Page 34 of Highland Renegade
Emily gave an exasperated sigh. No wonder Juliana found the man so annoying. “As much as it may surprise you, some women are actually good with numbers.” He started to retort, but she went on. “I want to send some of the whisky that is mature to London to establish a market there.”
“And what did Donovan and Broderick have to say about that?” Ian asked.
“They were not that terribly excited about it,” Emily admitted. “I gather they are quite loyal to the Glasgow men they sell to.”
“As they should be,” Rory said. “Scots need to take care of their own first.”
“I do not disagree,” Emily replied, “but I intend to improve the lot here at Strae Castle. How can anyone not want that?”
“Bloody English.” Devon stomped off before Ian could admonish him.
She sighed once more as she watched him leave. “I do hope I can get him to change his mind about us.”
“Nae likely,” Rory said with no trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Devon was captured by dragoons a number of years ago, and they tortured him.”
Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. “I am so sorry. I did not know.”
“’Tis a tale for another time,” Ian said grimly. “Meanwhile, I will speak to him.”
“Please do.”
As he and Rory left to find Devon, Emily made her way to her bedchamber to change her clothes, but the thought of what Devon must have gone through stayed with her throughout the evening meal and lingered as she prepared for bed.
She lay for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering what she could do, before finally drifting off into a fitful sleep, filled with odd pieces of dreams.
And then, the dreams shifted, and she saw the man again. Once again, he stood in the shadows near her bed watching her, knife in hand. Her skin chilled as a cool breeze swept over her and she opened her eyes slowly.
No one was there, but the room definitely felt chilly. Emily glanced at the window to see if it had been left open, but it was tightly closed. She knew the door was bolted, since she’d taken to barring it after the last “dream.” Still shivering, she drew the blankets to her chin.
She did not believe in ghosts, but where had that cool air suddenly come from?
Chapter Ten
The next morning, her sisters looked up from the round table in the smaller dining room as Emily entered.
“Heavens! You look like something one of those wolfhounds might have dragged through the woods,” Juliana said.
“Good morning to you, too,” Emily answered as she walked to the sideboard and poured herself a cup of tea that she hoped was as strong as the Scot whisky. Foregoing cream and sugar, she carried it back to the table. Luckily, they were the only ones there.
Lorelei swallowed a mouthful of poached egg. “You did not sleep well?”
“No.” She debated on whether to admit she was worried about the resistance she felt from the MacGregors or to mention that the dream—both times—had terrified her. She opted for neither.
“My head was spinning with all the accounting ledgers I looked at yesterday. It took me a while to calm my thoughts.”
Juliana gave her a speculative look. “I never saw you agitated when you were going over old Albert’s accounts. And, Lord knows,thosewere something to be disturbed about.”
“I remember, too. We were in such dire straits that I had to make do with last year’s gowns.” Lorelei held up her hand before either of her sisters could retort. “I am not complaining. I understood. My point is that, even with our finances in such a dreadful state, you never seemed upset.”
“Were the distillery ledgers in such a mess that you could not find your way through them?” Juliana asked. “Or the profit only marginal?”
“Neither. The uncles, or at least one of them, kept very orderly books,” Emily answered. “And, while I think I can certainly increase profits if I can sell to London, the amount of money taken in was adequate.”
Lorelei frowned. “Then why could you not sleep?”
She must really look worse than she felt for her sisters to persist in their questioning. Maybe she should have just stayed in bed and asked for a tray to be sent up. The thought no more than entered her mind when she dismissed it. Maggie would take the request for a tray as typicalEnglishself-indulgence and she wanted—needed—to somehow get on the housekeeper’s good side. And her sisters, instead of interrogating her at the table, would have been in her room with questions as to why she was abed…especially since she never allowed herself to act sick.
Emily took another sip of fortifying tea and forced a smile. “This is going to sound silly, but I dreamed about that ghost Lorelei mentioned.”
