Page 27 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
Moira had just spotted her son, Larry, walking across the courtyard and called out to him. “Have you seen John?” she asked, striding towards him.
Larry frowned, his dark brows shadowing his blue-grey eyes. He was tall and lanky with his mother’s curly dark hair but without her delicate features. He was not ugly, but his nose was rather too big for his face and slightly aquiline, so he was by no means as strikingly attractive as his cousins. This provided yet another reason for Larry to hate them and especially Ramsay.
Now he looked at his mother and shrugged. “I have not seen any sign of him,” he answered. “Or Ramsay.”
Moira tutted and flapped her hand. “I am not at all worried about Ramsay,” she said irritably. “Unless he has put John in harm’s way. If he has, I will make him wish he had never been born.”
Larry was not brave enough to argue with his mother. “What would you like me to do?” he asked.
“I would like you to join the guards and look for John,” she replied grimly. “If you cannot find him, go and see if you can find that mongrel brother of his so that I can interrogate him myself.” She was almost hoping that scenario would happen; she would love to have found a way to belittle Ramsay Ormond.
“I will do as you say, Mother,” he answered. “But you know that he and John will have a good story ready.”
“I am aware of that,” she said grimly, “but whatever John says, I know that this display of utter rudeness and disrespect was Ramsay’s fault and nothing will convince me otherwise. If you cannot find him in his room, search it. Every inch of it; cupboards, drawers, under the bed. Lift the floorboards if you have to. Here is the key.”
She handed him a big heavy iron key, then whipped around and marched away inside the castle, leaving Larry to watch her until she disappeared. Sometimes his mother scared him, but he had no choice but to obey her, especially now.
He headed for the guards’ quarters and stopped in the common room where they all ate and drank, then looked around him. There were a dozen or so men there talking, eating and drinking, and generally taking their ease, but all of them looked up when Larry entered. Seeing him in their part of the castle was a very unusual occurrence, and a hum of curious chatter started at once.
“Has anyone seen John and Ramsay Ormond?” Larry’s voice was loud and authoritative, and he did not have to wait long before several voices piped up at once in a chorus of denials.
“They are probably still in bed, Master Ormond,” one of the men said. “I dinnae think anybody has seen them.”
Larry looked around the room one more time with narrow, suspicious eyes as if to assure himself that everyone was telling the truth before he asked the directions to John’s and Ramsay’s rooms. He made short work of both their chambers, then returned to find his mother.
She was standing in the middle of the big entrance to the Great Hall and looked up hopefully when she saw her son.
“I found this in John’s room,” he told her, handing her a piece of parchment.
Moira looked at the letter that John had received, apparently from Ailsa, and frowned deeply. “This must be from the McBains,” she growled softly. “Perhaps an attempt to lure John out so that they could ambush him.” Her voice was tremulous as if she could not really believe what she was saying.
“To what end?” Larry asked, sounding puzzled.
“I don’t know,” his mother replied, scanning the paper again. “But he would make a very valuable hostage. Perhaps he has been kidnapped by the McBains and we can expect a ransom demand soon.” Then she shook her head. “No. Surely they are not stupid enough to do something like this?”
“What about Ramsay?” Larry asked. “He is missing too.”
“What about Ramsay?” Moira’s voice was contemptuous. “He would probably be in league with the McBains, and even if he were not, his fate is unimportant.”
Larry said nothing to this but looked around the Great Hall, which was now almost empty. Moira went over to the Laird and drew him aside for a moment.
“We cannot find any sign of them anywhere,” she murmured, then she produced the letter. “This was sent by Ailsa McBain. Look at the signature. She was trying to lure John into a trap, I’ll wager.”
“Then where is Ramsay?” Laird Ormond looked anxious about his other son too, a thing which was almost unheard of.
“As I told Larry,” Moira said irritably as if she was talking to an idiot, “he is likely in league with them. Perhaps they have promised him a bride, or a monetary award, or a property somewhere—who knows? Why are you even worried? You have never cared about his fate before.”
The Laird said nothing more but turned to the few of his guests who were still sitting waiting for his attention. “Forgive me, gentlemen.” His voice was apologetic. “But my sons seem to have been unavoidably detained. I hope the food and wine you enjoyed made up for your wasted time.”
He felt embarrassed, worried, and furious all at once, but the strongest of these emotions was anxiety; indeed, it was almost terror. What if something had happened to his boys? He was an old man, and would likely die of grief, and despite his age, he was not yet ready to die. He wanted to see at least one grandson first.
As well as that, he had no wish to let his property pass out of his direct bloodline and into the hands of Larry Jamieson. Laird Ormond had no particular dislike for the young man apart from the fact that he was not his direct descendant.
He jerked his mind back to the present moment. “Tell the garrison to assemble,” he told Larry. “We are going to find John and Ramsay and bring them back, and I think the first place we should start is Mulrigg Castle.”
“Are you sure, Uncle?” Larry was doubtful. “Surely a show of force now would look like a declaration of war? It might set back months of negotiations.”
The Laird turned and stared at him. “Are you with me or against me?” he asked angrily.
