Laird of Secrets (The Whisky Lairds, Book 2): Historical Scottish Romance (The Whisky Lairds Series)

by Susan King

  Spinning, she went with them. But Hugh MacIan whirled too, shouting, grabbing for her. Fiona urged the children ahead, and they ran, sliding, rushing. Fiona stumbled on the hem of her skirt, and regained her balance, looking up.

  A tall man stepped out of the shadows, and reached out to snatch up Lucy first, then Annabel. As they flailed and screamed, Jamie ran ahead up the rough, narrow path between the rock walls. Fiona lunged to help the girls, but MacIan grabbed her by the waist from behind, dragging her back toward him.

  He barked at Jamie to stop, and the boy obeyed. But Fiona saw him fist his small hands and glance around, gauging his chances.

  She writhed and punched out, pushing against MacIan. The tall, dark man dropped Lucy and Annabel to their feet, snarling at them to stay. Fiona twisted in MacIan’s hold to look around.

  “Eldin!” she gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Get in there, all of you,” Eldin growled, pushing the girls into a small cave, then taking Fiona by the shoulder to shove her in with them. The reverend lunged for Jamie, pushing him inside with the girls. Then he reached into the shadows to pull an iron grate across the entrance, securing it.

  A cage—but not intended as a jail, Fiona realized. This must be the way the smugglers protected their kegs from thievery. And now she and the children were locked inside.

  “Let us out!” she cried, yanking on the rusted bars. The little cave was so low that she could not stand upright, but had to kneel. She reached out to bring the children close, fiercely so. Jamie stood ramrod straight, Lucy was breathing hard, and Annabel was whimpering. “They are only bairns. Let them go. I will stay. What do you want with us?”

  “You are insurance,” Eldin growled.

  “What sort of insurance?” A man spoke almost casually, his voice echoing. Footsteps sounded over stone. Golden light bloomed in the stone passage. Fiona craned her neck to see past the grate.

  Dougal walked toward them calmly, his face a fiery glow in lantern light. Behind him came Patrick.

  Chapter 18

  “Eldin,” Dougal said, “and Hugh. I should have suspected sooner.” In the flickering light, they stood staring at one another. Beyond them, Fiona and the children were trapped behind the iron grate. His glance flickered to meet hers, and away again. He could not allow anger, or his fear for her and the bairns, to weaken him. He fisted a hand at his side, and merely tilted his head. “What is this about?”

  “Kinloch,” Eldin said smoothly. “And Cousin Patrick. Are you here for dear Fiona, or the whisky?”

  “Both, I suppose,” Dougal said.

  “I saw my sister across the meadow,” Patrick said, “saw her walking toward the loch with the children and with you, Reverend. I followed, and met Kinloch along the way.” He held the lantern high. “We agreed that it seemed odd.”

  “Aye so,” Dougal said.

  Fiona was watching him, her face pale as she knelt holding the children close. She was beautiful, the strength of her will shining in her, and his heart turned to see her. He felt a raw and powerful urge to protect them, to tear open the iron bars, hurl Eldin and the reverend against the rock and into that prison, and worse than that. But he only clenched his fists, flared his nostrils, watched them warily.

  He knew what this was about. The fools. Eldin wanted the whisky that Dougal had refused him earlier. Hugh’s involvement was more puzzling. He was glad that Patrick MacCarran stood at his shoulder as a stalwart comrade. The lad had backbone and heart, like his sister.

  “Where are the other customs men?” he asked Patrick quietly.

  “Still in the glen, I’d wager. We are on our own,” Patrick whispered.

  “Eldin,” Dougal said then, “why take children and a woman captive? Is it cowardice you wish to prove, or do you have another purpose here?” He stepped closer, easing his hand to the butt of the pistol hidden under the drape of his plaid.

  With a quick move, Eldin produced a pistol of his own, drawn from inside his coat. He cocked the thing. At its echo, Fiona jumped, and the children shrieked. “Stand where you are, Kinloch,” the earl snapped. “Patrick too. Move and regret it.”

  “Nick.” Patrick spoke quietly, but Dougal sensed the lad was sharp and ready to spring. “What do you want here?”

  “Kinloch knows,” Eldin said.

  “Not all this kerfuffle for twelve-year whisky, I trust,” Dougal said.

  “Not that,” Eldin confirmed. “I want the other sort.”

  “What other sort?” Patrick asked.

  “Nicholas, please,” Fiona implored. “We so admired you when we were all young. You were such a kind boy, and such a fine young man. Something changed. But you have always been good to me, and so this—today—I do not understand.”

  “Perhaps he is that eager to inherit Grandmother’s fortune,” Patrick said.

  “Ah. Eldin, the cousin who could claim it all,” Dougal said.

  “Fiona told you about the will?” Patrick raised a brow. “She trusts you.”

  “I hope so,” Dougal said. He did not look at her. Could not, or he might go after Eldin and Hugh both in the next moment.

  “So you know Eldin inherits if my siblings and I do not find fairies and such,” Patrick said.

  “Then you must find fairies, by all means,” Dougal murmured.

  “As if we could,” Patrick muttered.

  “Quiet, both of you,” Eldin snapped.

  “Nicholas, dear, I never thought you capable of this,” Fiona was saying. “It borders on evil, this, and is not like you.”

  “My dear, so harsh,” Eldin said. “I have good reason to do this. Kinloch refuses to sell his whisky to me. I have little time, and little choice but to act thus.”

  “You are a wicked man!” Lucy stood by the grate, staring up at him.

  “Hush,” Eldin hissed.

  “Do not,” Dougal growled in warning, raising his palm to Eldin.

  “I have no interest in the children,” Eldin said. “Nor do I wish harm to my cousins. When I have what I want, you are free to go. With some exceptions.” He stared, flat and cold, at Dougal. “It depends on what you decide to do.”

  Dougal looked at Hugh. “What is your part in this?”

  “Kinloch, sell the whisky to Eldin,” Hugh said. “Do not take it to the ship.”

  “It is a cutter, not a ship,” Jamie corrected.

  “Shh,” Fiona said. She huddled with the children by the iron bars. “Hugh, I hope your grandmother does not know about this.”

  “She does not,” MacIan answered. “Though she might agree if she did. Dougal knows he can make a better profit selling the whisky to Eldin. I tried to tell him so. It is more profit, and faster, than he could get from the French or Irish merchants. That money could save this glen. That is my concern. The glen and its people.”

  “Then you had better save the glen from me,” Eldin snarled. “I hold the deeds now. I do not have all the documents yet, but enough to control the glen.”

  “Is the ba’ game over? Who won?” Jamie asked suddenly.

  “Southies,” Patrick said.

  “They had more players.” Jamie nodded in satisfaction.

  “There will be tourists and hotels here,” Eldin said, “and barges going up and down the loch taking them to Glen Kinloch. But you could still stop that, sir,” he told Dougal. “With the profit you make from selling the whisky to me, I will allow you to buy back some of the deeds. You could keep part of the glen.”

  “So generous,” Dougal drawled. Under his plaid, he rested his hand on the butt of his gun, but Eldin still held his own pistol steady. He could only hope Eldin would not fire a gun in this confined space, with a woman and children nearby. Yet if he had to fire his own weapon, Dougal thought, he would take the chance if it could ultimately save the ones he loved.

  “Dougal, listen to the man,” Hugh said. “We will all profit from this.”

  “Do you not see? Eldin does not care about the cache of aged whisky,” Dougal told him. �
��If he did, I would have sold it to him and made the profit already. He wants something more valuable, something rarer than Highland gold.”

  “Absolutely,” Eldin said. “It is not the aged whisky I want, but the other.”

  “If you did not want this cache, why bring us all here?” Hugh asked, rounding on Eldin. “I only agreed to your scheme because buying this stock would benefit the glen immediately, as well as yourself. You never mentioned this other. What is it?”

  “The fairy whisky,” Dougal said quietly.

  “That is just a legend,” Hugh sputtered. “I tasted it myself. Nothing to it. A good but rather plain whisky. It lacks the quality of the aged casks. You do not want that stuff, Lord Eldin.”

  “But I do,” Eldin replied. “I will pay any price for it.”

  “It is a disappointing brew. You make a mistake.”

  “The fairy ilk themselves make it,” Eldin said.

  “Not exactly,” Dougal said. “The legend is just a myth.”

  “Is it? I have investigated the legends thoroughly. I have searched up and down the Highlands to find something indisputably part of the fairy realm. And Kinloch fairy brew seems to be it.”

  “You must be mad,” Hugh said, gaping at him in astonishment.

  “Why do you care so about fairy brew?” Dougal asked.

  “I am something of a collector of fairy lore and magical things,” Eldin said. “I have heard of the fairy brew, and I must have it. Sell me whatever you have. I offer you a high price, one you should accept. I am sure you wish your loved ones to be safe.” He gestured toward Fiona.

  “And if I will not sell?” Dougal growled.

  “Then I will take all that you have, all the glen, and make sure the authorities have you jailed. I will hold the rights to whatever brew is produced in Glen Kinloch in the future. And,” Eldin said, “you will not see them again.” He looked at Fiona and the children. Taking a backward step, he lifted his pistol to point it at Hugh, standing nearest him. “Or the good reverend either.”

  “The fairy brew is an ordinary whisky,” Dougal said. “Made from a family recipe. The legends are only that. Stories.”

  “I will soon know for myself. I am among the few who will recognize the difference once I taste it,” Eldin said. “When I have the rights to the glen and any goods produced in it it, I will also have the exclusive privilege of the water source used to make whisky here.”

  “No one can claim rights to water that flows from one glen to another. Nick, truly, this is madness,” Patrick said.

  “Madness to one man, genius to another,” Eldin responded.

  “Water source?” Fiona asked.

  “There is a particular spring in these hills that is only used for this whisky,” Eldin said. “I have pieced that much together from asking around, and learning what I could of the local legend. The lairds of Kinloch will not say all of it, but others know some of the traditions. I want the rights to that spring. And you will show me where it is,” he told Dougal. “Cooperate, and all will go well. You can have the rest of the glen. And this will make you a rich man. Fiona would like that.” He smirked, glancing toward her. “She is desperate to find a wealthy Highland man.”

  “I have found the one I want,” she said quietly, watching Dougal.

  “A penniless Highland laird? Excellent,” Eldin said. “You will break the conditions of the will, and the bulk of Lady Struan’s accounts will come to me.”

  “The laird of Kinloch has more wealth than you can imagine, or ever appreciate,” she said. “The wealth of the heart, and the good fortune of loyalty and love.” She looked up at Dougal, her eyes wide and sheened with tears.

  He caught her gaze, held it for a moment. Felt his heart open wide, full to the brim.

  “Sentimental nonsense,” Eldin answered. “What have you done to the girl, Kinloch? She was a sensible lass until she came here. I offer you a good bargain, sir. I advise you to accept.” He waved the pistol. “You need only give over the fairy whisky you hold now, with the rights to the spring, and Fiona and the children will be set free. I will pay handsomely, as I said.”

  “All well and good. Do you expect to get out of this cave alive?” Dougal murmured.

  “I do. You will lose your glen without the funds I am offering you.”

  “Lose the glen?” Fiona looked from one man to the other.

  “If you had all that—my stock of whisky, and the rights to the spring,” Dougal went on, “what then? You do not know how to produce the whisky. Little good the rest would do you in future.”

  “Glen Kinloch distillery would produce it for me.”

  “You think so?” Dougal kept his voice low, controlled, though he vibrated with anger.

  “It is becoming a ready source of income for you, so aye.”

  “There is a problem with your scheme,” Dougal said. “If the fairy brew is sold, that will undo its magic. So the legend says. But it is just a legend,” he added.

  “What?” Eldin leveled the pistol at him. “You lie. The stuff is powerful, and the magic of the Fey is part of that.”

  “If I take money for it—if anyone does—that will render it into a modest quality peat reek. The secret spring would cease to flow. It would never again produce water for the fairy brew. According to tradition, that is.”

  “Not true. I have never heard that,” Eldin said.

  “Because it is a secret,” Lucy pointed out. “Only our family knows. Not you!”

  Quickly Fiona covered the child’s mouth, leaning to whisper to her.

  “What do you mean, girl?” Eldin demanded.

  “She is just a child, speaking out of turn,” Fiona said, and sent the three children to the back of the cave into shadows. As she turned away with them, Dougal noticed that she motioned surreptiously to him, tipping her head and pointing to the back of the cave. No one saw but himself.

  Frowning, Dougal nodded slightly to tell her to stay back with the children. He needed to know they were out of range of any harm, if it came to that.

  “Child, what do you know?” Eldin barked.

  “She is a bairn, and sometimes ill-mannered,” Dougal said. Lucy opened her mouth indignantly to speak, but Fiona clapped a hand over her lips again. “Enough, Lord Eldin,” Dougal continued. “You cannot win. Your bargain would ruin the fairy whisky and take away what is special about it. Is that what you want?”

  “You would say anything to protect that brew,” Eldin said.

  “Give over the gun.” Dougal drew his own pistol then, and cocked it ready.

  “Kinloch is an excellent shot,” Hugh said. “I would beware, sir.”

  “He would be guilty of maiming a revenue officer if he tried,” Eldin said. He lifted the pistol once more, not relinquishing it. “You forget that I am also a customs officer appointed to this region. MacGregor of Kinloch, I arrest you now in the name of the king for smuggling, and for a treasonous plot to steal revenue from the crown.”

  “Nick, please do not do this,” Fiona said.

  Eldin ignored her. “Put away your gun, Kinloch, or be shot—and others with you. I would call it a good bargain indeed, to catch such a scoundrel.”

  “Did you know he had authority here?” Dougal demanded of Patrick.

  “He is named an officer by title only. He paid for the position. He never rides out.” Patrick scowled. “But he has the authority. Blast it, Nick.”

  “Do not be a fool, Eldin,” Dougal said. “There is far too much at risk here.”

  “I do not care about risk. I ceased to care long ago, when the heart was taken from me. It needs fairy magic to replace it,” he said in a low and dangerous voice. “Fairy magic of great strength, if I am ever to reclaim my heart and soul.” He glanced toward Fiona. “You wanted to know what happened to me? What I want? I want to feel again.”

  Dougal looked toward Fiona, too. And stared. The back of the cave was dark. Empty. She was gone, and the children with her. Eldin noticed too.

  “Fiona!�
� Eldin stepped toward the cave. As he turned, Patrick threw the lantern toward his cousin, striking him hard on the shoulder, spilling sparks. It tumbled to the floor, but miraculously the light, lesser now, still glowed.

  Eldin turned, fired the pistol. The ball buzzed past Dougal like a metal bee, hitting the rock wall with a sharp reverberation that seemed to blast through his ears, his skull. And then he heard a great rumbling sound that shook the walls, and grew.

  Part of the sheer rock wall began to crack, then split, as the noise grew, the rumble now peppered with the hiss and sifting of dirt and smaller rocks.

  “Fiona!” Dougal called, just as Patrick and Hugh together threw themselves toward him in a heavy tackle, taking all of them back toward the upper slope of the walkway. Somewhere among them, Eldin tumbled too, as limestone walls began to collapse, spitting rock and shards of stone.

  “Hurry, this way,” Fiona said frantically, leading the children along. “Quickly!” She glanced over her shoulder, through the narrow crevice she had discovered in the back wall of the cave. The golden glow of the torch Patrick held was still visible, and she could hear the men arguing.

  Rushing the children along, helping them pick their way through a slim channel in the rock that led onward, a narrow corridor that angled upward, she kept glancing backward. The walls were damp stone, and the uneven floor of the snaking, narrow passageway was so wet in places that she stepped nearly ankle-deep in water more than once, and heard it rushing somewhere ahead of them. “Walk carefully,” she whispered to the others.

  A little further on, she felt fresh air and increasing moisture. Ahead was an opening, she was sure, if they could find their way out of the maze. She prayed the exit would be large enough; there were crevices and fissures throughout the rock.

  The sound of water had caught her attention her when she and the children had been in the small cave, and she had seen a crevice with a little trickling water. The walls were honeycombed with cells and passages, so it was not surprising to find water here and there. But it could be coming from the loch overhead rather than a stream that would lead out to the hills.