Page 49 of The Laird's Wicked Game
The location of the individual he’d long fantasized about killing.
He hated Jack even more than he did Loch Maclean. Loch’s cousin had crossed him on two occasions. The first was when he, Loch, and Finn MacDonald had bested him and his friends in a fight at the Craignure Inn nearly five years earlier—an incident that had resulted in Ramsay’s banishment.
The second time had been a year afterward. Ramsay and his fellow outcasts had been living rough in the glens and hills south of Ben Mòr when they stumbled across Jack and a woman. The Mackinnon clan-chief’s daughter had tried to get them to help her, with some tale about how Jack had abducted her.Ramsay hadn’t cared. He’d tried to abduct Tara so that he and his friends could all take their turns plowing her, but Jack had stopped them.
Riding away, injured, with his friends lying dead behind him, had been a bitter gall to swallow. Ramsay had nursed his hatred ever since.
“Ye didn’t know, did ye?” Tormod leaned close, his handsome features tightening.
Ramsay didn’t reply.
“Jack has done well for himself. He’s grown indispensable to his brother … and wedded a clan-chief’s daughter … Tara Mackinnon.”
Heat started to pulse in Ramsay’s gut.
Jack and Tara. He wanted revenge upon them both.
Curse it, he was sober now. It was as if all the mead he’d downed tonight had been water. Gaze narrowing, he fixed Tormod with a long, hard look. “What do ye want?”
“Dounarwyse broch and all its lands.”
Ramsay stared at him a moment before laughter broke free. Likewise, his men guffawed around him. But the laird’s nephew’s smile faded.
His stillness was unnerving, and Ramsay’s mirth quickly died away. “And why?”
“Let's say that, like ye, I have a score to settle. I intend to put the laird of Dounarwyse and his smug brother to the sword and rule in their stead.” Tormod halted then, his mouth twisting. “It would be fitting, for a MacDougall to take Dounarwyse … for it was my forefathers who built that broch, not the Macleans.”
Ramsay shook his head. He didn’t care who’d built Dounarwyse. As much as he wanted Jack Maclean dead—and as much as he’d love to make Tara his whore as an additional punishment—he lived in the real world, unlike MacDougall. The fool’s arrogance was something to behold. “Christ’s blood,” he growled. “What did Rae Maclean do … steal yer woman?”
Tormod’s eyes glinted. “It doesn’t matter. All ye need to know is that I will have vengeance … and Dounarwyse.”
“Many have tried and failed to take that broch, lad.” One of Ramsay’s men pointed out. “What makes ye think ye can?”
Tormod swiveled slowly, his gaze raking over the warrior who’d spoken. “While I was living at Dounarwyse, I made it my business to learn its secrets.” His attention flicked back to Ramsay. “And I discovered a hidden way into the fortress.”
Silence settled at the table, everyone’s attention riveted upon the newcomer now.
Ramsay’s crew had been ill-tempered of late.The Night Plundererhad never been caught—but Leod Maclean’s death and the loss of all the coin he was hoarding on their behalf had left a sour taste in everyone’s mouth, as had their failed attempt to rob Moy Castle’s strong room. News would have spread that the Ghost Raiders were men, not wraiths, and soon folk would see them as nothing more than guised pirates. Things had gone ill this past summer for Ramsay and his crew, and they’d all been wondering what the future held.
But Tormod MacDougall had gotten their attention.
“Aye?” Ramsay said finally, his tone veiled. “And what’s that?”
“A storm drain inside the eastern curtain wall,” Tormod replied, his mouth curving once more. “Most castles don’t have them … but Dounarwyse gets lashed with rain every spring and risks flooding otherwise. The drain is only opened once a year though … during early spring when the rains come.” He paused then, his gaze never leaving Ramsay’s. “The tunnel empties out on the rocks beneath the broch. I climbed up it last spring when we lifted the iron hatch. It’s narrow, and ye must contend with flowing water when it rains, but wide enough for men to navigate in single file. Ye can crawl the tunnel at first, and then ye must climb. The rock is rough though, and it’s easy enough to find hand holds.”
Another silence followed this explanation.
Ramsay considered Tormod’s words, turning them over and over before replying, “Ye make it sound easy … but it can’t be.”
“Easier than ye’d think.” The warrior flashed him another toothy smile. “We’ll spend the next months recruiting more raiders … and then, once winter ends, we shall sail into a perfect storm. Heavy rains. Guards tired after winter. Shortening nights. I know the broch’s routines, the movements of the servants and the guards … and the layout of the tower house.” He leaned in once more. “If we time it right, Dounarwyse will be ours.”
Ramsay quirked an eyebrow. “Ours?”
Tormod shrugged. “All right,mine. But if ye agree to help me take the broch, I shall give ye half of any wealth we find.” His eyes gleamed. “And ye can take yer pick from the women too.”
Moments passed after this declaration. Meanwhile, Ramsay’s mind worked furiously.
He could have it all. Revenge against the Macleans. Jack Maclean’s head. His enemy’s spitfire wife chained to his bed—and enough coin to set him up for life.