Page 27 of Laird of Secrets
Dougal would never let that affect his glen. He would protect it always. But he would not sell the fairy brew to do it, even if it could bring in enough to save them all. He kept a sizable cache of excellent Glen Kinloch whisky to sell instead. Aged to a rare degree, what waited in storage now would fetch a very good price.
At that moment, he saw Fiona MacCarran crossing the glen. His heart leaped as if he were a hopeful boy rather than a man. He instantly remembered kissing her, but shook his head to clear the thought. There was no place for a woman in his life now, especially the sister of a gauger who could ruin all his plans.
She carried a packet, he saw, clutched against her, probably books or papers. Sunlight gleamed over her dark hair as the wind pushed back her straw bonnet. Her gown of deep blue accentuated her slim curves, and she wore a plaid shawl over her shoulders that whipped about in the breeze. Oddly, he thought of how the blue gown would match her eyes. Stop, he admonished himself again.
Whatever impulse had made him kiss her, he had apologized for it, and so it was over. Forgotten. The night and the mist, and the girl in his arms in a close, warm space—all of it had taken him over like a fool. The romance of it had taken her, too. But it was done.
Hugh MacIan, the kirk minister, hurried behind her and caught up to walk with her. She looked trim and small beside the reverend; he had the muscular build of a Highland warrior, though dressed in a somber black suit like a city man, and devoted, most of the time, to his Bible.
Even so, Reverend MacIan was a clever smuggler. Dougal smiled to himself, wondering what the bonny Lowland teacher would think if she knew it.
Seeing her flashing smile as she and Hugh walked and talked, Dougal frowned. He knew that bright smile and the feel of that trim waist under his hands; knew the scent of her, lavender and fog, and the sweet warmth of her lips. He should keep aloof, he thought; let her decide that a handsome, educated kirk minister was more interesting than a Highland laird who had left university to distill and smuggle whisky.
No matter. Soon she would be gone. Just then, Hugh took her elbow as they walked, and Dougal felt a frisson of jealousy slip through him.
“Kinloch!” Fergus called as he came close. “The lass is ready.”
“Lass?” Distracted, Dougal thought he meant the teacher.
“Lucy! She’s ready and none too glad about it.”
Glancing toward the house, Dougal saw a boy and a girl standing on the step. His heart tugged to see the small girl, his dark-haired niece Lucy. She was in a stormy humor, he saw, her hands fisted at her sides and little brow glowering.
“She does not want to go to school. Jamie does,” Fergus said of his grandson, the son of his daughter and her shepherd husband. The boy was tall for his age with blazing red hair, albeit contrasted by a sweet, peaceful nature. Young Jamie patted Lucy’s shoulder. She shrugged it off.
“Lucy says smugglers do not go to school,” Fergus said.
Dougal sighed. “Perhaps I have done wrong to raise my sister’s daughter among kinsmen who dabble in the free trade. Kinloch may not be the best place for a wee lass to grow up.”
“It is! She is happy and treasured by all, though we be thieves and rogues. But good men for all that,” Fergus said. “She is indulged, to be sure, and we could be more stern with her. But she is blessed with charm, and the wee lass knows it. You and Ellen were reared here at Kinloch among whisky makers and traders, and you did well enough,” he pointed out. “Though Jean was a help, and good for Lucy to be around a woman. Until she left us,” he muttered.
“And proved to us it is not so easy to raise a girl-child.”
“Jeanie has left Hamish before,” Fergus said. “She will be back.”
“I am not so sure this time.” Dougal watched Lucy push Jamie off the step. The boy climbed up again, smiling. “That wee lad has a saint’s patience.”
“She’s a spirited thing, lovely as her mother, but with a fiery heart. When she is grown, you will see lads at your door and hell to pay.”
Jamie took Lucy’s hand, but the girl jerked free and stomped away. “We will be lucky if anyone knocks at the door to court her,” Dougal drawled.
“School is about to start. Lucy! Jamie! Go on!” Fergus called, gesturing to them.
The schoolyard was filling with a small crowd, Dougal noticed. The school, situated not far from the tower house, was a rectangular whitewashed building surrounded by an earthen yard, occupying a flat section of the hill where the grass was chewed neatly and regularly by sheep and goats. Students and families were already gathering in the yard. Others without children had arrived too, curious to meet the new dominie.
“I hope she proves a fine teacher for the bairns,” Fergus said. “She is not like the old dominie they sent from Edinburgh last year. She looks a bonny wee thing.”
“She’s a dangerous wee thing,” Dougal remarked. “Remember the brother.”
“True.” Fergus looked at Dougal. “I saw Rob MacIan last evening at the tavern. He said Lord Eldin approached him recently, is interested in purchasing the best Highland whisky for his new hotel. He is willing to pay well, and he does not care if it is illicit stuff.”
“Excellent. I hope Rob told him Glen Kinloch whisky is the best in the Highlands.”
“In the whole of Scotland, to be sure. But every distiller says that, aye?”
Dougal laughed. “Sometimes it is true. Ask Rob MacIan to go to Auchnashee and let the earl know there may be some casks available.” He named a sum.
“Eldin would pay more, I suspect. Might even pay a higher price for Highland fairy brew. He asked if it existed—had heard some tradition about it in the area.”
