain, but not only that of old age and bodily frailty. That was bearable, given the right herbs and potions, but nothing could ease the agony of his grief. Ailsa could not begin to imagine the anguish he was going through. It was bad enough to lose your only son, she thought, but to have another one accused of his murder increased the pain twofold. What a burden he must be carrying!

She watched as he was escorted down to the head of the big table by two of his manservants, who helped him into a chair. One of them poured a small measure of whisky for him and left the bottle by his elbow.

Ailsa looked at it anxiously. The last thing they needed was a drunk Laird falling asleep at the table or losing his temper in the middle of the trial.

Moira must have had the same thought because she went to sit beside Broderick Ormond and put a comforting arm around his shoulders, and then she gave him a reassuring smile. Ailsa could see that despite their other faults, the brother and sister had a close and loving relationship, and it reassured her that they were not as cold and heartless as she had first assumed.

Presently, another disturbance at the door heralded the arrival of Ramsay, who was flanked by two sturdy guards. His hands were shackled in front of him, but Ailsa was proud and pleased to see that he looked defiant and not defeated.

Ramsay was looking around the big room, searching for her, and when he caught her eye they smiled almost imperceptibly at each other. Then, Ramsay was led to the front of the room. He was not offered a seat, but this worked to his advantage since he stood so much taller than everyone else that they looked like dwarves in comparison.

Ramsay squared his shoulders, thrust his chest out, and tilted his chin up. He may have been the worst-dressed man in the room, and the scruffiest, with his ragged beard and tattered clothes, but he exuded a strong defiant dignity.

The judge was Laird MacLellan, whose clan was neutral. The MacLellans never took part in feuds or quarrels with any other families; indeed, they were renowned for their impartiality.

Now Ramsay stood before Laird Andrew MacLellan; a tall, lanky man in his middle years with dark penetrating eyes whose intense gaze most people found very intimidating. Ramsay, however, stood in front of him and stared him straight in the eye until the Laird dropped his gaze to the floor.

“Are you guilty of the crime of which you are accused?” MacLellan asked him.

“No, I am not,” Ramsay replied, his voice firm and steady. “I am innocent.”

Ailsa felt like jumping to her feet and yelling at the judge, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing, using all her willpower to stay silent.

However, there was one person in the room who was not even trying to exercise any willpower, if indeed he had any. Larry Ormond leaped to his feet and yelled, “He is lying! He is as guilty as sin!” He strode to the front of the hall to confront Ramsay, and was just about to unleash a fierce tirade on him when Laird Ormond cried, “Enough!”

For a moment the frail old man was gone, and in his place stood a big, straight-backed, authoritative figure with a dark scowl on his face. “Larry, you will have your turn to speak. Let Ramsay go first and state his case. Now, sit down.”

Larry hesitated for a moment then nodded to his uncle and did as he had been bidden, but not without a venomous glance at his cousin.

Ailsa felt a stab of unholy glee. Larry had just been reprimanded by his uncle as if he were a naughty child and in front of the entire assembly of his clansmen and other people of great influence and standing.He deserves it,she thought viciously.

However, she said nothing as Laird Ormond sat down and once more became the desiccated old man who had entered the room at first.

“I would like to hear from both sides,” Laird MacLellan said, pointedly looking at Larry, “and you will each have ample time to speak. Laurence Jamieson, if I see another outburst like that again I will have you removed. Do you understand?”

“Yes, M’Laird,” he replied sheepishly. “My apologies, M’Laird.”

“Now, will you, Laurence Ormond Jamieson, swear to tell the truth?” he asked.

“I swear that I will tell the truth, M’Laird,” Larry said solemnly, holding up his right hand.

“And do you, Ramsay Ormond, swear to tell the truth?” the Laird asked, looking at Ramsay.

“I swear to tell the truth, M’Laird,” he answered. His deep voice was confident and unwavering, and he looked as though nothing could possibly bother him as the trial began. Nothing could have been further from the truth, however. He was trembling inside.

MacLellan said nothing more but nodded to Larry to indicate that he should go on.

Larry stood up, looking a little calmer than he had before, but when his glance flicked over to Ramsay it was blazing with hatred.

Ramsay stared back, his look mirroring Larry’s, and there was a moment of silence while they strove for dominance. Eventually, Larry dropped his gaze and turned away to face the judge, but he flung out an arm and pointed at Ramsay.