Louisa arranged the last of the food and came to join me again, wiping her hands on a dish towel. Louisa may technically have been staff, but things were informal at the Larches and those distinctions had long since been dispensed with. Grant freely admitted he’d be lost without Louisa’s help to keep the estate running, and Louisa felt equally blessed to have found a job that welcomed a single mother and her son and made them feel part of an extended family.
I’d have been more effusive about the food if I hadn’t had a very unladylike mouthful of incredibly flaky sausage roll.
Louisa smiled at my evident enjoyment. “Saved you some extras in the kitchen.”
“You’re the best,” I said, grinning and giving her arm a squeeze.
“I’ve had at least one dram too many,” she confessed, “so I’m gonna ask. Even though I told myself I wouldnae.” She gestured across the room to where Grant had been dragged into a game of charades with the kids. “What’s the deal with you two?”
“We’re friends.”
“And?”
“And nothing.”
“Well, that’s n’right.”
I filled my mouth with sausage roll once more to keep from having to answer.
“You two would be brilliant together. Come on, you can’t deny he’s a bit of alright?”
I emptied my mouth and took a swig of the drink in my hand. “He’s lovely,” I conceded. Tall, athletic, sandy blond hair, and mesmerizing eyes—what more could you ask for? “But none of the whisky fraternity would take me seriously if I was involved with Grant. Not only that, the last thing I need is to start a relationship that’s destined to fail and end up ruining my new life here.”
“Why does it have to fail?” Louisa asked.
“It always does,” I insisted.
“Donnae be so negative. Grant’s very discreet, and you’ll have plenty of time together if you’re going along to the competition.” Louisa nudged me in the ribs. “Take advantage of it.”
“We’ll be there with all the Barley Boys.”
“Least you know you won’t have any female competition,” Louisa pointed out. “You’re still the only woman makin’ her way into the distillin’ business for the moment.”
“More’s the pity. I could use some support,” I groused.
“It’ll come soon enough. Change is afoot, but till then take advantage of what you’ve got. The Lodge is magical. Romantic hotel, cozy little getaway,” Louisa said with a mischievous glint in her eye.
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, just Grant and me and several dozen of his closest friends and associates.”
“That’s only durin’ the daylight hours,” Louisa teased. “Folks get up to all sorts in the dark of the night.”
I wish I’d known then how dark the night was about to get.
Chapter 2
I stood at the fence railing, looking across at Oscar and Liam playing in the field. Our local vet, Katherine McRae, stood next to me shaking her head.
“Never seen anything like those two. Dogs and sheep usually interact on a purely instinctive basis, but I’d swear those two are playing tag.”
“Liam’s never been one for the usual,” I said with a sigh. Ever since I’d saved my small flock of aging wool-bearers from an untimely trip to the slaughterhouse, Katherine had been a regular visitor. With or without the sheep I suspect we would’ve become good friends, but the flock had expedited the process and Katherine was now at the top of my speed-dial list. A petite brunette with compassionate eyes, strong hands, and a warm heart. Technically, she was an equine specialist, but luckily she was happy to tend to my lot as well.
We stood in silence for several minutes enjoying the soft, contented bleating of the sheep. I found it oddly soothing and meditative.
“Agatha certainly doesn’t seem to be any worse for yesterday’s adventure in town,” Katherine said.
“Thanks for giving her the once-over. I know chocolate’s bad for dogs; I wasn’t sure about sheep.”
“It’s not good for her either, but she’ll be alright. Out of curiosity, how did she find her way into a barrel of chocolate?”
“Well, Agatha tends to be a bit of a roamer. Liam usually helps to keep her in line, but he was off with me. Left to her own devices, Ag shimmied out of the field and took off down the road into town. I had no idea until I got a call from Floss saying that one of my sheep had wandered into the shop and was nibbling her way through their bin of dark chocolate buttons.”
“How did you get her home?”
“Liam and I took the Mini Cooper down to the village and loaded her into the back.” Sadly, it wasn’t the first time I’d been seen motoring around the village with one of my ovine charges peering out the rear window, but every time it happened I hoped in vain that it might be the last. God knows it did little to enhance my reputation as a serious member of the farming community. It did even less for the interior of my car.
Katherine tried to disguise her amusement with a fit of coughing, but she wasn’t fooling me. It was time for a change of subject.
“What can you tell me about the Eagle’s Lodge?” I asked on a whim.
“Very nice,” Katherine said with an arched brow. “Going for dinner?”
“Actually staying for a few nights. The Golden Quaich competition,” I began.
“Aye, the award season’s comin’, isn’t it,” Katherine said. “Gorgeous place, the Lodge. First class all the way. I only went the once, mind you. I was the plus one for a friend attending a wedding. Made me wish I’d put on a bit more of an effort when we got there.”
“I didn’t even think about clothes,” I groaned. “The thing kicks off tomorrow night and I doubt I have anything appropriate to wear.”
“You’ll need to hop to it, then,” Katherine said. Her eyes glowed with undisguised enthusiasm. “I’ll tell you what. I have to run to Stirling this afternoon to pick up some pig vaccines. Why don’t you tag along? There’s a lovely boutique in the old town that would do the trick, and I never get a chance to do that kind of girlie thing.”
Katherine looked so excited, I didn’t have the heart to say no. Shopping was an alien experience for me. I was inclined to walk into the store and grab the first thing I saw in size eight, black, and walk out, but I needed to look the part of a distillery owner and sophisticated businesswoman. After all, I was representing Abbey Glen and the new age of whisky women. Grant and Cam might not notice, but Patrick would. And he wouldn’t hesitate to comment on my deficiencies. “Alright, I guess I should make an effort.”
“Brilliant. I’ll swing by and pick you up at eleven thirty. You’re going to have so much fun.” No, you’re going to have so much fun, I thought as I watched Katherine return to her truck with a bounce in her step. I took a deep breath and tried to quell a rising sense of panic before going to double-check the gate to the sheep enclosure one more time.
* * *
—
By one o’clock we’d parked in the main garage for the Old Towne district and set off on foot to explore the shopping area. Most of the little shops were selling tartans scarves, stuffed Highland cows, and key chains with disreputable sayings. The obligatory Starbucks had taken over two larger storefronts adjacent to the castle gates where it sat photo-bombing visitors’ pictures of the old stone walls and turrets. Katherine steered me away from the touristy shops and into an unobtrusive stone alleyway about halfway down the main drag. The narrow passageway connected the street to a large cobblestoned square that would’ve been easy to miss if you weren’t looking carefully.
Once an old coaching yard, the stables had been converted into a range of high-end shops, each with large display windows in front that had once served as entrances to the carriage stalls. Some of the original wooden doors had been removed and attached on either side to the whitewashed brick facades like massive ornate shutters.
I was surprised that Katherine knew this little enclave was here, but she seemed to know exactly where she was going and I followed her meekly into a dress shop with a discreet gold-lettered sign on the wall.
As soon as we entered I was ready to bolt, but my backward movement was stalled by the appearance of a cocker spaniel puppy that trotted out to greet us, winding his way in between my feet.
“Sampson,” a young woman scolded. “Get back here. Not everyone’s a dog lover, you little scamp.”
“He’s safe here,” I said, scooping up the wriggling ball of gold fur and allowing him to lick my chin with abandon.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said, relieving me of my new fur friend. “My name is Charlotte. How can I help you ladies?”
I appreciated that Charlotte referred to us as ladies even though neither of us was dressed as I suspect her usual clientele would’ve been. I hesitated, but Katherine jumped right in.
“My friend’s attending a four-day event at the Eagle’s Lodge starting tomorrow, and we need to kit her out with a few smart outfits.”
“Right. Any idea what kind of events? Meetings, dinners, formal receptions?”
“Ah.” I realized that I had no idea what I was walking into. “I haven’t seen a schedule yet,” I replied meekly.
“Let’s look it up, then.” Charlotte pulled out her iPad and searched through the schedule of events for the annual meeting of the Fellowship of the Golden Quaich. “Looks like a formal opening reception followed by several days of judging. A luncheon and two less formal dinners and the awards night gala. The gala calls for something special,” she said thoughtfully.
“Oo, let’s start with the formal gear,” Katherine said with vigor.
Charlotte sized me up with a professional eye. My auburn-colored curls almost reached my shoulders now, my skin was pale from lack of sun, and my silver-gray eyes must have shown a tinge of fear. War zones not a problem. A high-end woman’s boutique—that struck terror in my heart. “Size six,” Charlotte murmured.
“Size eight,” I corrected.
“Size eight High Street, size six couture,” she dismissed. “Let’s try some warm colors. Something classic. I have an evening frock that will be perfect with those gorgeous eyes of yours.”
Charlotte disappeared into the back room and Katherine stuffed me into a dressing room to disrobe, settling herself in a plush chair in the waiting area and helping herself to a glass of bubbly. I stood in the lavish changing room shivering in a pair of boring cotton panties and a rather old bra I wished I’d changed. Suddenly a peacock’s tail of colored fabric appeared around the door and Charlotte said, “Start with the red.” And after a moment, “Are you wearing a sash?”
“A what?” I mumbled from deep within the heavy silk bodice of the “red one.”
“A clan sash. Your tartan.”
“I don’t have one. I’m not Scottish.”
“But Abbey Glen has its own registered plaid,” Katherine piped up.
“I didn’t know that,” I said, finally making my way through the neck hole. “I thought tartans were only for people.”
“Not at all,” said Charlotte, already clicking away on her electronic assistant. “Here it is. It’s lovely and easy to work with.”
I came out dragging the dress around me and looked over her shoulder. The plaid was a rich royal blue base with black and forest-green stripes running vertically and horizontally. Now that I was looking at it, I realized I had seen a ribbon of the tartan on the Abbey Glen boxes. I’d just never thought to ask.
“I’ll call MacCloud’s down the road. They have most things in stock.” Charlotte moved around behind me and zipped the dress, studying the effect in the mirror.
I felt ridiculous in the strapless gown with the tulle skirt. Like a red feather duster. Fortunately both Charlotte and Katherine shook their heads in unison.
“Definitely something less…well, just less,” said Katherine, eyeing the voluminous skirt with distaste.
Two excruciating hours later we had settled on a royal-blue floor-length sheath with a deeply draped neckline for the opening night. Charlotte showed me how to place the silk sash across my right shoulder and pin it at the crest of my left hip, and the effect was less absurd than I’d feared. Katherine added a plaid wrap and a gentleman’s bow tie in the Abbey Glen plaid to the bill. One for me and one for Liam.
I also left with several pairs of exquisite merino wool trousers, four silk shirts, three cashmere sweaters, a couple of day dresses, a buttery soft leather jacket in a deep burgundy, and a bill that made me weak at the knees. I’d never spent that much on clothes before, ever. But then again, I’d never had need for much more than jeans, t-shirts, and the odd little black dress for work functions and weddings. Still, thanks to my inheritance I could afford it now, and I’d clearly provided a thrilling afternoon for Katherine, who’d had way more fun with this than I did, especially since she was spending my money.
I’d fought hardest over a red silk number with a portrait neckline and a slight train in the back that Charlotte deemed perfect for the final awards night. It seemed over the top to me, but in the solitude of the dressing room I had to admit it was stunning and it made me feel not like me, but in a good way. The question was: Would I have the guts to wear it when push came to shove?
As we loaded the boxes and bags into the back of the truck, I could feel that vague sense of panic nipping at my heels. Listening to Katherine and Louisa, I was starting to wonder what I’d gotten myself into. Four booze-infused nights with Grant in an isolated, romantic resort. A professional must and a personal nightmare. Terrific and terrifying in equal measure, and undoubtedly just what I did not need in my quest to stabilize my personal life.
Chapter 3
I’d hoped to head over to the Lodge first thing on Tuesday morning with Grant and Cam, but departing the house had taken on the complexity of a major military campaign. Usually I would’ve just packed an overnight bag and headed out, but this time I had the new clothes to accommodate, along with all the necessary accessories and makeup. I was also stuck arranging for a sheep sitter for the jumpers on the hoof, packing all of Liam’s food and bedding, and scraping the residual hay and mud out of the backseat from Agatha’s earlier occupation. There still remained a faint smell of damp wool, but it was too late to get the car fully valeted before we had to leave.
In the end, it was almost lunchtime before Liam and I set off. We followed Grant’s directions along miles of winding country lanes before finding ourselves on the edge of a spectacular expanse of groomed lawn that could only be a golf course. I’m no fan of the sport, but I would suspect that this was a world-class facility. I’d seen indoor-outdoor carpet that looked less lush.
We entered through the main gates of the Lodge past two large bronze eagles perched atop stone pillars on either side of the road, poised to swoop down on any unwelcome visitors. The hotel gradually loomed larger as we made our way down the long tree-lined drive. No wee summer cottage, this hunting retreat could’ve easily accommodated the Larches four times over. The soft gray–colored brick was crowned with a deep mansard roof that had two levels of white dormer windows scattered along the front and sides. The main part of the hotel rose six stories and was framed by two lower wings that stretched out on either side. Architecturally, the two side wings looked to be more recent additions to the estate, but they were well camouflaged. The ivy trailing up the walls looked as if it could’ve been climbing there for hundreds of years.
It was an imposing edifice that reeked of old money and breeding and public school graduates. I looked at Liam sitting beside me in the passenger seat with his head and most of his chest hanging out of the car’s open window and wished I’d given him a bath before we came. The management insisted that it was a dog-friendly resort, but now I suspected they were thinking more along the lines of a small purse dog rather than my
shaggy, fifty-pound companion. If he wasn’t careful he’d be relegated to the kennels in disgrace. The Eagle’s Lodge was certainly not my usual class of accommodation, but there was nothing for it now but to brazen it out. At least I could dress the part, thanks to Katherine.
I pulled up under the stone portico in my tiny car and three gentlemen in dark green livery rushed to help me disembark like I was the Queen stepping out of a Rolls. Liam chose to exit through the window, but, to their credit, not one of them batted an eyelash. My luggage was quickly removed from the car and loaded onto a cart, with Liam’s oversized dog bed perched on the top.
I followed my luggage into the grandiose front hall and was greeted at reception by the hotel’s general manager, George Larson. He was instructing a bearded man to leave a shipping box in the office behind the desk, and I was surprised when he then turned his full attention to checking me in.
“Is the hotel full?” I asked.
“We have just had a very large group here hunting over the weekend, but they left this morning. A wedding party from Aberdeen will arrive on Thursday, but for the moment you and your fellow whisky lovers have our undivided attention.” Larson came around from behind the front desk and led us out of the marble-and-mahogany lobby, along a lushly carpeted hallway lit by discreet etched-glass sconces, and over to a bank of lifts.
“You and Mr. Cooke are on the third floor,” he said as we were swept silently upward. “A lovely junior suite that will give you easy access to the dining area and the judging salon.” He knocked softly on the door to 334 and, getting no response, used an old-fashioned Victorian brass key to open the door. Liam barged in and began to explore the room, his tail wagging as he picked up Patrick’s scent.
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