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 savage place.

No. He’d promised to return and take up his responsibilities not once but twice. First to his grandfather, and then again 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 made no wondrous discoveries during his travels, he’d gathered enough material 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!

* * *

His voyage home benefited from fair winds and was swifter than expected. The light grew bluer and the winds more chill. By the time he reached London, Constantinople was only a distant sunburned memory.

He spent several days in town 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.