Page 7 of Tangled in a Highland Conspiracy
Sinclair shrugged. “You always took me for a fool, McBain,” he answered bitterly. “But I am not. I looked, I asked people, and I listened. You would be amazed at how much information people give away when they think they can trust you.”
“Why did you want to betray me like this?” The Laird stared at Sinclair accusingly.
“Because I had to.” Sinclair was bitter. “I am in trouble, and I can no longer afford to support my household. I look around at everything you have here,” his glance swept around the huge atrium, “and I thought how unfair it was that no matter how hard I work I will never have all this.”
“The predicament you are in is all of your own doing,” the Laird stated. “But if you had needed money you could have asked me to lend you some to tide you over. There would have been no questions asked, and no interest. You know I am a fair man.”
Allen Sinclair glared at Malcolm McBain but said nothing. He did not even have the grace to look shamefaced.
“What would you like to do with him?” Craig Johnstone asked.
“Take him downstairs to the dungeons where he can do no harm,” the Laird said angrily. After that, the Justices can deal with him.” He gave Sinclair one last, venomous look and strode away.
A few weeks later, Sinclair, who had by then lost a considerable amount of weight, was sentenced to fifteen years in prison for conspiracy. His daughter, Molly, had been left alone with no family and no one to take care of her; she was homeless and friendless, and because her situation was dire, Laird McBain took pity on her.
The day that her father was arrested he sent Lady Davina to collect her and bring her to Mulrigg, where he sat her down and explained her situation to her. “You know that your father has done something very bad?” he asked gently.
Molly nodded.
“Because of this, he has had to be punished, and that means that he will not see us for a long time,” the Laird went on. “Would you like to come and stay with us? You can be Ailsa’s companion.”
Molly nodded again, then burst into tears. Laird McBain held her tight while Davina looked on, and when she stopped weeping he kissed her forehead tenderly.
Laird McBain had given her a place to stay, people who genuinely cared about her and who would look after her, but most of all he had given her hope.
* * *
Molly sat looking into the distance with an expression of concern on her face, which Ailsa noticed straight away. “Is something bothering you, Molly?”
Molly turned and smiled at her. “Perhaps,” she replied. “It is all very romantic, but I worry that he has asked you to go alone.”
“It will be on my side of the Braeburn,” Ailsa pointed out. The Braeburn was a stream that ran along the top of the hill that divided the McBain’s property from the Ormond’s. “He says he is bringing two of his guards as well. Do you think I should be afraid, Molly?”
“No, I do not.” Molly darted a pointed glance from Ailsa to Katrina, who was listening keenly, giving Ailsa a silent warning not to upset her sister.
Ailsa nodded, understanding.
“Believe me, Ailsa,” she went on, “if I thought there was any likelihood of trouble, I would tell you so. You know that. I owe you so much.” She gave her friend a great, beaming smile and patted her on the back while Katrina grinned at both of them. It seemed that her good humour had returned now that she had convinced herself that her sister was going to fall madly in love with John.
“Now we must find you something to wear,” Molly stated firmly.
“What about that nice blue dress with the frills on it?” Katrina asked. Her eyes were sparkling since she had been convinced that Ailsa was falling in love.
Ailsa laughed as she pulled her little sister to her feet. “A ballgown is not really the right kind of dress for riding!” she said. “I don’t want John to see me looking ridiculous. Come, Katie. We need your expert eyes!”
Katrina skipped on ahead of the two young women, happy again.
3
Balmuir Castle was not a pretty structure. It was almost five hundred years old and had not been built to be aesthetically pleasing, but to look like what it was; a fortress. In the inner reaches, far away from the mighty outer walls, there were a few small pleasure gardens mostly used for entertaining guests, and two fountains that were fed by the spring that ran underneath the castle’s foundations.
Inside, the castle was quite sumptuous, with numerous parlours for the family and guests, and an extremely impressive Great Hall where ceilidhs, weddings, and all manner of official functions were held. It was also the only room that was big enough for the Laird and his steward to collect the tenants’ quarterly rents. This was an event in which John Ormond, as the Laird’s son and the future heir to his fortune, was obliged to take part. It was a duty he both loathed and dreaded because he hated having anything to do with money and calculations. He would always rather have been outdoors in the fresh air.
The functional rooms, like the kitchen, wine cellar, and food and equipment stores, were underneath the showy, beautifully decorated part of the castle. However, this was the area that made the whole place work, the beating heart of the whole mighty household.
Balmuir Castle itself was sprawled over the plateau of a low hill like a blanket that had been carelessly thrown on top of it. It was irregularly shaped, with its towers and battlements seeming to have been thrown together in a haphazard fashion, and looked as though it had grown out of the ground around it.
However, no one could deny that the whole ugly edifice was perfectly situated at the summit, overlooking the valley below. It was almost impossible for an enemy to attack without being decimated by a barrage of arrows or flattened by the battery of cannons that lined the turrets. It was also surrounded by a fifteen-foot-wide moat, making it almost impregnable.
