Page 52 of Laird of Secrets
“Fiona MacCarran has other reasons for coming to the glen, beyond teaching. She has a particular interest in fairy matters, stories of fairy gold and such. I confide in you, sir, in order to warn you,” he said low. “My cousin is determined to marry a wealthy Highland man.”
A muscle pumped in his jaw. The man had outrageous nerve and was all but insulting Fiona MacCarran. Dougal fisted a hand under the table. “After the Clearances and Culloden, a wealthy Scotsman is a rare indeed,” he drawled.
Eldin laughed. “Regardless, she has her mind set on this. Her family has little fortune of its own, and a wealthy husband would be a solution.”
He wanted to throttle the man. “Would you speak against your kinswoman?”
Eldin shrugged. “A helpful warning. Advice against a fortune hunter.”
“I possess no fortune, nor am I interested in the lady.”
“Is that so?” Eldin sounded as if he doubted it.
“None of this is your concern.”
“She is my cousin.”
“Then treat her with respect.”
Eldin gave a flat smile. “Should we bargain further for your best whisky?”
“I may not sell to you after all,” Dougal said.
“No?” The earl leaned toward him. “I suspect you are more a pauper than you will admit. How much do you want for the Kinloch twelve-year, all seven casks?”
“More than you can pay. Priceless, now.” He felt a rising fury.
“I suspect it is not the most priceless sort of brew you have.”
“That whisky is rare. And valuable.”
“There is a legend of another sort of whisky. An ancient brew whose recipe was given to the MacGregors by the fairies themselves.”
Dougal huffed. “Legends do not produce profitable whisky.”
“They say the lairds of Kinloch have always produced this secret brew.”
“If so, no one has told me,” he drawled.
“Should you have a brew of that sort, I am willing to pay whatever you ask.”
Dougal stared hard at him, then shook his head in silence.
“Very well. Think on it, Kinloch.” Eldin stood then, lifting his hat and snatching his cane. Inclining his head, he opened his gloved hand and deposited several coins on the table, including the glint of gold sovereigns and silver shillings, far more than was needed to pay for the drinks. The man left the inn quickly, shutting the door behind him.
Rob came to the table. “He wanted no supper? We have a fine roast ready.”
“No supper,” Dougal said, standing. Through the window, he saw the earl’s barouche leaving the yard. “Serve the roast to all with the earl’s compliments,” he said, indicating the coins.
Glancing out the window again, Dougal frowned. What had Lord Eldin heard about fairy whisky—and why did he want it?
And what had he meant by those sly remarks about Fiona MacCarran?
The earl’s warning had a different effect than intended. Dougal was even more interested, curiosity piqued, sympathy roused. Miss MacCarran had a devil for a cousin. A scheme to marry wealth, particularly in the Highlands? He almost laughed. If she wanted that, then she would be scheming to marry that blasted cousin of hers.
But if she should ever decide that a poor, plain, solid Highland laird was to her liking, there was one willing and waiting.
That thought, clear and certain, was more revelation to him than anything Eldin had said.
