Page 2 of A Rogue in Firelight
“Pitlinnie does not trim the burnside that runs past his still, so his whisky tastes of what grows there. This is good.” Ronan turned the jug to read the handwritten label.Pitlinnie. Fine Highland Whisky. “It will sell.”
“He is shipping this out tonight. The English pay well for Highland whisky,” Linhope said. “Northern whiskies made with good barley malt are heaven’s nectar compared to Lowland liquor made from cheap grains. Pitlinnie will profit.”
“But we are not here to talk about Pitlinnie.” Iain watched Ronan. “What news?”
“If you wonder about the Darrach estate, the matter remains unresolved since my cousin died intestate. Now it goes to the courts.”
“Go to Darrach Castle and look for his will yourself,” MacInnes suggested.
“I hear the housekeeper stayed on to wait for the new lord. Mairi Brodie told me,” Linhope added, “when she wrote for advice in treating a tenant’s persistent cough.”
“Ah.” Ronan had made his peace with Mairi Brodie, but he felt guarded. A deeper love he would never find, though she had married his brother instead of himself. He shrugged.
“Hugh Cameron went to Darrach Castle to search. It is his task as my solicitor. Not my place. We must keep the matter clean.”
MacInnes nodded. “Something else on your mind? You sent word to us.”
“Aye. The time has come to retire our concern. But you know that,” Ronan said.
“We all knew the risks when we took this on after your kinsmen were killed,” Linhope said. “We agreed to finish their work to honor them. It has gone well so far.”
“We have completed their work, and I am grateful to you both.”
“We would never abandon you to danger.” MacInnes grinned.
“Both of you like a risk,” Linhope said. “Not me. If Ronan says we are done, good then.”
MacInnes huffed. “What then of the Wild Whisky Rogues? I like the name, and the reports of us in the news.”
“It makes us seem like heroes. We are not,” Ronan said.
“We provide a service. We move goods about, collect funds promised to your kinsmen, and share it with their families.” MacInnes shrugged his big shoulders. “It is an honor to be called Whisky Rogues by the Bard of the North himself.”
“Sir Walter Scott christened Will and Darrach the Whisky Rogues for their escapades, not us,” Ronan pointed out. “He called them Highland heroes in plaid, defenders of their people, saving the ancient Celtic brew. But we all know it could all go black as the Earl o’ Hell’s waistcoat.”
“Could. But wait. Pitlinnie wants a new arrangement,” MacInnes said. “Very lucrative.”
“Pitlinnie wants what benefits him. We refused him before.”
“Nor is he pleased to have to move his lot this night,” MacInnes said.
“Better we go back to what we do best,” Ronan said. “Doctoring, building, defending—and making whisky legally. The Glenbrae distillery is doing well. You are welcome to join me.”
“The Whisky Rogues will soon be forgotten,” Linhope said. “We finished what Will and Darrach began, saved their names and that of Glenbrae. It is done.”
“They took bullets for us,” Iain said grimly.
“And we wish those two brave fools were here now. But they are not. It is time to end it, just as Ronan says,” Linhope replied.
Ronan glanced at the doorway, seeing nothing unusual. “I hear the laws will change in January. Highlanders will no longer benefit from free trade. Licensed distilleries will profit. We are gentlemen, not thieves. My grandfather forfeited his lands and title for loyalty to Prince Charlie, and plunged his family into poverty. But my father raised us to have manners and education, and began to rebuild that legacy. I intend to continue that, not destroy it.”
“Not just a lawyer, but a war hero who never runs from risk,” Linhope said to MacInnes, who nodded.
“We need to be wary, lads, with more excise officers and more arrests and penalties ahead. We did what we agreed to do,” Ronan said.
“Aye, then,” Linhope said, nudging MacInnes, who nodded reluctantly.
“Good. We will talk later.” Ronan stood, leaving coins on the table. Heading for the door, he felt a prickle on his neck, dread in his gut. “Go.Now,” he growled to his friends.
