Page 71 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“It is nothing to fret over. Dishes break and are replaced. We are not fussy here—a houseful of rogues.” He gave her a smiling glance as he bent over her finger. “We eat where we like, and take a dram or a meat pie in the parlor or the library or bedroom as much as the dining room or kitchen. My uncles and I have all broken more glasses and dishes than we could count.”
She laughed. “What does Lucy think of her rogue uncles?”
“Och, she tells us to behave,” he drawled. “And sounds like a wee Jeanie MacGregor when she does it, too. But we are a parcel o’ rogues and bachelors with no woman to guide us in better ways. Maisie comes in once or twice a week to cook and clean and does her best. Jeanie was a godsend too, for Lucy needed a woman about. But she left us. Hamish, rather. Perhaps she was done with all of us.” He shook his head.
“As you say, she will return. Lucy does need a woman in her life, and so do her uncles. As her teacher, I think the lass would benefit,” she added hastily.
“Aye.” He wrapped his hand around her finger, pressing it, and looked at her, his eyes twinkling in the golden candlelight. “Your recovery is certain, I think. What was in your wee glass?”
“Whisky and honey for the cough.”
“Good. Did it help?”
“Help?” Were his eyes truly that green, or was it a trick of the candlelight? His thick black lashes encircling moss-green eyes were simply beautiful. “Oh! It did. I drank some but spilled the rest.”
“You should take another wee dram. The smoke of that fire was very thick. A number of us were overcome and coughing. I should not have let you come along.”
“I came of my own accord.”
He nodded. “So you did. Another dram, then? I do not know Maisie’s recipe, but a bit of the whisky should do on its own. What is that commotion?” He turned as the dogs began barking downstairs. “I willgo see what is bothering them. Pour yourself a dram, and one for me, if you will. That is Kinloch whisky, just there.” He pointed toward the bottles on the low cupboard, and left the room.
Fiona went to the cupboard, not quite sure which bottle he meant. There were several, some of them with handwritten labels, paper strips glued to the glass.Brandy,said one;MacDonald’s Whisky,another; A Good Port; A Claret; A Shiraz,read the other labels. One brown bottle said Glen Kinloch. Three small silver flasks and two green bottles were all labeleduisge-beatha an ceann loch.Kinloch whisky, in Gaelic. Surely that was what Maisie had given her, mixed with honey and hot water. Or was it Glen Kinloch? They must be the same, likely different batches. Lifting one of the silver flasks, she took a small glass from a cluster arranged with the bottles. Pouring out a little liquid, she sipped.
The whisky, by itself without honey or hot water, was wonderful. Strong and yet delicate, slightly sweet, it had a seductive simplicity unlike any whisky she had tasted before. Its natural heat spread quickly through her, the first small sip sinking gently, a stream of mellow fire building inside. Her tickly throat cleared almost immediately, and her chest felt better. Already she breathed more deeply. She sipped again, and a wonderful warmth filled her.
On the third sip, she sought its elusive sweetness and some undefinable spicy flavor. Sipping again, she chased after its delicate flavor, trying to define it. Kinloch’s whisky was alluring, with both wildness and charm in the smallest sip. She carried the glass to the wing chair and sank into it, enjoying the mellow warmth that radiated inside of her. The little annoying cough had all but vanished. The stinging pain in her finger was gone as well.
Waiting, she picked up her grandmother’s book and skimmed the pages, wondering at the strange assignment Lady Struan had given her. So far, Glen Kinloch had no real fairies, and few local stories.
Hearing noises below and then footsteps hurrying up the stonestairs, she glanced up as the dogs bounded into the room and Dougal followed.
“Have your uncles returned? I should go,” she said.
“The noise was only the wind. My uncles are still out in the glen. It is a busy night and they may not be back before dawn.”
“The fire, aye.” She tipped her head. “Or is it busy because of the gaugers?”
“We have been busy trying to avoid them, true.”
She appreciated his frankness and the trust he showed by admitting it. “They will find nothing. You are always careful, I think.”
“We are.” He went to the cupboard, picked up a fat brown bottle, and poured a little whisky into a small glass.
“I do apologize, I meant to pour you a dram as well.” When he shrugged and sipped, showing it was no matter, she settled back. “You came home sooner than I expected. I thought you would be out the whole of the night.”
“Maisie’s brother told me she had gone to help their father. With the gaugers about, I was concerned that you were here alone.”
“No need for concern. I have been safe here, and quite cozy.”
“So I see.” He lifted his glass in a lighthearted salute and sipped. “I know you are a stubborn lass, and I thought you might head back to Mary MacIan’s.”
“I heeded your advice to stay. I did not expect anyone back so soon, or I would have dressed.” She pulled the robe around her and tucked her legs up under her in the chair to hide her bare feet, draping the dressing gown best she could. “This is so improper. I have never been in such a situation before. I am sorry.”
“No need. In the city, I am sure you rarely meet smugglers at midnight, and in your dressing gown.” He gave her a crooked smile.
“I believe it is your robe, actually.” She smoothed the fabric draped over her legs. “Life in the city is dull by comparison to your glen.”
He huffed a laugh. “So you live with your great-aunt there?”
