It angered him, how Lyall would go out of his way to not let anyone help him, to not change but continue on some bitter, self-destructive path to a hell of his own making. Ramsey believed life served up its disappointments. How one dealt with them proved the measure of the man. “You are a thick-skulled son of a bitch,” Ramsey said, aware of the sunken, angry depths to which their conversations had come.
“You think so little of my mother?” Lyall quipped.
“Nay, I think so little of her son.”
His cruel words hit their mark. Lyall chewed his lip and his jaw tightened. Ramsey regretted saying them the moment they came from his mouth. Yet nothing moved his stepson. So their conversations were insults and anger, barbs and truths hidden behind sardonic comments meant to stop the talk between them.
“I am sorry for that. It is not true. My anger speaks before my head can.” Ramsey sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I am weary of this hostility between us, Lyall. I want to understand you. You stop me at every turn. Where is the lad who pestered me senseless, the one who was determined to prove his worth and his honor?”
“Buried under a yellow cloak of dishonor. Ironic is it not? I am held fast amidst the black muck of disloyalty by the family name: traitor. Bad blood breeds bad blood.”
“You will let the words of a young woman with no knowledge or life outside a nunnery define who you are?”
“Life has its lessons. There is the truth of what people think,but don’t say. That is what follows me and my name. The name of Robertson is like carrying manure on your boot, except it does not wash off.”
“I have never believed that,” Ramsey said and tapped his fist against his heart. “You are still here, son. Despite all that you do otherwise, I believe in your good soul. Would that you were not so determined to prove me wrong.” Ramsey paused, then added, “But that is not why I have come.”
“Why then? To tell me why I cannot be wed to the fair Canmore first born?”
“I suppose there is that, too. But I desire information. I want to know how you knew I was ordered to escort and protect Glenna.”
Lyall straightened, frowning, clearly surprised by the question. His expression changed from sardonic to serious, signaling he was willing to talk straight. “De Hay told me. He knew of the orders and papers and letters. He knew about her, where she was. I knew nothing of it or her existence until he summoned me.”
Ramsey was afraid of that. He began to pace and took a long breath. “Then there is a traitor among us. A spy for those tied with de Hay, someone with close access to information, even the most secret communications between Sutherland and myself. The existence of the king’s daughters was kept between only three of us and those trusted with protecting them for years. But now the truth suddenly comes out after so many years. Something reeks.”
“What of the other two?” Lyall asked. “Her sisters. You think they are in danger? De Hay was the one who told me Glenna was not the only daughter. He seemed to have plenty of information.”
“One is Sutherland’s own ward, and I am certain she is safe. The other is in a convent. Both have protectors. But we thought we were working without suspect, and to have the knowledge of their existence in the hands of the king’s enemies…” Ramsey shook his head. “Who knows what is happening as we speak. I have sent word to Sutherland, but I fear we might be too late, that other plans are in motion.” Ramsey paused again and looked at Lyall. “I would have wished that you would have come to me after de Hay summoned you.”
Lyall was silent, staring at his hand.
“We could have worked together to fool them into thinking you were working with them and still have kept Glenna safe. But then ‘twas all for Dunkeldon.”
“At first. Now the land does not seem so important. That has surprised me.” Lyall gave a short laugh. “I have a writ to the lands and I no longer care.”
Ah! There was the sad truth of it. “That is often the way of things, son.” What he saw in Lyall could only make for more pain, pain Ramsey had known for all too many years to count. “She is the daughter of the king. Far from your reach, Lyall.”
His stepson said nothing.
“Do you love her?”
“Aye.”
“Then make the sacrifice and stay away from her. No good can come from this, no matter what has already passed between you.”
“She is not defiled. She lied,” Lyall admitted.
Ramsey was relieved and surprised, but he masked it, still acutely aware of what that cost Lyall to admit, and it gave him hope that the young man standing before him was not lost. “You need to keep her that way. She is not yours for the taking, no matter where you believe your heart is. Whom she weds is her father’s choice. And he is my liege and I will protect his right and his daughter, even if from my own stepson.”
They exchanged a long look, not unlike two hounds, each sizing up the other. Lyall gave him a quick nod.
“Were she anyone else, I would be happy for you,” Ramsey told him.
“Were she anyone else, there would be no reason to behappy.” Lyall did not look at him, but continued to stare out at something or nothing.
“Come, lad. Your mother has ordered a meal for us.”
“I need more air. ‘Tis quiet here.” He gave a sharp laugh. “I had thought this spot was one where I would not have to answer for my actions.”
