Page 59 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“It would be difficult for anyone to reach King George with a new bottle of whisky, I would imagine.”
“Not for Sir Walter Scott. I would be glad to ask for you.”
“Indeed?” He cocked a brow. “You have impressive friends and kinsmen, Miss MacCarran. I am surprised you agreed to come to our wee Highland glen. You must be very busy in Edinburgh.”
“I would rather be in this wee glen than anywhere, I think.” She smiled, took in a breath. “Such fresh air, beautiful hills, and welcoming people.” She waved toward the distillery buildings. “My brother told me to beware the laird of Kinloch, but perhaps he did not know you have a legal enterprise.” And perhaps she was wrong about his other activities.
“My distillery was only recently approved by the government. It is possible he did not know about it.”
“If your tenants also obtain licenses, that would put an end to smuggling.” She would like to see danger removed for Kinloch and his glen. Not long ago, she had not known or cared. Now she did, very much.
“That would not happen quickly. Highland whisky is more expensive than Lowland whiskies and takes longer to make, as we produce it from malted barley, a longer and more careful process. It is superior to the cheaper grain whisky made in the south, which is more easily made. We must move our whisky out of Scotland to earn enough income to sustain the folk who make it. Many are losing their other means of livelihood, thanks to the clearings in the glens, when land is bought up and people dispossessed.”
“I know. It is very sad.” She shook her head. “And since Highlanders use the best ingredients in a careful process, the price will alwaysbe higher than the grain stuff.”
“Aye. And it will come even dearer with more excise officers being sent up to the Highlands to find and destroy small stills and enterprises.”
“And my brother among them. I feel I should apologize.” She sighed. The more she knew about Kinloch, the glen, and the whisky enterprise, the more she understood his dedication. And the more he cared, the more she cared, too, now.
He looked at her for a long moment. “No need.”
“Patrick worked in Edinburgh as a lawyer,” she explained, “but he wanted adventure. So he accepted a post as an excise officer.”
“He will find enough adventure here, and may he survive it. Why did you both come to this part of the Highlands?”
“My brother and I need to—” She stopped. She could hardly explain her grandmother’s will and her true reason for coming here. “My brother James owns the Struan estate now, and we thought it would be nice to be close by.”
“I wish someone had told Patrick he would do better in Edinburgh as an advocate. His adventure could come at a heavy price.”
“It is dangerous, I know. And it worries me.”
“I am sorry, lass. But these men can be a sorry bunch. The government pays them poorly but pays extra coin for every bottle and keg a gauger captures. So they scheme to betray Highlanders even when we follow the law, so long as they can confiscate bottles and barrels to put coin in their own pockets.”
“You do not care much for revenuers.”
“Gaugers killed my father,” he said curtly. “He died for the price of the small kegs he carried on two ponies.”
“I am sorry. Truly I am,” she murmured, setting a hand to her chest, sensing in his quiet but brusque tone a hint of the sorrow and bitterness he must feel.
“The whisky he carried was legally made, not smuggled. They didnot care.”
She shook her head sadly. “Was it recently?”
“I was thirteen.”
“Just a boy!” She saw his guarded expression alter for a moment, saw the vulnerable boy—then it shuttered closed. He wanted no sympathy or fuss, she realized. But she wanted him to know that she understood. “I lost my parents when I was young. I know how that feels.”
He nodded. “I became laird of Kinloch that day. Since then, I have learned much. Most of it outside the schoolroom,” he added wryly.
“You left schooling behind because of so many responsibilities,” she said.
“I went to the glen school, and then to university for two years. My father wanted that. But I was needed here and came home. Come this way, Miss MacCarran.” He took her arm to guide her over the bridge, their footsteps thudding over the planking. “We’ve lingered too long. The sun will set soon.”
“I should like to see the distillery, if you will show me.”
He gestured for her to precede him. “We spent last year repairing and expanding the place. We planned to rebuild the schoolhouse this spring as well. But the Lowland teacher arrived sooner than expected.”
“So she did. I have not fit your plans from the start.”
