Page 59 of Laird of Secrets
“I went to the glen school, and then to university for two years. My father wanted that. But I was needed here and came home. Come this way, Miss MacCarran.” He took her arm to guide her over the bridge, their footsteps thudding over the planking. “We’ve lingered too long. The sun will set soon.”
“I should like to see the distillery, if you will show me.”
He gestured for her to precede him. “We spent last year repairing and expanding the place. We planned to rebuild the schoolhouse this spring as well. But the Lowland teacher arrived sooner than expected.”
“So she did. I have not fit your plans from the start.”
“You have not,” he murmured.
She lifted her head as she detected a sharp, strong odor in the air, wafting from one of the nearby buildings. “That smell! It reminds me of the beer the servants made when we lived in Perthshire when I was a girl.” The odor was distinct, like wet hay. She wrinkled her nose.
“The processes of making whisky and beer are the same, to a point,” Kinloch answered. “What you smell now is the hot barley mash, being boiled down to produce the wort, from which the whisky will be distilled. It’s not a pleasant smell. First the barley must sprout, so it is turned for days with shovels, then dried over peat fires, which will give the whisky a smoky flavor. Then the sprouted barley is boiled down to the wort, distilled and collected, and mixed with water from burns and streams. Finally it is set in casks to age. I will show you if you have time.”
“I do. I mean to stay in Glen Kinloch a long while.”
“So I gather.” He tilted a brow, smiled. To one side as they walked, the water of the burn rushed and frothed, setting up a screen of sound. Fiona felt so drawn to the man, and so entranced by the place, that she sighed, wishing she could stay for a very long while.
But that reverie was broken when she heard a man shouting. She spun to look, as did Kinloch. Hamish MacGregor ran toward them, waving his arms.
“What is it?” Kinloch called.
“Fire!” Hamish shouted. “At Tom MacDonald’s!”
Dougal MacGregor began to run. Fiona picked up her skirts and followed.
Chapter 12
Feet pounding, skirt hems lifted, Fiona ran behind Kinloch along the earthen lane leading between the distillery buildings. Seeing Hamish running toward them, Fiona hurried beside the laird, glad he had not tried to send her back—she would have come regardless.
“Hamish! What is it?” Kinloch asked as they reached him.
Hamish halted, catching his breath. “Fire,” he repeated. “The black pot.”
“Is anyone hurt?” the laird asked.
“None. But the smoke and flames can be seen far and wide. The gaugers might see it and come soon.”
“Black pot?” Fiona asked, phrasing it in Gaelic,poit dubh,as Hamish had.
“A still,” Kinloch answered quickly. Then he gestured. “You should go back.”
“But I want to help,” she replied.
“No need. Better you leave.” He spoke curtly, taking her shoulder to turn her. “Please, go home now, back to the MacIans.”
“She cannot go alone, Kinloch,” Hamish said. “The gaugers will see the smoke and come up here to find an illegal still. The girl must not meet them on her own.”
The laird glanced at Fiona. “You could go back to Kinloch House and wait there.”
“I will not. I want to stay. Let me help. I can carry buckets of water.”
“Fiona,mo nighean,” he murmured in soft Gaelic.My girl.She felt a thrill slip through her. “I want you to be safe.”
“I am safe here,” she replied, returning his steady gaze.
“Och, bring the lass and come along,” Hamish said impatiently.
“Very well.” Kinloch took her arm, his grip strong yet gentle. “But see you keep out of the way and safe. And promise you will not speak of this to anyone.”
