Page 58 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Do you want a Highlander’s opinion?” He laughed. “At any rate, the king’s men have the devil of a time enforcing any laws in the Highlands. Regulations that make sense in the city law courts are nearly impossible to enforce in the Highlands.”
“And as the laird, you could be arrested for stills the revenuers find in Glen Kinloch, even if they are not your stills?”
“True. But Highland stills are well hidden. Many have been in place for generations. What my tenants produce is their concern, notmine. The law does not agree, so we make sure the stills are not found. Not all Highland whisky is illicit, I promise you,” he added. “And more legal distilleries are opening every year, encouraged by the lower taxes. The new laws will help many to make a living from producing and selling legal Highland whisky.”
“And if the laws decrease smuggling,” she said, “those ventures will die out.”
“Someday. So you see why we opened our Kinloch distillery, to make our very fineuisge-beatha ghleann ceann loch.”He touched her elbow. “Have you never seen whisky in the making? Come, let me show you.”
*
As they entereda shady little glade, Fiona saw a tidy cluster of whitewashed buildings with neat slate roofs and doors painted in different colors. It looked more like a picturesque village than a busy enterprise. The path led to a wooden footbridge that crossed a burbling stream. All seemed quaint and peaceful.
“I thought Highland whisky was made in small copper stills,” she said, looking up at Dougal MacGregor as he walked beside her. “The equipment here must be much larger than that. Surely you produce quite a bit here.”
“We needed more buildings for a legal distillery and enterprise.” He strolled with her over the wooden bridge. “Originally these were outbuildings for Kinloch Castle. Two hundred years ago, an old castle stood on the hill before the tower house was built,” he explained. “That largest building was the stable, and the others were byre, granary, and bakehouse. They were abandoned once the tower came into use. My grandfather and father reclaimed them for the whisky.”
On the bridge, Fiona paused beside Dougal and looked down over the railing. Water rushed over rocks to channel away, the sound swift,the moisture in the air refreshing. Two young men exited the largest building and waved at Dougal. They glanced curiously at Fiona and went on their way.
“It looks a flourishing place,” she said.
“Busy enough.” He seemed pleased and proud, Fiona thought, his smile slight but genuine. Her brother had mentioned that there were hundreds of secret stills to be found in the Highlands, and casks moved by smugglers bold enough to manufacture and move whisky rather openly. The laird of Kinloch must be one of the bolder ones, she thought, to oversee such an organized business that included both smuggled and legitimate whisky.
She thought of the moonlit night when she had stood on a hillside watching Kinloch and a band of smugglers walk past with their ponies.Fiona, go home, he had said,and lock your door. A shiver went through her at the memory.
“What a rogue you are, Kinloch,” she said quietly.
“Am I?” He tilted his head to look at her.
“Making whisky without apology, and smuggling it out of Scotland when you could make it legitimately.”
He paused. “I brought you here to show you that I am not just a smuggler and a rogue. That I have dreams.”
Revelation struck. She had been wrong. “Oh! I apologize. I thought you were combining your ventures to make large quantities here in the open, while smuggling it out. This is a licensed venture.”
“Fully licensed.” He chuckled. “But what a bold ambition—an enormous smuggling enterprise that we pretend is legal. We could plant more trees to hide the place.”
She laughed ruefully. “The revenue officers would notice too much chimney smoke and activity here. You would have to show them the documents.”
“Rest assured, every square inch here has been examined and approved. King George himself might be served Glen Kinloch whisky atcourt one day.”
“The king asked for his favorite whisky when he visited Edinburgh last summer. There was quite a kerfuffle over it—he did not even realize he was asking for illegal spirits, and he seemed unaware his favorite brew came to London through smuggling. Some people were outraged. Others were amused.”
“I heard about that. My cousin, Ronan MacGregor, is responsible for Glenbrae whisky, the king’s favorite brew. A very fine whisky, I admit. It was originally delivered to the king in London, and he asked to meet Ronan in Edinburgh. There were—curious circumstances, from what we heard, but Ronan is a good man and it worked out well.”
“Ronan MacGregor is Viscount Darrach now—he is your cousin? I saw him at one of the royal assemblies in Edinburgh. A very handsome fellow, all done up in Highland kit, looking like a true warrior. He put some of the other Highlanders to shame. Tartan peacocks, some said, but he was called handsome and beautiful.”
He grinned. “We are a handsome lot, we MacGregors.”
She smiled. “You are.”
“And I have no doubt he looked the perfect Highlander, tall and strong and notable. But outshining others is never his intent. He is a quiet sort, is Ronan. A lawyer, bent on defending others in trouble. Then he was put upon himself. Arrested for smuggling, and nearly hanged for it.”
“I heard some rumor of that. I do hope he came away unscathed. He was with a very pretty young lady, the daughter of a government official, they said.”
“Truly! I wish them well. I must send word to say I am thinking of him. He suggested that I send some Kinloch brew to King Geordie in London for a gift. The king loves Highland whisky, which gives the Scots a good laugh. He does not seem to realize that every drop of his Highland whisky may have been smuggled to London.”
“Do let me know if you have news of your cousin. I would like to know he fared well after the king’s visit. As for your whisky, we have a family friend who could convey a bottle to the king if you like. He meets with him now and then.”
