Page 58 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
Her father came up behind Ailsa and laid his hand on her shoulder. “I take it this one was no good either?” he asked sadly.
Ailsa shook her head and put her hands over her face for a moment. “Da, I feel as if I am such a disappointment to you.” She looked up into his grey-green eyes, seeing the sympathy and kindness she knew she would always receive from him. She had many friends, but none of them had a father like hers.
“If you want me to, I can choose one,” she told him. “I am sure I can be reasonably content with one of them. They are all fine men.”
Laird McBain sighed. “This is almost like history repeating itself,” he said, smiling thoughtfully. “You see, Ailsa, I thought I could be reasonably content with Moira Ormond, but when Davina came along, I realised I could not marry her. ‘Being reasonably content’ as you put it, is not good enough, not when you realise you have found the person who will make you the happiest soul in the world.
If you don’t want any of these men, then don’t feel obliged to marry any of them. I have done my duty and presented you with some possibilities, but I know there is only one man for you.” He smiled. “Ramsay Ormond?”
“Is it so obvious?” Ailsa smiled sadly. “I suppose a young woman doesn’t sit in a cold damp jail cell next to a man she doesn’t care for. Imprisoning Ramsay was so unjust, Da, but something good came out of it. I got to know him, and the more I knew of him, the more I loved him. I thought he felt the same, so why have I not heard from him?
I keep thinking that now he is the heir to an estate he is likely to suddenly become very popular. I expect beautiful young ladies to be swarming around him like bees to a honeypot.” She felt unbelievably miserable, but she did not wish to give into tears in front of her father.
However, Malcolm McBain was an acutely sensitive man, and he cared deeply about his daughters. He loved them both equally, but at this moment Ailsa’s need was greater, and he could not bear to see her suffer.
“You know, there could be all sorts of reasons why Ramsay has not contacted you,” he pointed out. “Remember, Ailsa, the family is still in mourning for John. Ramsay loved his brother very much, just as much as you love Katrina.
Everyone is different, and it takes some people a while longer than others to grieve. He is also learning a lot about being a Laird, and perhaps he does not want you to see him while he is still so inexperienced. He will still be making many mistakes, after all. I did. So try to be patient, Ailsa.”
Ailsa turned around and hugged her father in a tight embrace. How could a person exude so much comfort? She was so very fortunate.
“I know what will cheer you up,” her father said. “Let me give you a good thrashing at chess!”
“Or I could give you one,” Ailsa replied, grinning. They were quite evenly matched, so every game was a real battle of wits. Davina and Katrina could never understand what the fuss was about, so they merely watched, their entertainment mostly coming from the reactions of the players. Katrina was in the early stages of learning the complex game, but she only ever played with Davina, whose skill was equivalent to that of a ten-year-old.
The match was a happy family occasion and distracted Ailsa for a while, but when she went to bed her thoughts went straight back to Ramsay again, and she was nagged by the same old worry. Had Ramsay fallen in love with someone else?
Her heart plummeted at the thought. How could she bear seeing him with another woman on his arm? And who would she marry if not him? The answer to that was simple, however; she would never marry at all.
* * *
Little did Ailsa know it, but Ramsay was thinking exactly the same thing. He was terrified of the thought that Ailsa might have been pushed into a betrothal to some rich and privileged young man. He had to constantly remind himself that he too was rich and privileged now too, since he still could not quite believe it.
Presently, his father called him into his office to begin the day’s correspondence. This was something else he was having to come to terms with; he had always known that Broderick Ormond was his father, but now he was actually behaving like one.
Little by little, he was beginning to break down the wall that Ramsay had erected to protect his heart from the harshness of his family’s contempt. Broderick Ormond was not a stupid man; he treated his son with respect, engaged in intelligent conversation with him, and refrained from making too many protestations of love and regret. He knew that Ramsay would resent too many obvious displays of naked emotion.
He was teaching Ramsay about animal husbandry, accounting, and the myriad other skills he had to learn. Even though there was a very competent steward on hand to help him, Ramsay still found each day a challenge, but the more he learned, the easier it became. Moreover, he enjoyed the experience and was astounded to find that he had a natural gift of relating well to tenants and that he loved meeting them—especially the children. One of his dreams was to become a father himself one day, but only if Ailsa would have him.
Life would have been bearable except for his concern for her; he worried about her constantly. There were still months of official mourning to be observed, but Ramsay knew that John would not have wanted life to come to a standstill on his behalf. He missed his brother more than he could say, and he spent hours reliving the tender and funny moments they had shared together. There were times when they had fought each other tooth and nail, and the bouts often ended in cuts and bruises. Nevertheless, they always made up and laughed about their quarrel afterwards and usually, they could not even remember what they had been fighting about.
How he wished he could have those days back again! However, Ramsay knew that John would want him to try to make peace with his father, and for his sake he was trying his best.
Yet whatever he was doing, his mind kept leading him back to Ailsa, and he knew that he had to do something to tell her how he felt, and the greater the number of days that passed, the more he missed her.
One day he was facing a column of figures in one of the Laird’s account books when the numbers began to swim and blur in front of his eyes. He was perfectly able to add and subtract, but he was simply burned out with the constant effort to cram facts and figures into his mind.
The Laird noticed at once. “Your attention is somewhere else, son,” he observed. “What is on your mind? Or should I say, who?” He raised his eyebrows questioningly and Ramsay sighed wearily.
He looked warily at his father for a moment. After a lifetime of mistrust and disdain, faith in him was difficult. However, now that John was gone, he had no one else to confide in. Ramsay said one word. “Ailsa.”
“I thought so,” his father said, smiling. He leaned over the desk and looked into his son’s eyes. “Do whatever you have to do, Ramsay. You have my blessing.”
Ramsay smiled widely. “Really?” he asked incredulously.
The Laird nodded. “Yes, really.”
“But our mourning period is not yet over,” Ramsay pointed out.
