Page 11 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
The Laird made a sound that was almost a snarl. “Sometimes I wish you were the Laird instead of me,” he grumbled. “Do you know how difficult it is to keep the peace between our two families? It is akin to walking along the edge of a knife. Laird McBain may consider it a slight to his honour for me to bring along a son of mine who was born out of wedlock!”
John had almost screamed with rage but managed to control himself. However, his face was so contorted with fury that his father cowered back in his chair, never having seen his son so angry before.
“Do you think that Ramsay wanted to be born a bastard?” he yelled. “Do you think he would have chosen to be one if he had had a say in the matter? It is a curse he has had to live with his whole life and sometimes he finds it almost unbearable. And you, his father, instead of trying to make things easier for him, shun him and pour scorn on him at every opportunity! I am proud to have Ramsay as my brother, and I will defend him to my last breath, but sometimes I am ashamed that you are our father!”
“Do not speak to me like that,” the Laird replied furiously. His face was quite literally turning purple. “I am your father and I deserve respect!”
“You are Ramsay’s too,” John pointed out. “And to get respect, you have to give it.” John was firm. “Now, what is your answer?”
“He can come,” the Laird grunted. “But you are responsible for any trouble that comes from this.”
John gave his father a mock respectful bow and left, leaving Laird Ormond to scowl at his retreating back. He was not used to losing battles.
* * *
Ramsay had heard how hard John had fought for him because one of the servants had heard the argument between him and his father. Consequently, it had spread like wildfire through the servants’ grapevine.
Ramsay was both pleased and sad; glad that John had taken his part but sad that his father thought so little of him, although he should be used to it by now. However, it still hurt, even after all this time.
As he stood in front of his cracked mirror in his best clothes, he tried to persuade himself that he would look as good as all the other men. He was wearing a kilt that was one of John’s hand-me-downs, a tweed jacket that was still respectable enough but had seen better days, and a linen shirt that had magically managed to stay white over the years. His leather shoes had once been shiny but had dulled over the years with constant wear. John had offered to buy him new clothes but he had always refused, insisting that he could provide his own. He did not wish to be thought of as a charity case.
That is the best I can do,he thought and pushed all thoughts of his appearance out of his mind. Little did he know that if he had shown up at the ceilidh dressed in a sack, he would have still outshone every other man in the room.
He strode down the corridor into the Great Hall at Murligg Castle, then almost retreated again as dozens of people turned to look at him curiously.
“Ramsay!” John came up to him, grinning. “Come and have a drink,” he said cheerfully, putting his arm around his brother’s shoulder.
He sounded as though he had already had a few himself, Ramsay thought. He allowed John to get him a glass of wine but sipped it slowly. He had no intention of becoming drunk; he had done it only a few times before and had been so violently ill that he had vowed never to get into that state again.
He danced two dances merely to do his duty, but as he walked away from his second partner, he stopped, mesmerised by the beauty of a certain young woman who seemed to have materialised straight out of his fantasies. She had straight, light brown hair that was gathered into a loose knot at the back of her neck, and her slender but shapely figure was encased in a bright red velvet dress that made a striking contrast to her emerald earrings and necklace.
Her features were a study in perfect beauty, with an oval face, high, sloping cheekbones, and full, ripe lips. However, it was her eyes that dominated and drew attention to her remarkable face. They were almond-shaped, fringed with long dark lashes, and as bright green as spring leaves, and for a moment Ramsay was so riveted that he could not look away.
Then he came back to reality with a jolt as he heard the music begin again, and he turned and strode away, thoroughly shaken. He knew who she was, of course; he was looking at Ailsa McBain, the young woman who would likely be betrothed to John.
He should not even be looking in her direction, he told himself, so he studiously avoided her for the rest of the evening. However, avoiding her at a ceilidh was easy; keeping her out of his dreams would be not merely difficult but impossible.
* * *
Ailsa had been wearing a red dress that night, in contrast to the emerald earrings and necklace that belonged to her mother and had been lent for the occasion. It was her first time in such an august gathering and she was extremely nervous. There seemed to be so many attractive young ladies around who looked far more at ease than she did.
She had no idea how to flirt, and the idea of batting her eyelashes and looking coy frankly disgusted her. However, she did her duty and danced with all the young men who asked her. She knew that she would not be betrothed to any of them, but she kept a smile pasted on her face and did her best to look as though she was having a good time.
Ailsa was just walking off the dance floor when she saw him. Her jaw dropped and her eyes widened at the sight of the most beautiful man she had ever seen. He was so tall that he stood at least half a head above the other men in the room, and had shoulder-length dark glossy hair and piercing grey eyes with thick dark brows that reminded her of birds’ wings. His clothes fitted his muscular form to perfection, although they were not made of the expensive fabrics of the rest of the company. He was different, striking, and almost impossibly handsome.
At almost the same moment he turned and saw her and they froze, looking at each other, for a long moment before he seemed to pull himself together and walked away from her.
Ailsa stood looking after him for a long time before she saw John Ormond. She pasted on her fake smile again and went to meet him. This was the man she expected to marry one day—she supposed she should try to like him, but how could she when her mind was so completely occupied with someone else?
* * *
As they rode back home, Ramsay said firmly: “You will need a guard for tonight.”
“I do not need a nursemaid,” John’s voice was irritable. “I will take a dagger with me, so stop worrying. Honestly, you remind me of our old nanny!”
Ramsay laughed, and then his face grew grave again. “Our old nanny looked after us very well, John, so I am flattered by the comparison, but this is no laughing matter. She could be bringing anyone with her, and you have nothing but her word that she will come alone. How do you know she can be trusted?”
John had no answer for that, so he said nothing.
