Page 22 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
In dodging John’s sword, however, he impaled himself on Ramsay’s, which went straight through his chest. The bandit looked down at the sword in disbelief for a moment, then looked up at Ramsay before he fell off his horse. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Ramsay stared at him for a long time, frozen in place, unable to believe what he had just done. The man was lying in a tangled heap on the grass, but his eyes were still open and staring sightlessly at the sky.
John rode up beside him and stared at him grimly, then a broad smile crossed his face. “Well done,” he said, patting his brother’s back.
“I just took a life.” Ramsay felt sick, but he made himself dismount from his horse to close the staring eyes. “I cannot see that there is anything good about it.” He passed his hand over the motionless eyelids so that he could no longer see the dead orbs staring at him.
John seemed quite unaffected as he climbed down from his mount and stood over the corpse before tearing its mask off. The man’s face was bearded, with brown eyes, a slightly bent nose, and thin lips; an ordinary face, not evil, not good. His hair was dark brown, long, wavy, and very dirty. He was the kind of man whom he might have walked past in the street and not even noticed.
“He was someone’s son, maybe someone’s father,” Ramsay said bleakly. He could not take his eyes off the dead man at his feet.
John put an arm around his shoulders. “And how many people do you think he has killed?” he asked. His voice was as hard as stone. “If you had not taken his life, he would have taken ours, Ramsay. It was self-defence. You might have taken his life, Brother, but you have likely saved many others.”
They slung the bandit’s body over his horse and took him back to the village of Balmuir, where he was buried the next day in unconsecrated ground. John, of course, received all the credit, even though he insisted vociferously that Ramsay had slain the robber. However, Ramsay wanted no praise. He felt like a murderer, and the sight of the bandit’s dead face haunted his nightmares for months afterward.
* * *
Ramsay had much the same feeling now as he sat beside John. Before, he had killed a man who arguably deserved to die, but despite that, he had felt guilty. Now the guilt he felt was almost overwhelming him. He should have ridden faster. He should have taken the arrow in his own chest. He should have saved John somehow.
He felt rage build up in his heart; not just fury at the monster who had killed his brother, but rage at himself for not being fast enough to intercept the arrow. He should never have let John go out to meet a woman he hardly knew. God alone knew what his father would say when he arrived back at Balmuir; it did not bear thinking about.
Just as the eyes of the dead bandit still haunted him, he knew that the look in John’s eyes would stay with him forever. Yet, whereas the robber was a stranger whose gaze had been blank, John’s last look had been one of love.
I must remember that,Ramsay told himself. He lay down on the straw and closed his eyes. He knew that no sleep would come, though; he would not even try.
He tried to focus on something else instead, and his mind took him back to Ailsa, her gentleness, her sympathy, and her willingness to listen. As well as that, she was beautiful, although he had seen very little of her in the near-darkness. However, he remembered seeing her at the ceilidh in her bright red dress and the emerald necklace that matched her eyes.
Her eyes. He remembered looking into them, mesmerised and almost helpless. It had taken an effort to look away, but he had finally managed it. Nevertheless, when he walked away he had felt her gaze on his back like the touch of a hand.
That was when he heard the noise of rustling foliage, horses’ hooves, and the rumble of men’s voices outside. A moment later the ragged shape of the doorway was filled with the shape of several burly men in the uniform of Mulrigg Castle.
He stood up and charged for the door, hoping that the element of surprise would help him punch a hole in the wall of men in front of him. He had no chance of escaping, though. There were half a dozen McBain guards, so he was heavily outnumbered, and although his instinct was to fight, he simply could not.
The guards took him by both arms and almost dragged him outside, but he resisted for as long as he could, and all the while the same thought went through his head again and again. Ailsa had betrayed him. All the time she had been comforting him and pretending to understand how he felt she had been planning to lead her father’s men straight back to him, knowing that he would not leave John’s side.
“My brother,” Ramsay yelled in panic, trying to look over his shoulder at John’s body. “Don’t leave him here, please!”
“Give yoursel’ peace, lad,” one of the men said gruffly. “We are taking him back tae Mulrigg with us.” He stood aside to let Ramsay see a big farm cart standing ready to receive John’s body. He breathed a great sigh of relief. At least Laird McBain had enough decency not to leave his brother here to rot or be eaten by wild animals.
They lifted John with a surprising amount of gentleness and placed him on a bed of straw before turning to Ramsay again. His hands were bound in front of him and they began to ride back to the castle, and all the way he kept his eyes peeled for an avenue of escape.
He was not really listening to the guards’ conversation, but then he heard his name mentioned and his ears pricked up.
“What’s his name?” one of the men asked, jerking his head at Ramsay.
“Did ye no’ know?” the other laughed. “That is Ramsay Ormond, Laird Ormond’s lad.”
“The bastard?” There was a ripple of laughter.
Ramsay felt a stab of anger. They knew he could hear them, and were waiting for a reaction, but he would not let them have the satisfaction of seeing one, so he kept his face blank.
“Aye,” came the answer. “That’s the one. Is there another?”
The other man laughed. “No’ that I know of,” he replied. “How did ye know it was him?” he was curious.
“One o’ the other lads told us.” The guard’s voice sounded smug. “Kenny Anderson. Seemed tae think he deserved some sort o’ reward. Must be somethin’ big goin’ on!”
It was not Ailsa.He breathed an inner sigh of relief, even while a lump of dread settled in his stomach as he wondered what was in store for him.
