Page 51 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
“Why would I do that to my brother?” Ramsay asked. “I loved him.”
MacLellan turned to Ramsay. “Speak when you are spoken to,” he said evenly. “You know the rules.”
Ramsay was quiet again, and Ailsa could see the look of triumph in Larry’s eyes.
“You say you loved your brother,” he began again, “I say you did not. I say you hated him. You bore a lifelong grudge against him for being the heir to Balmuir Castle and having all the recognition and respect that you were denied. When he became engaged to Ailsa McBain, a woman you had admired for years, it was the last straw, and you snapped.
You enticed them down to the Braeburn with a fake letter inviting him to a tryst with Ailsa McBain and then you shot my cousin through the heart, but you reckoned without Ailsa’s soft heart and her conscience.
She needed to make things right, and you could not run away from John’s body without making yourself look like a coward. You stayed and pretended to feel guilty for not protecting John so that you would look like a hero in her eyes. No doubt you are hoping to be let off lightly, but I will tell you now, by tomorrow, you are going to have a noose around your neck. I will make sure of it!”
Larry looked at Laird MacLellan, who was making notes on a ledger in front of him. He felt infuriated that the man was so calm, especially when he looked up and asked, “Is that all you have to say, Mr Jamieson? Have you no evidence?”
Larry was startled. Somehow he had been foolish enough to think that his word would be enough. “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to think quickly as he frowned at the judge.
“Physical evidence,” MacLellan replied testily. “Bloodstained clothes? The arrow that killed him?”
Larry shook his head slowly. “None of that was kept, M’Laird,” he answered. He felt utterly foolish and humiliated, and his rage against Ramsay burned even hotter inside him, even though the lack of evidence was not his fault. “I am sorry.”
Laird MacLellan raised his eyebrows, but his expression was inscrutable. “And how do you feel about Mistress McBain?” he asked. “You speak very well of her.”
Larry, remembering what Ailsa had told him earlier about not revealing his feelings, said calmly, “From what I know of her, I think she seems like a fine woman, M’Laird.”
“You have no romantic feelings towards her?” Laird MacLellan asked.
“No,” Larry answered, frowning. “I hardly know her, M’Laird.”
The Laird glanced at Ailsa, who was looking ahead of her at nothing in particular as though she was somewhere else entirely. She wanted to look as calm as possible because she was just about to unleash a firestorm.
“Ramsay Ormond,” Laird MacLellan said. “Did you kill John Ormond?”
Ramsay shook his head firmly. “No, M’Laird,” he replied. “John was my brother and I loved him. He was the only person in this world who showed me any regard at all. Larry and my Aunt Moira despise me.”
“Why?” Laird McLellan asked.
“Because I am illegitimate, M’Laird,” Ramsay answered. His voice held a note of defiance. He was not ashamed of his status and wanted no one to think he was. He had never hidden the fact that he was a bastard, and never would. “And they seem to think it makes me less of a person.”
A murmur of conversation went around the room after he had said this; no doubt some of the assembly was outraged, but Laird MacLellan’s expression did not change.
“I see,” he said evenly. “Do you dislike him because of that?”
“I think it is only natural that I do, M’Laird,” he said honestly. He could have lied and told him that he was indifferent to his cousin, but the judge was not a fool.
He nodded. “Yes, that is so,” he agreed. He looked up into Ramsay’s face for a moment. Laird MacLellan prided himself on being a good judge of human nature, and his instincts told him that the person standing before him was a man of good character.
“I am impressed by your honesty,” he admitted. “You said you loved your brother, but he was always treated better than you were. Would that be enough of a motive to kill him? Were you jealous of him?”
“NO!” Ramsay roared. “John was the only person in the world who gave a damn about me. I would not have harmed a hair on his head, and I would have given my life for him.”
The Laird nodded. “Does anyone else have anything to say?” he asked.
“I do.” Ailsa raised her hand and then stood up. She could see, out of the corner of her eye, that Larry was smiling, and it was all she could do not to stand up and laugh in his face. “I have some evidence here that may help to clear matters up.”
She looked over at Laird Ormond, who was scowling at her. “M’Laird, you have lost one son. Let me help you not to lose another. Ramsay is innocent and must have someone to speak on his behalf. Please. No harm will come of listening to me.”
The Laird paused for a moment, then said, “Speak, Mistress McBain. As you say, it can do no harm, we may find out some things that we did not know about before.”
Ailsa saw Larry and Moira looking at each other in puzzlement. Surely Ailsa had not come here to save Ramsay?
