Page 19 of Highland Renegade
Ian opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. Emily had already ridden on ahead. Besides, she was right. Even a mature horse didn’t like being crowded, and loud noise could make one skittish. And, he had to admit, Emily did seem to know how to handle a horse. With a sigh he nudged Paden forward, this time staying to the side where the filly could see him approach.
She glanced at him as he came alongside. “Tell me about your distillery. I do not recall seeing it listed as a source of revenue.”
She had definitely read the reports he’d sent. And understood them. Which meant she was probably going to demand to see the ledgers he kept here as well. He suddenly felt like he was treading on very boggy ground that had nothing to do with the peat bog nearby.
“They were nae mentioned because ’tis mostly a local business we do.”
“Did you not say you sold the whisky in Glasgow?”
“Well…aye. But nae that much. ’Tis more for local consumption.” He waved a hand vaguely. “Every clan has its own stills.”
“But your whisky was excellent,” she said. “How many bottles do you produce a year?”
The woman was as tenacious as a terrier at a rabbit hole. “I would have to check with Broderick and Donovan.”
“Your uncles?”
“Aye. They keep the books, since they run the distillery.”
“But you cannot give me an estimate?”
A very stubborn, obstinate terrier she was. “’Tis better if I check with them first.”
She gave him a look as though he were daft. “I can ask them myself.”
No. That would not do at all. The income from the whisky—which was substantial, if unreported—was distributed among the clansmen, since they harvested the barley and dug the peat. To take that money away from them would limit their ability to purchase supplies and would prove a hardship come the winter.
Equally as important, he needed to talk with his uncles to alert them about the deed. Neither would be happy to learn of the new circumstances, and that would be putting it mildly.
“Changes canna be made overnight as ye will discover once ye see the kiln and stills. ’Tis a long process that canna be rushed, so the question can keep a day or two, nae?” Ian asked.
“I suppose,” she said as they approached the large rectangular building not far off the road. “But I do intend to inspect the distillery and its bookssoon.”
He wasn’t sure whatsoonmeant to a terrier determined to root its rabbit, but he let it go for now. He had a bigger problem. Actually, two of them, since his uncles had emerged from the distillery and were walking toward them.
As they dismounted and he made the introductions, he watched both of them carefully, hoping they wouldn’t get off to a bad start before he had a chance to explain everything. Donovan was in his late fifties, remembered the defeat at Culloden well, and resented having to use the surname Murray.
Broderick was his father’s youngest brother, only about fifteen years older than himself. He had traveled to London once and seemed to get along fine with the English—or at least as well as any Scot could—but his goal was to run the distillery when Donovan retired. He’d even talked to Ian about buying it outright…hence another reason to keep the profits close to home.
“I am pleased to meet both of you,” Emily said. “I have sampled your fine whisky and am looking forward to learning about the whole process of making it. If we can increase production, I am sure I can arrange to have it sold to some of London’s best gentlemen’s clubs. But…” She glanced at Ian, then smiled at the men. “I promised I would not launch a barrage of questions at you today.”
Although they both nodded cordially and smiled back, Ian didn’t miss the look his uncles exchanged. It was a look that meant they weren’t agreeing to anything.
Chapter Seven
“You summoned us here?” Juliana asked as she and Lorelei joined Emily in her bedchamber late that afternoon.
“I do not know why you insist on staying in here.” Lorelei sank down on the bed. “It’s drafty and those twisty stairs aren’t safe. Why do you not pick a room near us?”
Emily shook her head. “I like having this part of the castle to myself. Its creaks and groans at night let me imagine the ghosts of old lairds are walking about.”
Lorelei shuddered. “Do not even jest about things like that.”
Juliana rolled her eyes. “Stop being superstitious.”
“I heard all old castles are supposed to be haunted,” Lorelei retorted. “Another reason I am glad we are in the newer part.”
Emily smiled at her. “You do not think a spirit could wander there?” The remark brought a look of consternation to her sister’s face. “Never mind. I am sure Fiona would have said something if Strae Castle has a resident ghost.”
