Page 32 of Highland Renegade
“I canna believe Ian would agree to such a thing.” Fiona gave Emily a sideways glance. “I thought he might be sweet on ye.”
Emily felt her cheeks warm and prayed she wasn’t blushing. The idea was preposterous, given how he felt about his land. Just because she thought him attractive—she couldn’t deny that her senses were heightened around him, but she tried to check those feelings—didn’t mean he reciprocated. Just because their exchange of words reminded her of a well-played game of chess didn’t mean anything, either. They were engaged in a war of sorts and both of them knew it.
“Your brother has been very kind in tolerating us. And, actually, I agreed to the scheme. I would like to see the clan name restored.”
“Ye would? But—” Fiona stopped abruptly. “Ye really wouldna mind Gavin paying ye court?”
“I would not go so far as that,” Emily answered. “As a widow, I can allow a bit of flirtation if it will help your family accept me, but I have no intention of allowing anything beyond that.”
Fiona tilted her head. “Ye loved your husband so much, then?”
Juliana snorted. “Hardly.”
“Juliana…” Emily warned.
Her sister frowned. “There is no harm in telling Fiona you were not happy with an old man who—”
“That isenough.” Emily turned to Fiona. “My marriage was one of convenience. Let us leave it at that.”
“I never liked the earl, either,” Lorelei declared before switching the subject. “So tell us why you said you were surprised that Gavin would come here.”
“’Tis just that he spends little time in the country. He prefers Glasgow or Edinburgh and, of course, London.” Fiona looked wistful. “I wish I could go to London sometime.”
“Well, you can come with me when I go back,” Lorelei said.
Fiona frowned. “Ye are returning to London?”
“Not yet, but Emily promised me a Season next spring.”
“A Season…” Fiona’s eyes sparkled. “I would so like to attend a real ball, and go to the theater, and see an opera and all those things that Gavin has talked about…” She sighed. “But Ian would never let me.”
Lorelei lifted her chin. “Well, then we will have to figure out a plan to make him let you.”
Fiona smiled. “Do ye think we could?”
“Of course!” Lorelei looked at Emily. “We can come up with something.”
Emily smiled back, not wanting to burst any bubbles. She still hadn’t looked at any reports beyond what she already knew. Providing a Season for Lorelei—and Juliana if she could be persuaded—would be costly. She would have to rent a townhouse as well, if she needed to chaperone. But…if the funds proved to be there—and they would beherfunds—she would certainly offer to include Fiona. It might set off another battle in the war she and Ian were engaged in, but it would be one more challenge to win.
…
Neither of the uncles looked overly pleased to see her two mornings later when she appeared in the doorway of the distillery. Ian and his brothers had gone to check on the barley fields to determine which ones were ripe for harvest, and she’d decided to use the opportunity to ride over.
The sweet-sour smell of damp barley germinating filled her nose as she walked into the malting room where Broderick and Donovan were turning the wet grain over with wooden shovels so it wouldn’t clump. They both straightened, and Donovan looked over her shoulder.
“Did Ian bring ye? I thought he was checking the fields.”
“He is. I came by myself.”
Broderick raised a brow. “Did we nae answer your questions the last time ye were here?”
The only time…she’d been there once. But she didn’t correct him. “Yes, you were quite thorough in explaining the process. How this”—she gestured to the grain on the stone floor—“will next be dried in a kiln, then put in a mash tun to produce sugar, which will then be fermented and eventually distilled. And,” she added, “that the whisky is put in used oak barrels only so it does not gather too much wood flavor.”
“It seems ye listened closely,” Donovan said.
“I think the process interesting. You both explained it very well.”
“Then why are ye here?” Broderick asked.
