Page 21 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
They waited for another half an hour, during which time Lady Davina took up the embroidery she had been working on and Ailsa paced the room. Even though she was tired, she was propelled by a strange, dark restlessness.
When she heard the door opening, Ailsa whipped around and her gaze met that of a pair of brown eyes so dark they were almost black. Kenneth Anderson was a startling-looking man, with a shock of red hair and a beard of the same colour. He was almost as tall as John and Ramsay Ormond, and just as powerfully built, but he had an air of barely-veiled aggression about him.
For a moment, Ailsa was mesmerised by his penetrating gaze till she realised that he was giving her a very subtle, but suggestive look. She turned quickly to her father, who was holding onto Kenneth Anderson’s arm as if he was going to try to escape. He had done nothing wrong as far as she knew, but he had a bad reputation for fighting.
The Laird sat down behind his desk and poured himself, Ailsa, and Lady Davina, a glass of wine. Then he sat casually back on his chair and put his feet on the desk before putting his hands behind his head and looking up at the other man. It was a position of complete dominance, one which told Kenneth in no uncertain terms who was in charge. He stared up at the guard for a few moments till the other man began to squirm a little, then, without taking his eyes off Anderson, he straightened up in his chair.
“You brought the letter summoning Ailsa down to the Braeburn, did you not?” he asked.
“Aye, M’Laird,” Anderson answered. “I did.” His reply came easily, without any trace of guilt or evasion. In fact, he seemed relieved to have given his answer.
“I see,” the Laird said evenly. “Can you tell me who gave you the letter? The truth, mind. Anything else will land you in very deep trouble.”
The other man shrugged and frowned. He knew the Laird was a man of his word. “I dinnae doubt it, M’Laird,” he said. “It was Ramsay Ormond, the bastard son o’ Laird Ormond o’ Balmuir. I would know him anywhere. I was on patrol when he shouted at me tae stop, then gave me the letter.”
The Laird carried on staring at him for a while longer, and Ailsa came up behind her father to put her hands on his shoulders. “Are you absolutely sure, Anderson?” she asked again. She could hear her voice trembling; she did not want Ramsay to be a criminal.
“Aye, Mistress,” he answered. “Even if I couldnae see him, he has that deep voice that ye couldnae mistake for anybody else’s. Aye, it was him all right.”
Ailsa felt like weeping. Either Ramsay was a superb actor, one who could turn fits of weeping on and off like a spigot, or the man in front of her was a consummate liar; they could not both be true.
She started as she realised that her father was speaking to her. “Where is Ramsay Ormond now?” he asked sharply.
Ailsa felt as though the words were being dragged out of her as she answered; “He is in the ruined cottage next to the Braeburn with John’s body.” She looked at her father with tears in her eyes. “Please do not punish him for this, Da. It is not his doing; he is devastated by the loss of his brother, and he is not lying. He would never have done anything to put John’s life in danger. He loved him.”
The Laird ignored her. “He must be found.” He got to his feet and faced Kenneth Anderson. “You, stay here in the guards’ quarters and do not go anywhere or I will put you in the dungeon.” He turned back to Ailsa and Lady Davina. “I am going to fetch Ramsay Ormond and find out just what he knows.”
Ailsa caught him by the arm. “No, Da!” she cried. “By all means bring John’s body back here, but Ramsay has done nothing wrong.”
The Laird glared at her and shook his arm free. “If he is innocent, then he has nothing to fear,” he said flatly. He turned and walked out, leaving Ailsa to stare at the door as it closed behind him.
If only I could warn him,she thought despairingly, then she cast the thought aside. Fate would take its course, and there was nothing she could do about it.
9
Every time Ramsay touched his brother’s hand it became cooler, until after a few hours it was as cold as the air around him. However, the body beside him was no longer John, Ramsay reminded himself, since his spirit had vanished, and he almost breathed a sigh of relief. At least he could sit beside what was left of his brother and not worry that he was suffering.
Ramsay had always been doubtful about the idea of a paradise populated by angels, good spirits, and a benevolent deity, but now he hoped that everything he had been taught in childhood was true. He loved the thought of John sitting looking down on him from above, hopefully protecting him, keeping him safe in a way that Ramsay had not been able to do for him.
Oh, John,he whispered,what am I going to do without you?He felt tears running down his cheeks again, but this time he did not try to stop them.
One moment he had been sitting amongst the trees almost beginning to relax, till the next second the crashing of hooves through the trees and the twang of the bow propelled him into a nightmare. He could hardly bear to think of the battle he had fought with the masked figure, and he cursed himself for not having killed him. Still, he had wounded the killer, and wounds were often perilous in themselves in cases where infection set in.
He had killed once before, Ramsay remembered, although it had been in self-defence. He had been only sixteen years old when a bandit had attacked John and him when they were out riding together.
* * *
They had sneaked out of the castle without an armed and mounted escort since the sun had come out for the first time in a week and they wanted to make the most of it. This was something they were strictly forbidden to do since John would have made a very good hostage for whom the bandits could command a sizable ransom. Ramsay was completely expendable, of course; Laird Ormond would neither pay for him nor mourn his death.
However, just as they were almost at the burn, three horsemen came out of the trees, one on each side of them and one behind them. It was clear that they meant the brothers no good because they were all wearing masks, waving swords, and yelling obscenities at the top of their voices.
Ramsay and John had been taught well, though. They split up and moved in different directions, and then they attacked the third horseman together, wounding him by knocking him from his horse, which galloped away.
Then they took each of the others and began to wage war on them singly. The bandits had not expected to be challenged. They usually relied on the element of surprise and the fear of their victims to overpower them, yet they had little skill with swords and the advantage of surprise had been lost. They were dealing with two men who had both had the same training as soldiers, and they were unprepared.
John managed to chase his opponent away, but Ramsay’s adversary was a lot more tenacious and raised his sword against him. Ramsay could not see the man’s face through his mask, but his brows were drawn down over thunderous dark eyes. Ramsay had discarded fear for anger by this time. “Go, while you still can, you piece of slime!” he roared.
“Make me, ye toffee-nosed swine,” the bandit replied. He pulled back on his horse’s reins so that it reared up and its sharp hooves passed only inches from Ramsay’s face. At that moment John came up behind the outlaw and tried to bring his sword down on the man’s shoulder, but he made his horse dance away out of range.
