Page 54 of A Rogue in Firelight
For a moment, she wished she had brought her sketchbook and pencil to capture some images that might inspire her story. The manuscript, growing slowly, was locked in her writing box at Strathniven. Each day she learned more that could benefit her novel, and learned more about Ronan MacGregor too. She hungered to ask him about his life. Hungered, she thought, to be near him. He fascinated her more than anyone she had known. That in itself was a revelation.
“This way to the distillery,” Donal was saying. “The other road leads to Invermorie, where my mother and grandfather live.”
“How nice! Can we stop there? I would like to meet them.”
“Another time,” MacGregor said curtly. “The distillery will take time, as I must determine what is available and make arrangements to send whisky to Edinburgh.”
He rode ahead, Ellison and Donal following the road that cut a straight, unforgiving line through the hills, as if the engineer had neither patience nor sensibility for the beauty of the glen’s slopes and curves. As they left the hard road to follow a drover’s track of earth and turf, Ellison fell behind, gazing with awe at Glen Brae.
“Here we are,” Ronan said, looking back. “The glen is named for that high, steep hill that juts above the slopes, the braes orbràigheanin Gaelic, that form the glen.”
Looking about, she saw a small stone castle in the lee of a high hill. The structure looked very old, its gray stone and blunt shape stark against heathery hills.
“What castle is that?” She saw rambling fieldstone walls and outbuildings surrounding the structure, while goats and sheep grazed on a nearby hill.
“That is Invermorie,” Ronan said.
“Your home, as laird of Glenbrae?” But Donal’s mother lived there, she thought.
“I lived there as a boy. My home is elsewhere now. Tenants live in the castle.”
“Donal’s mother?”
“And grandfather.” He lifted a hand to shade his brow.
Then Ellison noticed a dark-haired woman crossing the yard to step into a side building. Ronan took up the reins and turned his horse. “This way, Miss Graham.”
Enchanted by the little square castle, she gave it a last look, then followed.
*
As soon ashe heard the burble of water near the distillery, Ronan felt himself relax. The soothing chuckle of the Lealtie Water had always seemed to wash troubles away in its flow. His troubles would not so easily rinse away now, but he felt them ease.
He guided his pony over the stone bridge spanning the fast-flowing burn, with Ellison and Donal following. His gaze, his very heart, was transfixed by his distillery, with its whitewashed walls and slate roofs of its three buildings, by the trees and rumpled hillocks that held his little enterprise like a safe and cushioning hand.
His next breath was infused with pride and love. Beyond the main building sat his stone cottage, thatched roof golden in the sun, quietly waiting for him. Home.
“Beautiful,” Ellison said when they crossed the bridge and halted the ponies in the yard. “So peaceful.”
“It is,” he agreed. “And hardworking as well.”
“I will see who is here.” Donal dismounted and walked toward the main building, opened its red door, vanished within.
“Just one or two men are needed here most days, depending on the work. Come inside.” Ronan dismounted to tie the reins of his horse and Donal’s to a post, then turned to help Ellison down. Her body slid against his unexpectedly, so that he felt a leap and heat within. He set her down and stepped back, while she turned away quickly.
Donal called from the doorway. “Auld Rabbie is at the spirit safe!”
“Ah,” Ronan said, and led Ellison toward the door.
“Spirit safe?” Ellison asked.
“You will see.” He noticed that her cheeks were still pink after their bodies had touched. She was a delectable sight, he thought, and did not seem out of place here. Her quiet simplicity matched the surroundings. He wished she could be here with him always. He pushed the thought away.
“This way,” he said gruffly, holding the door open.
As they stepped into the cool, dim interior, Ronan led her into a wide, plain room that held three huge copper stills. Sunbeams poured through a narrow window, gleaming over bright metal. Ellison turned in wonder.
“What are those? And that smell—ale? And smoke?”
