Page 51 of Laird of Secrets
Eldin waved his fingers dismissively. “What else do you have? I expected something more valuable. Something unique, otherwise unobtainable.”
“Something illicit?” Dougal cocked one brow.
Eldin leaned forward. “Sir, understand me. I do not care a whit about the law. If the whisky is the very finest you have, its origins are unimportant,” he said low.
“We do have something else,” Dougal said, making a quick decision. “Twelve years if it is a day, made with barley grown in our own fields, and brewed with clear Highland water passed through heather blooms. Proofed to perfection, stored in sherry casks that have been turned regularly. The richness of the old Spanish shiraz that was in those casks, turned over the years, has mellowed the whisky to an exquisite degree. We have not bottled it, and so it continues to age.”
“And?” Eldin waited.
“And it would be expensive.” Dipping a finger in the whisky, Dougal wrote a considerable number on the table surface with a fingertip.
Eldin shrugged. “Is the revenue paid?”
“What do you think?”
“I see. Too good for the government, I think. Do they even know it exists? Ah, your silence answers that. How many casks?”
“Seven are available.” Dougal had more, but would not let on.
Eldin sat back. “I will think about it.”
“Think all you like,” Dougal said. “Within the month, it will be gone.”
“To England?” Eldin asked quickly.
“There are some lively markets for good Highland whisky.”
“The blight in the French vineyards has reduced the amount of wine a man can obtain there,” Eldin agreed. “Grain whiskies made in England and Lowland Scotland can be poor specimens indeed, compared to Highland malt whisky. But a Highland whisky that is hand nurtured and aged, stored twelve years and never found by the revenue—that is rare stuff.”
“Thus the price,” Dougal said.
Eldin nodded, played with the brim of his hat, looked at Dougal. “And Miss MacCarran, my cousin? I assume you have met her? How does my fair Fiona?”
“Well enough.” Dougal was startled. His fair Fiona? What the devil? “We have met on occasion.” Indeed. “She is doing a fine job with her students.”
“She is quite busy with the teaching, I trust.”
“She seems dedicated to her work.”
“What does she do when she is not teaching? Does she wander the hills?”
An odd question. Dougal narrowed his eyes. “She enjoys collecting rocks and stones, from what I understand. Walks about the hills. It is safe,” he added. He ought to advise the girl to lob one or two rocks at her cousin if he came near.
“Has she asked you about fairies, Mr. MacGregor?”
Dougal did not blink. “She has an interest in local legends, like many visitors to the Highlands.” He wondered where these questions were going, and why.
“Tell her nothing. If you know fairy legends, do not share them with her.”
“Why not? There is no harm in the tales. We have many legends.”
“Be wary, nonetheless,” Eldin said. “Do you have a personal fortune, sir?”
Dougal bristled. “That is no concern of yours, Lord Eldin.”
“Your fortune is of no interest to me. But allow me to caution you. If you have any wealth, best play the pauper should my cousin ask.”
“What?” Dougal returned sharply.
