Page 42 of A Rogue in Moonlight
“Just a warning.”
“MacCarran! Hurry up there!” Tam shouted.
“Take your sister away from this glen,” Dougal muttered. “There is danger in this glen for her. And you, sir.”
“Danger from rogues like you?”
“I am keeping the rogues away from her, have no doubt. She must leave, but she is as stubborn a lass as I have ever met in my life.”
MacCarran huffed. “That is my sister.”
“Does MacIntyre know she is here?”
“I have not mentioned it.”
“Good. See he stays ignorant of it. Do not trust him.”
“Why should I trust you?” MacCarran asked low.
“Trust me or not. Just get Fiona MacCarran out of here. It is not safe for her.”
“I will think on it.”
“Just so,” Dougal murmured.
Patrick moved to the next horse and the next, checking each basket. Dougal knew the young man must have noted the quantity of bottles tucked among the small grain sacks that cushioned them. Finally he progressed to Fergus’s pony, opened the panniers, and rooted around. He lifted a bottle, upended it to find it nearly empty, and took that and a small grain sack toward MacIntyre.
“What did you find?” Tam demanded.
“A few bottles,” Patrick said. “Mostly barley sacks, as Kinloch said.”
Fergus, standing with Dougal, huffed quietly. “That is a good lad.”
“Transporting barley is no crime,” MacIntyre growled. “But they will just make more whisky from it. How many bottles?”
“Not a lot. Most are like these.” He handed the bottle up to his supervising officer, who took it, tugged out its wax plug, sniffed it, and upended it to his mouth to drain the rest of it.
“Bah, nearly empty!” Macintyre snarled, wiping his mouth. “Good stuff. I doubt they only share it locally. It would sell well, this, and earn good coin.”
“They do seem to be transporting barley, which is fine.” MacCarran handed up the grain sack. “If they carried more whisky than Ifound, it is in their bellies now. You can smell it everywhere on them. Some of them can hardly stand upright. They are fou, sir. Drunk as can be.”
“Fou,” Tam growled, and looked at Dougal. “You devil, Kinloch.”
Dougal grinned, crossing his arms. Fergus wobbled, just then, grabbing hold of his horse’s bridle for good effect. One of his cronies leaned over and retched loudly.
“I will look at the damn panniers myself,” Tam said, and began to dismount.
“Take my word, sir. I did a thorough search. I am doing my best to follow orders.”
“So far,” Tam sneered. “But you are an idiot if you think those sneakbaits are not transporting peat reek tonight. Dig deeper into those baskets.”
“I did. I found these.” MacCarran handed Tam two bottles that he had tucked under his arm—full bottles of Glen Kinloch’s finest. Dougal had not seen him snatch them from the load. “Perhaps you will find a use for it.”
Well done, lad,Dougal thought. Bribing MacIntyre was an impressive move.
“Hah! I do have a use for this. But perhaps I will look for more of the same.” He glanced past the group at the road. Patrick MacCarran turned, and his mouth dropped open. “What the devil,” MacIntyre growled.
Dougal turned, too, and swore under his breath.
