Page 15 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Tinnie-what? I’ve never heard of it,” one revenue man was saying to the other.
“A bad illness,” Andrew said. “We hope to get him some help in time.”
“They’re lying so they can get illegal whisky past us. Search the cart!”
They had the authority to do whatever they wanted, he knew. Excise officers were deputies of the law, charged with apprehending smugglers, collecting illicit goods, and collecting additional fees to supplement their meager wages. Thus the incentive to find criminals in the Highland regions was strong, encouraged by the government. Dougal paused, waiting. Then he groaned.
“It does seem bad. Best keep away, Mr. MacIntyre,” one man said to the other.
Dougal frowned. Tam MacIntyre was a tough, cruel law enforcer, lately promoted to chief revenue officer along the loch.
“Tinneas-an-gradh-dubh,”Ranald repeated. “Bad!”
“Bad, aye!” Andrew spoke hastily. “Mr. MacIntyre, sir, let us pass. Only the healing woman can help Hector in his suffering. We do not want to catch this.”
“Go on, then,” MacIntyre growled. “But if you see that rascal Dougal MacGregor, you tell him I am looking for him.”
“I have not seen him for a while,” Andrew said.
“He’s likely crossing the hills with a load of peat reek,” MacIntyre said.
“Kinloch has never been caught at such a thing,” Andrew defended. “He is a fine laird, looking after his glen and his tenants, his cattle and his fields.”
“And his barley brew? Tell him we discovered another whisky still up the glen side. We dismantled it, but we do not know whose it is. Any illegal stills found on a landowner’s property are the fault of the landowner. The punishment and the fine will be Kinloch’s to bear on this one.”
Ranald murmured something and spat.
“In English, you old goat, I know you speak it,” MacIntyre said.
“The reverend hired a teacher to come to Glen Kinloch to teach us English,” Andrew said. “Perhaps my father can learn English from her.”
“And you are a slick-tongued otter. I do not trust a word you say.”
Dougal groaned and retched.
MacIntyre’s companion swore. “Let them pass, sir. If the old man dies—”
“Go on,” MacIntyre said. “But tell your kinsmen and friends we are watching them. We have more men now and new laws. Tell your free-trading kin they will not get away with crimes so easily as before.”
“Good evening, Mr. MacIntyre,” Andrew said, and snapped the reins.
As the cart lurched, Dougal kept his arms around the girl. Hischeek was against hers under the cover of the musty old blanket. He felt her breath wisp over his ear. He heard Andrew and Ranald talking. Then Ranald laughed outright.
“Kinloch, did you hear it?” Ranald called back.
“I did,” Dougal said. “Be quiet, you, until we are far away.”
“Tinneas-an-gradh-dubh,”Andrew repeated, hooting. “The black lovesickness!”
“The black lovesickness is upon him,” Ranald crowed. “He has it bad!”
“It will slay him for certain,” Andrew added with gravity.
“Best see the lass home and save the laird from being sick with love,” Ranald said.
“Enough!” Dougal called gruffly.
The girl was laughing softly beneath his covering hand, her lips tender against his palm. Sudden desire spiked hot through him. He lifted his hand away and wondered if it was safe to sit up yet. The air between them was heated with feelings he dared not explore.
