Page 43 of Highland Renegade
For the past week, she had watched from a distance as Ian swung his sickle, cutting cleanly through the fibrous stems as he walked along a row. The work was labor-intensive and the early autumn days unusually warm. It hadn’t taken long for him to remove his shirt, leaving him clad only in doeskin breeches. Watching his back muscles work and his biceps bulge with each swing was endlessly fascinating, even if she did feel a bit like a wanton for enjoying it.
She hadn’t known a man could look so perfectly sculpted, like a Greek statue in motion. Albert had always kept his nightshirt on when he’d come to her bed, although what she could feel of his weight had been soft and pudgy. Luckily, those episodes had been few and quickly over, and she’d been thankful—the Lord forgive her—when he’d passed away and she never had to experience the humiliation again.
Now, watching Ian move with practiced precision, his black hair glistening nearly blue in the sunlight, she was reminded of a black panther she’d once seen in a traveling zoo. The animal had paced his cage with graceful agility, exuding power with every stride.
An odd tingle coursed through her as she wondered what it would be like to have such an animal—the human one—in her bed.
She felt her face heat at the thought, not even knowing where it had come from. As far as she was from her goal of beingacceptedby the MacGregors, to think—no, to fantasize—about anything more was ludicrous. Keeping that thought firmly in mind, she turned Muirne back to the castle.
As she rode into the bailey, she noticed a carriage parked in the yard. No crest was attached to the door, but it looked well-made, the wood varnished, and the brass lanterns polished.
“Have we a visitor?” she asked Hamish as she entered.
The castellan gave her a dubious look. “A Mr. Everard. He says he’s from White’s, in London.”
“Ah! The procurator! Wonderful,” Emily said. “Is he in the parlor?”
“Aye. I have sent for Broderick.”
“Broderick?” She frowned. “Whatever for?”
He lifted his chin ever so slightly. “He handles the distillery business.”
“But I am the one…” Emily let her voice trail off. There was no use arguing with the castellan. Meanwhile, she would take matters into her own hands. “Please bring a bottle of the MacGregor whisky to the parlor…and two glasses.”
His eyes widened, although she wasn’t sure whether it was because she was requesting whisky in the middle of the afternoon or whether she’d asked for two glasses. For a moment he hesitated and she wondered if he’d refuse—she thought there was a bottle in the library that she could get—but then he gave a terse nod and walked away.
She shook her head at his retreating back before she turned to greet her guest…and, hopefully, new business partner.
“Mr. Everard. I am Lady Woodhaven,” she said as he rose from his chair. “We were not sure when to expect you. Did you have an easy journey?”
He gave her an incredulous look. “Traveling a week, over roads that grow increasingly more like a deer trail and as deeply rutted as a dry stream, can hardly be called easy.” He lifted one shoulder in a slight shrug. “But that is of no significance. I am here to taste the whisky and decide whether it is good enough for White’s.”
“You will soon have a sample and be assured that it is.” Emily smiled and gestured for him to be seated. “I look forward to working with you.”
His look turned condescending. “I was told by the butler that the man in charge of the distillery had been sent for.”
She managed to keep her smile in place, even when Hamish—she didn’t bother to correct his status—came in with a bottle andoneglass. If she had excelled in one thing while being Albert’s wife, it was to hide her true feelings.
“Would you be so kind as to pour a dram for our guest?”
Hamish started to smirk at his little victory, but bootsteps were heard in the hall. In a moment, both Broderick and Donovan came through the parlor door. Emily leveled a look at the castellan.
“It seems we will needthreemore glasses, Hamish.”
“Aye. Three,” Donovan said.
She wasn’t sure if he’d noticed that Mr. Everard already had one or if he was really including her. Whichever it was, Hamish’s mouth tightened, but he nodded and left, soon to return with—thankfully—three glasses.
Emily watched covertly as the procurator took his first sip. She kept her smile hidden at his look of astonishment. “What do you think?”
He swirled the remaining contents gently, inhaled the aroma, and took another sip. He held it on his tongue like a fine wine before he swallowed. Then he smiled. “This is excellent. I think it will be in high demand at White’s.” He turned to the uncles. “Gentlemen. A toast to our future endeavor.”
Broderick and Donovan both grinned, held up their glasses, and in true Scot’s fashion, downed their drams. Emily pushed her irritability out of mind.
“This will truly be a joint adventure,” she said. “As I was about to tell you, I am planning to be a full participant in the distillery business.”
Mr. Everard eyed her. “That is totally unheard of. Women have no head for business.”
