Page 41 of Highland Renegade
“She went ahead and wrote to someone in London about the distillery,” Broderick said.
“Not justsomebody. The owner of White’s Gentlemen’s Club. It is the most exclusive in all of London.” Emily beamed at Ian. “I sent a post the day after I tasted that first dram. I knew it was excellent…and now White’s is interested in buying MacGregor whisky!”
He took the letter and scanned it. “They are sending a man up here?”
She nodded. “Their procurator. If he likes what he hears and sees—and tastes—he can offer a contract immediately.” She turned to Broderick and Donovan. “I know we will have to step up production, but the barley is ready to be harvested, so this is a perfect time!”
“To add more grain to the malting and mashing phases means longer working hours for the men,” Donovan said.
“Can you not just hire more men?”
“Nae for those two processes. They both require careful watching.”
“Aye,” Ian broke in. “’Tis much like a cook who serves a fine meal. The kitchen maids doona have a hand in it.”
“Well, from what you told me, that part takes only several weeks at most. And do not worry about the extra time needed with the bookkeeping,” Emily went on. “I can take care of that.”
Broderick frowned. “Ye want to be personally involved?”
“Of course. I intend to make the distillery very profitable.”
“And what will ye do with the profits?” This came from Rory.
Emily frowned slightly. “Share them, naturally. Whatever the distillery earned last year, you will keep. I will retain the profits above that.” She looked around at the suddenly silent men. “That seems fair, does it not?”
A loud crash came from outside the door before anyone could answer. Turning, Ian saw a small table in the hallway had been overturned and a broken vase lay on the floor. Angry footsteps faded away. Ian sighed.
Evidently, Devon had returned.
Chapter Twelve
“That damn Campbell is back.” Rory burst into the smaller dining room where Ian, Carr, and Alasdair, along with Emily and her sisters, had gathered to take the noonday meal. Now that harvesting was officially underway, the men and women who normally ate in the Great Hall had taken knapsacks with food so they wouldn’t have to waste time returning to the castle from the fields.
Ian arched a brow. “I’m surprised he has nae shown up sooner. It’s been near a fortnight.”
“Where is he?” Emily rose. “We should not keep him waiting.”
Rory snorted. “It would nae hurt to keep a Campbell waiting.”
Juliana glared at him as she stood, too. “He might have news of our stolen sheep.”
He glared back. “He dinna say anything about sheep.”
Emily sighed as her sister strode out. Juliana and Rory squabbled like children. She was never quite sure which one of them started the arguments, but neither of them ever wanted to give way. Lorelei gave her a helpless shrug as she walked past.
At least Ian’s other brothers were polite. Except for Devon, of course. He was an angry, troubled man, and she was concerned about him. She kept meaning to ask Ian about what had happened while Devon had been a captive, but the timing never seemed right. For now, though, it was probably better that he wasn’t here.
Gavin was seated in the small room across from the Great Hall that would be called a parlor were it in London. She paused for a second before approaching the door, remembering the original battle she’d fought with the housekeeper.
The room had been closed when she’d first arrived and obviously not used, by the amount of dust on everything. She’d asked for the room to be cleaned, the carpets beaten, the furniture uncovered, and the silver candelabra, nearly black with tarnish, polished. Maggie had said it would be put on a list of things to do. When nothing had happened over the course of three days, she’d gone to the housekeeper and asked for a polishing cloth, much to the startled surprise of several maids who were being given orders. Then Emily had marched into the room, taken the covers off the chairs, pulled out the carpet, and had begun polishing the silver. There had been some whispers at the door and scuffling feet. After several minutes, two maids appeared, saying they’d been sent to help. Emily suspected Maggie had done so grudgingly, but she wasn’t about to argue.
Now the room looked as a proper sitting room should. The hearth had been swept clean, the soot removed from the stone. The candlesticks on the mantel gleamed and the wood on the tables had been waxed until it shone. Even the chairs had been brushed until the texture of the seats looked soft and inviting.
Gavin rose from an armchair as the ladies entered. And—to the MacGregors’ annoyance, she was sure—bowed to her sisters, taking their hands and brushing a kiss in the air over each. For once, Juliana looked disconcerted and Emily heard Rory mutter something in Gaelic under his breath. Lorelei dropped a curtsy and batted her lashes, which brought a frown to Alasdair’s face. When Gavin turned to her, Ian stepped between them.
“Have ye news on the sheep?”
For a moment, Gavin seemed to contemplate him, and Emily thought he looked almost amused. Then he took a step back and shook his head.
