Page 13 of A Rogue in Firelight
He picked up a letter from the desk, its royal seal broken. “The king’s secretary sends constant requests regarding the king’s visit. We do our utmost to satisfy them.”
“You and the Lord Provost are working diligently with Sir Walter Scott and the Celtic Society to prepare for the visit. I would be happy to help with the details.”
“Only in this matter, Miss Ellison...” Corbie said.
“Adam, please.” Sir Hector held up a hand. “The king’s arrival has not been publicly confirmed, but we expect him in August. That gives us six weeks before the city turns topsy-turvy. Our office is responsible for many of the arrangements. Mr. Corbie, might I add, is proving invaluable.”
“Thank you, sir. But Sir Walter is an efficient chief organizer with some excellent ideas.”
Ellison pinched back a smile, remembering that Corbie previously called Scott’s ideas outlandish. “Some are calling it the ‘Celtification of Scotland,’” she said.
“Hmph. We hope to avoid a spectacle. But a new problem has arisen.” Sir Hector tapped the letter. “King George, it seems, is very fond of Highland whisky.”
“I am sure your office can provide him a good supply.”
“He takes a dram or two every night, they say, and more, and is devoted to the habit. He is especially fond of two particular whiskies.”
“Does he know most Highland whisky is illicit, thanks to English laws?” Ellison asked pertly. “What he enjoys may come from casks smuggled into London.”
“He, ah, may not realize that,” her father said. “The king prefers Glenlivet and has requested to meet George Smith, the distiller, to extend his compliments. Lord Arbuthnot’s office is arranging a royal introduction.”
“A nice honor. Is Glenlivet whisky considered legal or illicit?”
“Mr. Smith obtained a license recently, just in time. Now we are told the king is equally fond of Glenbrae whisky. It is equal to The Glenlivet in the king’s opinion, the royal secretary says.” Sir Hector cleared his throat. “Glenbrae is produced in Perthshire.”
“Surely you can provide that whisky to the king too. But how could I help?”
“King George has asked to meet the Glenbrae distiller also.”
“Of course. Is Glenbrae illicit or licensed?”
“Licensed, we hope. Mr. Corbie, check this year’s listings.” Corbie went to a bookshelf to pull a large ledger free, then set it down to flip through it. “This request will not be handled by the Lord Provost’s office,” Sir Hector continued. “As deputy lord provost, I oversee the constabulary and prisons.”
“Prisons?” Ellison paused, then realized. “Oh! Glenbrae! I read the name in the journal—is he one of the Whisky Rogues?”
“Exactly. The Glenbrae distiller is presently incarcerated.”
Ellison nearly laughed. “The king’s favorite dram is produced by a smuggler?”
“It is hardly amusing, Ellison. MacGregor of Glenbrae is a crofting laird, a tenant of the landowner. He might make the brew, but whoever owns the land is legally the distiller. That presents another complication. Mr. Corbie, did you find a listing?”
“Here it is.” Corbie glanced up from the ledger pages. “Glenbrae distillery in Perthshire was licensed two years ago to John R. MacGregor of Glenbrae.”
“That must be Viscount Darrach. Glenbrae and Darrach make up that estate.”
“Glenbrae is not far from Strathniven, sir,” Corbie said. “Darrach belongs to the MacGregors, so several MacGregor families live in those glens. The land was parceled out to others. My aunt owns part of it. Many there are crofters. Tenants.”
“The countryside near Strathniven is beautiful,” Ellison said.
“And overrun with smugglers,” Corbie said.
“The real complication is that Viscount Darrach died last year,” Sir Hector said.
“Oh! Can the new viscount be introduced to the king?” she asked.
“Unfortunately,” her father said, “I have heard that there is confusion over the Darrach inheritance, so there is no heir as yet. It must go to the courts to decide.”
“But Papa, if you simply supply the whisky, would that not satisfy the king’s request?”
