Page 4 of The Laird’s Guardian Angel (Highland Lairds #3)

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" W hat are ye doing here?" Chief Ramsey stumbled to his feet, the missive he'd been reading falling to the side of the old chair he'd been sitting on.

The wood planks of the worn floor creaked beneath his feet.

For nearly fifteen years, he'd thought his wife was dead, that his daughter had been taken from him too. Having not heard a word, he'd feared the worst. The missive he'd gotten from his wife's cousin after she'd run off had said the two of them passed in a riding accident. All of his worst fears had come true at that moment. A wife gone. His precious daughter joining her wee brother in the heavens. All he'd loved, he'd lost.

Until today.

Fifteen years ago, it had not occurred to Chief Ramsey to question the missive or its contents or the sender. He'd never heard of a cousin named Adam, but he'd been too struck with grief to think otherwise. Too overcome to dare to cross the border. Not that he could have. He would have been killed, and all for naught.

Except now, come to find out the missive, the cousin, the contents, all fake.

His wife had been alive—and was now dead.

His daughter was alive and upstairs asleep.

And now, standing before him was the man who wanted to take her from him all over again. How might his life have been different if he'd chased after Mary and Calliope when he had the chance?

"You know very well why I'm here." The Englishman rolled his eyes as if speaking to Ramsey was such an annoyance. An effort to remain civil was pointless. The pitch of his vulgar accent grated on Ramsey's ears.

"Explain it to me again." Ramsey indicated the flagon of ale, wishing he'd had the foresight to keep a poisoned goblet on hand just in case. He would have gained great satisfaction from seeing this arsehole writhing on the ground in pain as the last of his breath left his body.

Being near the border of England, it wasn't unusual for him to meet with English noblemen. In fact, he'd agreed to have his men relieve the Sinclair army near the River Tweed in the morning. The first six had already left to relieve them, and he and the rest of his men would follow.

The Sassenach standing before him was no different than any of the men he planned to stop at the border come dawn. Well, actually, perhaps there was part of him that was different. He didn't have the squeamish spine that most Sassenachs had. Nay, this maggot stood tall and superior as if he had something to gloat about.

"Time to pay the piper." The Englishman nodded to his two cronies, who lurked like blackbirds behind their leader, waiting for the leftovers after he plucked out his prey's eyes.

Well, Ramsey wasn't going to be the prey. Not today. Not ever. And he was damned well going to keep his eyes.

For all the temper he'd hidden from his daughter, he let it unleash now. "Ye'll need to leave, else I flay ye where ye stand."

The Englishman actually chuckled, shaking his head as if Ramsey were just a child. "I plan to, old man, never you fear about that. But first, you'll need to get me what I came for."

"She's not here." Ramsey flexed his fingers, sliding one hand subtly toward the long dagger he kept at his hip. If the man even tried…

English raised a brow, a smirk curling his stupid lips. "Is that a fact? Then why was I told she was?"

"By whom?" Ramsey already knew who, however. That bloody sack of rotting guts had practically run out of the great hall after depositing the girl—well, she was really a woman now, wasn't she?—into the keep. He'd not seen her since she was six years old, and now she was a woman. Though despite the years she'd been gone from him, he recognized the stubborn tilt of her chin, the set of her shoulders. He was grateful that for all of Mary's strict nagging his wife had not been able to erase the spirit from his daughter.

"Let us not pretend that you do not know. It is a game you will lose, and I will grow tired of." English dusted his hands as if wiping away Ramsey, the conversation, the very reason for being here.

The eloquence and bored tone of his unwanted visitor irritated Ramsey. He grimaced, his lips peeling away from his teeth. Back in his day, business was done differently. Men would pick up their weapons, or simply use their fists, and accords would be met by way of beating each other into submission. He might have been a good score older than this welp, but he could take him, he was sure.

Perhaps it was time to bring back some of that age-old wisdom and show the bastard that he meant to change the accord.

He'd only just gotten his daughter back, there was no way in hell he was going to let her go that easily.

Quick as a whip, despite his age, Ramsey drew his dagger.