Page 53 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
Ramsay had the feeling that if someone—anyone—said a word out of place at this moment they would attack each other in a vicious battle like two cats. There was one question that was still going through his mind, however. What had Moira known about John’s murder? Had she been with Larry when the letters were written? Did she know Molly?
Then the Laird’s voice broke the silence. “Did you know about this, Moira?” he asked. His voice was tremulous; he, obviously, dreaded the answer.
Moira suddenly slumped, defeated. Larry had been her world, and now her world had ended. Nothing was worthwhile anymore as long as she and her son could not be together. She put her face in her hands and nodded, “Yes, I knew.”
Laird Ormond stepped forward and ripped her hands away from her face, then he growled, “How could you, Moira? How could you do such a thing to me? To John?” His face was ashen as he stared at her, and as tears began to run down his cheeks, he suddenly looked, not just like the old man he was, but like a wraith, a shadow of himself.
“My own sister,” he whispered, seemingly unable to find his voice. “I never in my whole life imagined that you could do anything like this to me, or to John.”
“Broderick…” she began, reaching out her arms to her brother, but she got no further, since at that moment a guard came to chain her wrists together.
A murmur of discontent began to rumble around the room from the many members of the Ormond clan who were there. Many of them had never known John, and to see one of their own treated like this made them uncomfortable and angry. Despite there being no logical reason for it, they still wanted to punish Ramsay.
“I will deal with you both later,” the Laird said to Moira and Larry. “Take them downstairs.” He turned his back on them both, since he could not bear to look at them anymore, and summoned one of the guards to remove Ramsay’s chains. “Why did you say you were responsible for John’s death?” he asked.
“Because I knew John.” Ramsay’s voice was sad. “The last thing he would have wanted was a continuation of the war between our two clans, and that was what would have happened if I had done nothing. I never said I killed John, merely that I could not stop him from being killed. I knew that everyone at Balmuir would regard it as being the same thing, and would think I killed him out of jealousy.” His words had an edge of bitterness. He shrugged and sighed, rubbing his chafed wrists, then glanced at Ailsa and smiled. “But one person believed in me; Ailsa McBain.”
“Because you are an honourable man,” Ailsa said, smiling back at him as she moved over to stand by his side. “The best kind of man there is.”
Laird Ormond pulled himself together again with a great effort, then looked at Ramsay, who was smiling down at Ailsa McBain, and he could see the love for each other that shone in both their faces. He was suddenly showered with regrets; he should never have treated Ramsay the way he had. It was obvious to him now that here was a fine man who, despite the indifference and neglect he had suffered his entire life, had managed to rise above it all.
“Can you all sit down, please?” he asked the assembly, looking around to see that they were obeying him. When everyone was seated he took a deep breath and began to speak. “Let me tell you the story of this fine man here.”
He indicated Ramsay, whose eyes widened in surprise. He had never thought to hear such words from his father’s lips. He felt Ailsa slip her hand into his and squeeze it, and even though the atmosphere in the Great Hall was loaded with tension, a sense of peace began to steal over him. Ramsay Ormond was here with his love, Ailsa McBain, and there was no need for them to hide any longer.
Laird Ormond accepted another small measure of whisky before he began to speak. “I was the despair of my parents,” he began. “I never showed any interest in any of the young women they wanted me to court, despite the fact that I knew it was my duty to marry for the family. I never found any of them remotely interesting, and I was enjoying the carefree life of a young bachelor with no responsibilities too much.
However, when my father became ill with consumption, it was obvious that I had to marry, and quickly. By this time I was almost forty, and a bride was found for me.
The young lady’s name was Janice Beattie, and she belonged to one of the more distant branches of the McBains. She was an attractive enough young woman and had a pleasant nature, so I dutifully married her. Neither of us found the other very desirable, but we rubbed along together fairly well, and in time we produced a son, John. From the first moment of his life, both Janice and I adored him, and we might have been very happy for years if I had not done something very foolish.”
He paused for a moment, thinking. “But then, maybe it was not foolish. Maybe it was meant to be. Our housekeeper at that time had just hired a few new maids, and as I was rushing down the passage to my bedroom one day I suddenly bumped into someone coming the other way. Both of us were to blame since neither of us was looking where they were going. I looked up and opened my mouth to say sorry…”
* * *
24 Years Before…
Broderick was late for a meeting with his steward since he had been out for a leisurely ride on a rare sunny day and had completely forgotten about it. He was rushing to his bedroom to remove his mud-spattered clothes and put on new ones and was concentrating on undoing a recalcitrant button when he collided with someone coming the opposite way.
There was a little squeal of shock and Broderick’s feet were splashed with cold dirty water, startling him into a loud yell. He opened his mouth to give another bark at whoever had been clumsy enough to bump into him, but the only sound he could make was a gasp of startled incredulity.
He looked down into the most enchanting eyes he had ever seen. They were silver-grey and fringed with long dark lashes, set in a small-heart-shaped face that was topped with a thick crown of dark brown hair. He was stunned. She was the loveliest woman he had seen in a very long time, perhaps ever.
“I am so sorry, M’Laird,” she said sheepishly, dropping her gaze to the floor where a bucket that had been full of dirty water was emptying itself onto the stone flags. “I wasnae lookin’ where I was goin’.” She bent down and pulled the bucket upright then smoothed down her apron before looking up at him again. “Are ye all right, sir?”
Broderick smiled at her. “I am fine,” he replied. “I was in too much of a hurry to look either. What is your name?”
“Nessa, M’Laird,” she answered, curtsying politely, “Nessa MacAlpine.” She was still looking away from him, but Broderick could see that her cheeks were crimson with embarrassment.
“Well, Nessa,” he said ruefully. “Since we are both to blame for this mess, I think we should forget it. I will not tell anyone if you don’t.”
The young woman looked up at him in disbelief. She had obviously expected to be severely disciplined, not treated as a co-conspirator in some piece of mischief, and was even more surprised when the Laird winked at her.
She giggled and blushed even more fiercely, then seemed to come to her senses and looked away. “I will see about clearin’ up the mess, M’Laird,” she replied, then ducked around him and hurried away.
Broderick turned and looked after her. He had never been so profoundly affected by a woman in his life and wished that he could run after her and kiss her senseless. There was nothing to distinguish her from any of the other maidservants, but she had affected him in the most profound way. Those eyes!
Over the next few weeks, he saw Nessa in passing many times, but she dropped into a curtsey, as all the maids did, and looked down at the floor to avoid his eyes. However, the more evasive she became, the more he wanted to see her, but he persuaded himself he was being stupid. He was married to a very suitable lady of his own class, yet he simply could not get Nessa out of his mind.
