The Highlander's Irish Bride

by Vanessa Kelly

  With Nick helping to secure the appropriate licenses, Lochnagar Distilleries was well on its way to becoming a grand success.

  “Apparently you knew,” Grant said. “But now it appears that someone is throwing a spanner into the works.”

  “Unfortunately true.”

  “You obviously don’t want to talk about it in front of the ladies or Angus.”

  Truthfully, Grant had not put up much of a fight when his brother suggested they repair to his study on the pretense of discussing distillery business. He’d made a complete fool of himself over Kathleen by snapping at the vicar, for one thing. It was becoming embarrassingly obvious that his Irish lass was turning him into an addlepated moron.

  “And here I thought I was being so subtle,” Graeme joked.

  “The great spy is losing his touch, I’m afraid. Must be all the wedded bliss.”

  “Och, Sabrina keeps me on my toes, ye ken.” Then he winked at Grant. “And keeps me up—”

  Grant held up a hand. “Don’t. Bad enough I have to put up with all the happy Kendrick couples making sheep’s eyes back in Glasgow. Revolting, it is.”

  “Perhaps you need a bit of happy coupling yourself, eh lad? It’s the cure for what ails, ye ken.”

  “I am happy to report that I am in fine health. Now, shall we get on to discussing your problem, before I am forced to bash you in the noggin?”

  “Message received. But the thing is . . .” Graeme grimaced. “I do actually need your help, brother. The situation around here is not good.”

  Grant sighed. “More than just a bit of bad luck that we ran into highwaymen, I take it?”

  “Why do you think I told Brown to carry a pistol?”

  “That was probably a mistake. He hasn’t a clue how to use the damn thing.”

  “Then he’d better learn.”

  Grant’s twin was the most capable and fearless person he knew, and the one least likely to raise the alarm. “Stop talking in riddles, lad. What’s going on?”

  “What’s going on is ... well, I suppose a crime spree is the best way to describe it.”

  “In sleepy, little Dunlaggan?”

  The local village was more of a hamlet, and peaceful. Besides Lochnagar, there were only a few other estates in the vicinity, and most were parceled out to tenant farmers or crofters. The quiet district, tucked away in a corner of the Highlands, was not a place where one expected crime sprees.

  “And not related to the smuggling gang you broke up last year?” Grant added.

  “Not at all. Jackie Barr, the gang leader, is sitting in prison in Edinburgh. The other members of the Barr family were happy to escape that life and are now gainfully employed as crofters or workers at the distillery. A few of them have even been victimized lately.”

  “What sort of crimes are we talking about?”

  “Until recently, it was a combination of petty thefts and vandalism. Clothing stolen from a drying line or a small item or two from local shops, and a few windows broken overnight at the distillery.” He twirled a hand. “You know.”

  “Not much different from some of the things we got up to when we were lads,” Grant said.

  “That’s what I thought at first—just a few cheeky lads out for a lark. I figured I’d track them down and put a proper scare into them, but no such luck.”

  “What else is happening?”

  “In the last three weeks, the crimes have become more serious. Two of the local crofters had livestock stolen. And two houses in the village were broken into last week. Money was taken, along with some rather good pieces of silver.”

  “Definitely not cheeky lads, then.”

  Graeme shook his head. “Neither of us would have had a clue how to get rid of stolen cattle, back in the day.”

  “Are there any towns around here big enough to merit a pawnbroker who traffics in stolen goods?”

  “Only one, and I paid a visit there last week. But nothing.”

  “Nothing, as in no contact, or nothing as in not willing to speak to a local magistrate?”

  Graeme scoffed. “The proprietor was unimpressed with my credentials and had no problem informing me of such.”

  “How shocking. He must have been deranged.”

  “Or thinking that he was innocent,” Graeme dryly replied. “The terms cakedoodle, nincompoop, and totty-headed noddy were applied to me rather liberally.”

  Grant had to laugh. “Are you sure you weren’t talking to Angus?”

  “He was worse than Angus. And I might be a cakedoodle, but I’m a cakedoodle who also happens to be a magistrate. Anyway, I’m convinced the man was telling the truth. He was also certain that none of the local nibblers were involved in this, either.”

  Grant propped his foot against the other firedog. “Why Dunlaggan? It’s hardly rich pickings for your average thief.”

  “Aye. It makes no bloody sense.”

  “How are the locals taking it?”

  “They were annoyed by the pilfering, but now they’re genuinely worked up. Understandably so.”

  “Which means Sabrina is worked up.”

  Graeme sighed. “She actually lost her temper with me the other day. Called me Sir Graeme and told me to do my blasted job or else she’d do it for me.”

  “That must have been a terrible blow to the great spy’s pride.”

  Graeme reached over and punched him in the arm. “I’m not a spy anymore, ye silly prat.”

  “Still, no fun having the wife of one’s bosom ringing a peal over one’s head.”

  “The poor girl doesn’t get much sleep these days, what with the wee laddie being so tetchy. I’ve hired two bloody nursemaids, but Sabrina still insists on sitting up with Gus half the bloody night.”

  “I’m thinking it’s not the nursemaids who sit up with the bairn the rest of the night. Am I right?”

  Graeme scowled at him. “Look, they have to take care of Gus during the day. Besides, when I try to put him down, he cries. Can’t let him cry now, can I?”

  Grant repressed a smile. “So, Sabrina is sitting up one half of the night, and you’re sitting up the other half. Which means neither of you is—”

  His brother jabbed him again. “I thought I was the one with the mind in the gutter.”

  “As I was going to say, neither of you is obviously getting enough sleep.”

  “We’ve had our hands full, to tell you the truth. Between trying to restore the manor and the home farms, helping our tenants and the villagers, and getting the distillery up and running . . .”

  “You’re run off your feet, and the last thing you need is a gang of bloody bastards running amuck.”

  Graeme all but growled. “And what happened today takes it to a new level. It’s not just a few petty thieves taking advantage of a peaceful village. It’s a well-organized dangerous gang.”

  “I got that impression when a gun was shoved against my skull,” Grant wryly said.

  His twin grimaced. “I’m so sorry, lad.”

  “Not your fault. So, what’s the plan?”

  “I have to find a way to get on top of it. Someone’s bound to get hurt, sooner or later. If nothing else, a villager is going to get twitchy one night and accidentally shoot a neighbor just on his way home from the pub.”

  “You’d best retrieve that pistol from Vicar Brown, then. He’s likely to shoot himself accidentally.”

  His twin snorted. “Yer not likin’ our good vicar. Again, why?”

  “Mind your business, laddie boy. Again, what is the plan, and how do I come into it?”

  “I know you’re planning on heading back to Glasgow almost immediately, but I really could use your help, Grant. I need someone to bring fresh eyes to this problem and also do some poking around. Try to get wind of something. Of anything, at this point.”

  Grant was silent for a few seconds.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask,” Graeme apologetically added.

  “Don’t be a moron. Of course I’ll stay. I was just thinking through
what needs to be done in Glasgow. Royal will have to stay on in the office for a few more weeks. Still, he was already willing to do that, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t truly need your help. I know how much I’m imposing on you.”

  This time, Grant leaned over and jabbed his brother. “Stop. I’m always here for you, Graeme. Always.”

  Just as his twin had always been there for him, no matter the trouble. Of course, Graeme was usually the instigator of the trouble, but that hardly mattered. His brother’s love and loyalty had always been boundless. Whatever was asked was given, without question or hesitation.

  “It’s incredibly lucky I am, to have you as my brother,” Graeme quietly said. “I’d never have made it without you.”

  A surge of emotion tightened Grant’s throat. Angus had been right all along. He’d not been paying enough attention to his family these last months, especially to his twin. He’d been a selfish prat, narrowing his life down to the demands of his work and numbers in a ledger.

  Graeme tilted his head. “All right?”

  “Aye, that.” Of course Graeme would know exactly what he was thinking. “You do know this means you’re stuck with Angus, too. He loves spy business, ye ken.”

  “I know, but I’m hoping he’ll be so taken up with Gus that he’ll be too busy to interfere.”

  “Told yourself that, did you?”

  As if on cue, the door flew open and Angus stomped in.

  “Well, is it sorted?” He wagged a finger at Grant. “We’ll not be leavin’ yer twin in the lurch, ye ken. I willna be havin’ it.”

  Grant shot his brother an incredulous look. “Did you really discuss this with Angus before you spoke with me?”

  Graeme rolled his eyes. “Of course not.”

  Angus dragged a padded bench over to join them. “Och, I raised ye both. I know what ye both are thinkin’ before ye do.”

  That was sadly true.

  “Yes, Grandda, I’m staying,” Grant said.

  The old fellow rubbed his hands with anticipation. “So, what’s the plan, lads? I’m guessin’ we’ll be wantin’ to look for the gang’s bolthole. Start squeezin’ the villagers for information. There’s got to be someone around here who knows somethin’.”

  “There is no plan,” Graeme tartly replied. “Especially not one that involves you barking at the locals like a mad dog. They’re already rattled enough.”

  “I’ll be as gentle as a lamb, and subtle as a snake. They’ll never even know I’m squeezin’ them.”

  “You’re as subtle as a rampaging bull,” Grant said. “And you’re not to go poking about the countryside looking for trouble, either.”

  Their grandfather scoffed. “I never look for trouble.”

  “And yet you always manage to find it.”

  “But ye need my help, so ye’ll have time to be courtin’ the fair colleen. Ye have to up yer game, or else that poncy vicar will be cuttin’ ye out.”

  Grant sighed. “It never stops, does it?”

  Graeme adopted a mock-thoughtful expression. “Brown is just the sort of pretty fellow the ladies swoon over. Half the girls in the village are mad about him, not that our good vicar ever notices.”

  Angus pulled out his pipe and tobacco pouch. “He noticed a certain lass today.”

  “He did seem quite taken with Kathleen.” Graeme pointed at Grant. “As Grandda said, you’d best look lively, or our clerical friend will cut you off at the pass.”

  Grant scowled at his brother. “You’re just as ridiculous as Angus.”

  “I seem to remember a certain brother—my twin, in fact—who did his best to push me directly into the path of a certain Lady Sabrina.”

  “You needed Sabrina. I don’t need anyone.”

  Graeme and Angus exchanged a look.

  “Besides,” Grant felt compelled to add, “I’m not here to run after pretty girls—”

  “So you do think she’s pretty,” Graeme cut in.

  “Of course I think she’s pretty. What difference does that make?”

  “Ye dinna want to be courtin’ a girl ye don’t have a fancy for,” Angus patiently explained. “Much less marry her.”

  “This conversation is completely deranged,” Grant said. “And I’m not marrying anyone.”

  Angus heaved a sigh. “I dinna ken why yer so dead-set against marriage. Look at how much good it’s done for yon laddie.”

  “True enough, Grandda,” Graeme said. “I even got a knighthood out of it.”

  “No one will be handing out knighthoods to marry Kathleen Calvert,” Grant acidly replied. “Although they probably should, given the trouble she gets up to.”

  Angus beamed at him. “That’s why she needs ye, lad. To keep her out of trouble.”

  Grant resisted the impulse to start shouting. “Let me explain something clearly. I am staying to help my brother track down a gang of thieves. Since my time is valuable, I will do everything I can to expedite the process. Again, that means no time to court ladies.”

  Angus now heaved a dramatic sigh. “To my way of thinkin’ there’s nothin’ sadder than an old bachelor, ye ken.”

  “I am not old. And this is—”

  “You know Sabrina thinks very highly of Kathleen,” Graeme interjected. “And from what I’ve seen, she’s a verra bonny lass.”

  Grant put his glass down. “Let me make something else perfectly clear. Aside from the fact that I do not have the time for this, Kathleen Calvert has no interest in me. None.” He formed his thumb and forefinger into an oval. “Zero. There is literally no point to this discussion.”

  “That’s only because ye won’t put yer back into it,” Angus countered. “Not like the old days, when ye used to have the lassies swarmin’ all around ye like flies on a side of overripe beef.”

  “That is a disgusting analogy, Grandda. And I was an idiot back then, remember? So pardon me if I decline to fall back into old ways in order to charm a woman who is absolutely not interested in me.”

  “Are you interested in her?” Graeme unexpectedly asked.

  Grant’s brain momentarily stumbled. “Er . . . of course not.”

  His brother tilted a skeptical brow at his reply.

  Grant finally waved an impatient hand. “It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that I help you with your problem and then return home where I belong.”

  Angus leaned forward to fetch a spill from a brass container by the fireplace. “Yer a terrible liar, laddie boy.”

  “He’s actually a very good liar,” Graeme said. “It’s just that we know him and can see through it.”

  Grant slapped his hands on the arms of the leather club chair and started to push up. “Right. Since we’re now going in circles . . .”

  “It’s because of yer da, I reckon,” Angus said. “He’s in yer head again. That’s nae good for ye, son.”

  Grant’s entire body froze. His mind froze, too. “What does my father have to do with any of this?”

  “It’s all that guilt ye still carry around. Grant, ye were just a wee lad back then. It was a terrible thing, but there was nothin’ ye could have done to change the outcome.”

  Grant slowly sank back into the chair as that terrible memory filled his mind. He could still see the blood and hear the sounds of an animal in distress. For a moment, he could even smell the damned heather in the damned field.

  Then he slammed the door shut on the memories, as he always had.

  “I know that,” he said in a calm voice. “I am perfectly fine.”

  “That’s my line, old son,” Graeme said.

  Grant met his twin’s gaze and saw nothing but sympathy and understanding. He also saw the shadow of a long-ago sorrow, one that should definitely be left in the past.

  “I’ve made my peace with it, Grant. So should you,” Graeme added.

  This time, Grant did stand up. “By talking about it? No, thank you.”

  His twin shook his head. “All right. You
win. No need to get fashed about it.”

  “I’m not the one who gets fashed—that’s you and Angus.”

  Graeme held up his hands in mock surrender.

  “And we’re clear that my purpose here is to help you get this mess sorted, correct?” Grant added. “Not court young ladies or any other such nonsense.”

  “Absolutely clear, old man.”

  Grant shifted his focus to Angus, who was now making a show of lighting his pipe. “And you, Grandda? You won’t be causing trouble on that front either, correct?”

  Angus puffed away, all but enveloping himself in smoke. “Of course not, lad. I’m just a frail old man, ye ken. Couldna cause nae trouble even if I wanted to.”

  Oh, hell.

  “Have another drink?” Graeme asked.

  Grant sank back into his chair. “Possibly two.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you warm enough?” asked Sabrina as she and Kathleen stood at the bottom of the kitchen gardens. “It can get nippy this time of year, even with all this glorious sunshine.”

  Kathleen, mentally replanting the herb bed, nodded. “This pelisse is quite sturdy. Sabrina, I’m wondering if we might plant basil and perhaps even some lavender over by that brick wall. It’s sheltered enough and seems to get quite a bit of sun.”

  “We’re just as likely to get rain and mist, I’m afraid, and the winters can be quite dreadful. Nothing like the mild climate around London, or what you’re used to in Ireland.”

  “The lavender might be pushing it, I suppose.” Kathleen snapped her fingers. “Perhaps you could build a small succession house, one for herbs and potted orange plants. Wouldn’t that be delightful?”

  Sabrina adopted an apologetic smile. “It would. But I’m afraid Cook would be deeply suspicious. When I asked her to make a true English pudding for Christmas, she complained for a week. If I start importing orange trees, I might be forced to deploy smelling salts.”

  Kathleen scoffed. “Now you’re just being silly. I can make a few preliminary sketches of a small greenhouse, if you like. It would tuck in quite nicely between those two outbuildings and the stables.”

  After she’d taken a proper look at the garden this morning, she’d started drawing up plans in her head. At the very least, it was a welcome distraction from yesterday’s distressing events on the road. Also, Jeannie had been difficult, and it had taken a concerted effort to smooth the girl’s ruffled nerves and get her comfortably settled.