Sir Robert started to rise, then settled back into his chair with a frown. “The evil day has arrived?”
Sir Robert was a perceptive fellow. Ramsay replied, “I’ve just received a message summoning me back to Thorsay.”
The ambassador’s frown deepened. “Have you considered refusing the summons? Surely there are others who would leap at the chance to become the next laird, but there is no one else who can do the work you do here. Your skills are unique.”
“My deviousness and affinity for disreputable rogues, you mean,” Ramsay said dryly.
Sir Robert smiled. “Exactly. Most of the young gentlemen who join Britain’s diplomatic corps are entirely too conventional. Good for many things, but not for what you do so well.”
For a moment Ramsay allowed himself to consider the older man’s suggestion. If he refused the call, another laird would be found and he’d be free to continue learning and exploring and quite possibly dying in some violent way.
No.He’d promised to return and take up his responsibilities not once but twice. The first vow had been made to his grandfather, the second seven years ago in that damp cellar in Portugal. He and his fellow captives had spent a long night drinking and discussing what they would do with their lives if by some miracle they survived.
All had spoken of becoming better men and redeeming past sins. Ramsay had privately renewed his vow to answer the call to Thorsay when the time came. Though he’d make no more wondrous discoveries, he’d gathered enough notes to spend the rest of his life writing scholarly articles about what he’d observed in his wandering years.
The thought was not exciting, but at least his conscience would be clear. “This is one call I can’t refuse, Sir Robert.”
The ambassador nodded regretfully. “The trouble with honorable men is that they’re honorable. When will you be leaving?”
“As soon as possible. The letter I received was written when my grandfather was still alive. Perhaps he still is.” Ramsay would like to say good-bye if possible. He and the old laird had fought like two cats in a sack, but there had been real affection under the fireworks.
“You islanders are a tough lot. I hope he’ll be there to swear at you one last time.” Sir Robert unlocked a lower desk drawer and produced a bottle of good Scots whisky and two glass tumblers. “A toast to the old laird, and thanks to you for all the nefarious and useful things you’ve done for Britain.”
He poured a couple of fingers of whisky in the glasses, handed one to Ramsay, and lifted his in a toast. “To auld lang syne.”
“To auld lang syne,” Ramsay repeated before downing the whisky in one long burning swallow. “Next Hogmanay I’ll be in Scotland.”
“I envy you.” The ambassador leaned forward and poured more whisky into Ramsay’s glass. “Lift a glass for me, lad.”
“I will,” Ramsay promised. But by God, he’d miss this part of the world!
Chapter 2
Ramsay’s voyage home benefited from fair winds and was swifter than expected. The light became bluer and the winds more chill as he traveled north. By the time he reached London, Constantinople was only a distant sunburned memory.
He spent several days in London attending to business and staying at Thorsay House, which was owned by the laird of Thorsay. The Browns, the couple who maintained the house, hadn’t heard that the old laird was dead, so perhaps Ramsay’s grandfather was still holding on.
Thorsay House served as a way station for traveling Thorsayians. Ramsay found that he’d just missed a favorite cousin, Kendra Douglas, who had taken refuge in the house after a disastrous scandal. As a girl, she’d been a lively little thing. He’d taught her and Signy Matheson and several other younger children the basics of fencing.
He stopped at Hatchard’s and found a trove of letters from the Rogues Redeemed of the Portuguese cellar. Impressively, they all had survived the wars, and while he was in London, he managed to dine with one of the men, named Hawkins, and his intrepid wife, Lady Rory. Then he set sail again, first to Edinburgh and finally, on a small coastal trading vessel, the last stretch to Thorsay.
Ramsay spent much of this last leg of his long journey in the bow of the boat, feeling an unnerving sense of homecoming. The silvery seas and austere scattered islands seemed to be bred into his bones despite his reluctance to return.
When the vessel finally moored at the pier below Skellig House, Ramsay left the deckhands to unload his luggage. Personal possessions were few, but there were a fair number of the best ancient artifacts he’d found.
Impatiently he climbed the hill to the Ramsay family home. Skellig House was a low, sprawling stone structure designed to stand against the fiercest winds off the North Sea. In the distance beyond, he could just see one of the circle of towering stone monoliths erected by the ancient inhabitants of these islands.
Nothing seemed to have changed in the dozen years since he’d left. His pace quickened as he wondered whether his grandfather still lived.
As he approached the entrance to the house, the door swung open and someone stepped out, his gaze turned toward Ramsay. No, not a man but a tall woman—that was clear from the way the wind shaped her gray gown around an undeniably female figure. The same wind rippled her blazing red-gold hair like a banner of war.
She brushed her wind-whipped hair from her face and said in a voice colder than an Arctic gale, “What took you so long, Kai?”
He stopped dead in his tracks and stared. In the years he’d been gone, bony little Signy Matheson had become a damned Nordic goddess!
As the sweetheart of her older sister, he’d seen a great deal of Signy. She’d been a delightful little girl, full of energy and curiosity and with a quick, clever tongue. He guessed that her grimness now was because of the laird’s impending death. The old man had taken her into Skellig House after Gisela died and had been like a father to her. She’d been mentioned often in his grandfather’s letters. Now Signy was about to lose him as she’d lost the rest of her family.
Speaking English, Ramsay said, “Well met, Signy Matheson. Is the laird still among the living?”
