Page 56 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
“My father will be very worried about me,” she persisted, but she knew she was probably fighting a losing battle. After John’s death, Ramsay was extra protective of everyone he loved, and Ailsa was first among those.
“You saved my life,” he murmured, stroking her hair as he pulled her back into his arms. “You know that means you belong to me.”
“You saved my family from an attack,” she reminded him. “So I think we are even.” Once more Ailsa studied his face, with its deep-set silver-grey eyes under thick dark brows, firm straight nose, and a perfect Cupid’s bow that somehow managed to look very masculine. He was now sporting a thick, dark beard, although she knew he had not grown it by choice, and she wished he would shave it off as soon as he could. She wanted to enjoy the sight of his square jaw and chin with its perfect dimple in the middle.
Ailsa buried her face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder and ran her palm over his glossy deep brown hair. It was glorious to be here, she thought, savouring the special musk of his skin and feeling his powerful arms wrapping her in a firm embrace.I will never let you out of my sight,he had said. She knew that she had not been meant to take that literally, of course, but it was wonderful to know that he wanted to protect her forever. In his arms she felt safe and sheltered; he was her home.
“Stay tonight,” he begged. “We can talk more.”
Ailsa shook her head. “I have to go or my mother and father will worry themselves sick,” she replied, sighing. Refusing him was one of the hardest things she had ever had to do, but it had to be done. But there was one other thing she had to do first.
Ailsa stood on her tiptoes and pulled his head down to hers for a tender kiss that quickly turned into something else as he parted her lips with his tongue. He caressed them with his, not gently, but with a heated passion that made Ailsa push her hips against him, rubbing against his hardness and moaning with desire.
Ramsay knew that Ailsa had to go home, but he was so full of longing for her that he could not bear to let her go, and he had become so lost in her that when she drew away from him and marched away he had to restrain himself from running after her.
He watched Ailsa until she was out of sight, then forced himself to go and eat something. Up until now he had had no chance to think, because so many things had happened and so much had been revealed that he was still in shock. Up until Ailsa’s confrontation with Larry they had suspected his guilt, but being confronted with the ugly truth had driven it home in the most brutal fashion.
Ramsay wondered how long Larry had been planning John’s murder. He had seen his cousin practising with his bow many times, of course, but when he thought back a few months he realised that Larry had been spending a great deal of time at the targets.
However, there was no way he could have known what his cousin was planning, so he told himself firmly—again—-that John’s murder was not his fault. He went to the guardroom where a few of his friends were enjoying their evening meal and chatting amongst themselves about the trial. However, as soon as he sat down the conversation began to be conducted in whispers.
Ramsay knew that the men did not want him to hear them but he didn’t care anymore. The meat and bread he was brought from the kitchen tasted like ashes, but he forced it down and stood up, then began to walk towards his small chamber near the guards’ quarters, but a maid intercepted him.
To his complete astonishment, she curtsied to him and said, “Master Ramsay, your father says ye must follow me. Ye are tae have a new bedroom.”
Stunned, Ramsay followed the young woman upstairs until she led him into a bedroom that was at least four times the size of the one he had. It was beautifully decorated and furnished, not in a frilly or fussy way, but with an understated masculine elegance which he loved immediately.
The bed, writing desk, and tables were fashioned from rich brown walnut wood, finely carved with a glossy sheen. Rich brocade curtains in shades of cream and brown hung at the windows, their colours echoed in the quilt and drapes on the large four-poster bed. Silk rugs in autumn colours were scattered on the wooden floor, and crystal vases of the last of the summer flowers stood on the tables.
Ramsay looked around the room in amazement, then stared at the maidservant for a few moments. “Is this my room from now on?” he asked doubtfully, still not quite believing it.
“Aye, Master Ramsay,” she answered, with a smile. “Laird’s orders.”
He thought back to the staff’s former insolent attitude to him and felt a surge of rage. Now that everyone else was in disgrace he was good enough to be the Laird’s son when he had been only a worthless bastard before.
“Well, these are my orders,” he growled. “Bring me a bath, some shaving materials, and a bottle of Madeira from the cellars. And my robe.”
The maid curtsied and hurried away to do his bidding, leaving Ramsay to look around the room once more. He ran his hands backward through his hair and moved over to the window to look out. It was not yet dark but it was teeming with rain, and he felt wretched to think that Ailsa was travelling home in such weather. She would be drenched.
He sighed. His mind was teeming with disconnected thoughts and words, and the impressions of the day that had just gone by were a blur. He wanted to wash away not just the physical dirt of the dungeon, but the disgust and hatred he felt for Larry and Moira. However, that was something that would take a long time to accomplish, and he did not know if his life would be long enough to do it.
Presently two manservants came in with the bath and several buckets of hot water which they poured into it. Another maid came in with a towel, soap, a sponge, and a razor. They all bowed to him and one of the men asked, “Would ye like me tae shave ye, Master Ramsay?”
Ramsay saw red. “Why am I suddenly‘master’when I was less than dirt under your feet till a few days ago?” he snarled. “Why are you all treating me with respect when you never did before? I know all of you. You have sworn at me, laughed at me, and generally treated me like a dog. I am still the same by-blow I was then, so what is different?”
He glared at them all, but not one of them would meet his eyes. Ramsay laughed cynically, then said, “I will shave myself. Get out of my sight.”
They scurried out, and Ramsay climbed into the bath, breathing a sigh of relief as the warm water welcomed him. He ducked under its surface, then came up again and let it caress him as he soaped his body, head, and beard, trying to empty his mind of all the troubles of the day. It was easier said than done, however.
Yet there was something which always helped him; dreams of Ailsa and the family they had made together in his mind. Those fantasies were all that had kept him going in the dark days when all he had to look forward to was certain death.
Now he resurrected them and watched them over and over again in his mind’s eye. He laughed as his children laughed, told them stories, and watched them as they drifted off to sleep at night. He imagined play-fighting with his sons and cuddling his daughters, who would look up at him with adoring eyes. He would be their hero. How he longed to be a father!
Ramsay lay in the bath dreaming for a long time before he realised that the water was cold. He stood up, dried himself, and donned his robe, then looked at himself in the mirror. The beard had to go, he decided.
A short while later the man who looked back at him was almost unrecognisable. Gone was the dirty, unkempt thatch of hair that had covered his cheeks for the last week or so. In its place was the smooth-skinned, clean-shaven face of a well-groomed young man. Would Ailsa still find him attractive when she saw him again? He could only hope so.
He rang for the servants to come and take the bath away, but completely ignored them when they arrived, and they left without saying a word. It all seemed so strange; he had always hated being treated like dirt, but he was used to it.
