Page 183 of Taming the Highland Misfits

He rang for the servants to come and take the bath away, but completely ignored them when they arrived, and they left without saying a word. It all seemed so strange; he had always hated being treated like dirt, but he was used to it.

However, now that everyone’s attitude had changed for the better he felt bewildered and uncomfortable. He had always kept the hurt he felt at being constantly belittled inside himself, but now that was not necessary, so it was spewing out like something noxious on everyone who had ever treated him badly. Yet letting out the pain he had dammed up within him did not make him feel better about himself; in fact, he felt worse.

Ramsay sighed heavily and threw himself onto his bed, then burrowed beneath soft woollen blankets that were unlike the usual thin, coarse ones to which he was accustomed. He was utterly exhausted, the events of the day had completely drained him, and in no more than a few moments he was asleep. He slept deeply and dreamlessly until a manservant came to draw the curtains and bring him a cup of warm ale.

“The Laird would like tae see ye in the dinin’ room as soon as ye are ready, Master,” he said.

“Tell him I will be there shortly,” Ramsay replied. He leaped out of bed, washed quickly, and put on some clean but very old clothes, which were all he had. He stood still for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then he left.

It was time to confront his father.

* * *

Had Ramsay but known it, the Laird was just as nervous as he was. When his son came into the room, Broderick Ormond’s eyes widened in surprise, for this was not the Ramsay he knew. This man was cleaner and tidier, to be sure, but he carried himself with more assurance, and when he spoke, his voice had lost its habitual wariness.

“Good morning, M’Laird,” he said politely.

“Please call me Father,” the old man requested with a smile.

“I am not yet ready to do that,” Ramsay answered promptly.

The Laird nodded. “I understand,” he said sadly. “Ramsay, I want you to know how truly sorry I am for everything I have done to you. I will spend the rest of my life trying my best to make it up to you, although I know I can never undo the damage I have done.” He sighed. “Larry Ormond is not fit to tie your shoelaces, never mind inherit this estate, so it is yours, and I am certain you will run it as well as I have, and you know our steward, Angus. He will assist you.”

Ramsay had half-expected this, but the reality struck him so suddenly and forcefully it was akin to receiving a blow to the stomach. For a few moments, he could say nothing, then he found his voice. “I am not sure about this.” His tone was somewhat grim, and the Laird frowned.

“I can settle a sum of money on you,” he offered. “I will only be bringing forward what you receive in my will; you are my sole heir, Ramsay. You will receive everything I have to give.”

Presently, breakfast arrived in the shape of bannocks, black pudding, bacon, and eggs. Ramsay was ravenous, but he needed to be clear about his intentions.

“The mourning period for John lasts another month,” he stated. “I will give you my answer after that time, and not before. Agreed?” He raised his eyebrows in a question.

His father nodded slowly. “In the meantime, our steward will acquaint you with the running of the place.”

Ramsay nodded slowly and began to attack his breakfast with relish. The Laird watched him and wondered how he could have treated his son with such coldness for so many years. Granted, it had caused him great pain to watch Ramsay, for he resembled Nessa so closely it was almost unbearable to look at him sometimes. However, there had been no excuse for his cruelty.

At last, Ramsay sat back, sated, and after a few minutes, he got to his feet.

“Where are you going?” his father asked.

“To change into my uniform,” Ramsay answered. “The Captain of the guard will be furious with me if I am late.”

“Do you think I am going to let you work for a living?” his father asked angrily. “You are my son. You need not work another day in your life if you don’t wish to.”

Ramsay looked at the Laird through narrowed eyes. “I have always been your son,” he declared. “And you treated me with disdain. If I am not going to work I will go and do some reading and thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” the Laird asked, frowning deeply.

“About my future, and where I would like to spend it,” he replied. “It may not be at Balmuir.”

Then he turned and left, leaving Broderick Ormond to stare after him. He was shaken by the whole conversation he had had with Ramsay. He had expected acceptance, and received none; gratitude and he had experienced none.

Perhaps he had left things too late.

24

Ailsa was saying goodbye to the fifth, and hopefully, the last young swain to ask to court her. She sighed as Brian Nelson mounted his dappled grey stallion and rode out of the castle, waving farewell. She was becoming tired of refusing all of them, even though her father had invited them, with the best of intentions, to come and speak to her. The clan needed a strong alliance, even though a fragile truce was holding between the McBains and the Ormonds.

Ailsa reflected what fine attractive and upstanding young men they were, each of them charming, intelligent, and seemingly considerate. Granted, they were not all handsome, but that was the least of her worries; a kind and generous nature was all that mattered.