Chapter Nine

The sooner the dust disappeared from Campbell’s horse, the better. Ian watched the animal cross the drawbridge, hooves clopping across the boards, before its rider nudged him to a trot. He turned from the steps to enter the castle, knowing his brothers and uncles would be waiting in the library.

As least they’d had the wherewithal to pour him a generous two drams of whisky that waited on the desk. He swallowed half of it in one gulp before setting the glass down.

“That bad, eh?” Alasdair asked.

“We didna get a confession, but I was nae expecting one.”

“’Tis nae what I meant.” His brother grinned at him. “Campbell seemed quite taken with the countess.”

Ian managed not to scowl. Gavin Campbell’s reputation as a rake had followed him from London to Argyll. Did Emily not recognize a scoundrel when she met one?

I would like leave to call on you, he’d said. He probably said that to every woman.

That would be lovely, she’d said. Lucifer’s horns! Did she actually think to entertain him?

“’Tis true,” Carr agreed. “I suspect we may be seeing more of young Campbell than we anticipated.”

He hadn’t anticipated the whelp coming over at all. Henry was the one who had been asked. Ian shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner. “At least Campbell agreed to investigate the reiving.”

“Only because he wants to sniff around the Sassenach’s skirts,” Devon said. “Too bad he didna take the lot of them with him.”

Alasdair gave him a reproving look. “The lasses are nae so bad.”

“Speak for yerself.” Rory snorted. “Juliana could make a fishwife blush with her language.”

“Juliana?” Alasdair flashed a grin. “Ye are on first name terms, then?”

“Nae!” Rory’s voice might have been a bit too loud. “I just…I just doona like calling her Lady Caldwell or Miss Caldwell, however they call themselves.”

Devon nodded. “Damn English and their titles.”

“Titles aside,” Broderick intervened, “we need to use Campbell’s interest in the countess to our advantage.”

“I agree,” Donovan said.

Ian wasn’t sure he did. When they’d talked about it earlier, it had seemed a good idea, in theory. But he hadn’t known Henry was in Inveraray or that Gavin would show up in his stead. The fact that Emily was English was supposed to be common ground for establishing a peace of sorts, not a personal interest.

“We canna just throw the countess to the wolves.”

“Do ye mean wolf?” This time it was Carr who grinned. “As in young Campbell?”

“Doona tell me ye are going daft on the Sassenach!” Devon glared at Ian. “Ye are completely barmy if ye favor that bloody woman over your clan!”

“I never said that. Ye are daft if ye think I would favor anyone over clan.” Ian glared back. “And ye need to keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“Can we return to the subject at hand?” Broderick cut off the argument. “If Gavin Campbell intends to come calling, we can use that.”

“Do ye have a plan?” Carr asked.

“Nae a completely hatched one,” Broderick replied, “but Henry will nae doubt want to support the countess’s claim on Strae Castle.”

Devon glowered. “That doesna help us, does it?”

“It might nae seem so, but if Argyll thinks our holdings are firmly in English hands, he will nae oppose the petition that Mount Stuart will bring to Parliament.”

“The duke doesna ken that Bute and Mount Stuart will be asking to restore lands as well as the MacGregor name,” Donovan added.

“Nor does the countess,” Ian said. “If she has the support of Argyll—and the Crown—we may nae get anything restored.”

“’Tis Parliament that will decide,” Donovan said. “Doona forget, since Bute was prime minister, he still holds sway with both the Lords and Commons. King George favors him as well.”

“It could mean clan war with the Campbells, though, if the countess loses her deed to the land and they support her.”

Rory snorted. “Are ye forgetting how many of the clan are still in hiding? We are nae called ‘Children of the Mist’ for nothing. All MacGregors will rally to us.”

“And doona forget the large numbers that fled to Ireland,” Alasdair added. “Once the petition had been proposed, we can send word they should make ready to return.”

“If Argyll wants war because of that bloody”—Devon stopped as Ian shot him a warning look—“that Sassenach, then we will have our men ready.”

“It might be good if one of us traveled to Ireland to explain the plans,” Carr said. “Sending a missive can be misleading, or it could fall into the wrong hands.”

“’Tis true.” Ian looked at Alasdair. “Ye speak Irish Gaelic better than the rest of us so ye could blend in best. Only MacGregors would ken why ye are there.”

“That would take some time,” Alasdair answered. “Our clansmen are scattered throughout the counties.”

“Hmmm.” Carr knit his brows. “Parliament will convene in late October and Bute plans to present the petition as one of the first items. ’Twould be good if ye could leave as soon as ye can.”

Alasdair widened his eyes. “Nae before the harvest festival, though?”

“Ye doona want to miss a chance to flirt with our bonnie Scots lasses?” Rory winked. “I understand the Irish lassies are friendly, too.”

“’Tis nae reason I canna charm all of them,” Alasdair replied.

“Aye, and mayhap Lorelei as well?” Rory asked innocently.

To Ian’s surprise, his brother’s face turned pink. Was he interested in Emily’s sister? Or did he intend to lead Lorelei on a bit? Either way, it was probably better that he did leave for Ireland. “Sooner would be best.”

Alasdair raised a brow. “Harvesting begins in two weeks. We need every hand here to bring in the barley and cut the peat. I willna leave before ’tis done.”

Ian suppressed a sigh. His brother had a stubborn streak that usually remained below the surface of affableness, but on those occasions when he took a stand, it was doubtful armed dragoons could change his mind. “After harvest then.”

Alasdair grinned, sunny disposition returned. “That will give me time to say a proper goodbye to our lasses.”

Ian wondered if that meant Lorelei, but perhaps it wasn’t prudent to ask. No use in borrowing trouble that might not exist.

…

Emily and her sisters had retreated to the solar after the meeting with Gavin Campbell to mull what had taken place when Fiona rushed in.

“I heard Gavin Campbell paid a visit earlier,” she said as she plopped down in an empty chair. “Tell me what I missed!”

“I was surprised you were not there,” Emily said.

“I took one of Maggie’s tisanes over to an elderly widow who’s ailing,” she replied, “and she wanted me to stay and visit. Poor thing is lonely.”

“I would like to accompany you next time. It would be good for me to know who is in need of help.”

Fiona nodded. “We have a number of elder clanswomen who would appreciate that.”

“I did not know the housekeeper made tisanes,” Emily went on. “Is she considered a healer?”

Fiona shook her head. “That would be Old Gwendolyn who has a cottage near the peat bog. Maggie’s tisanes consist mostly of whisky and honey. ’Tis good for a rheumy cough.”

“I will keep that in mind.” It was good to know the grouchy housekeeper had a soft spot for the neighbors, since, on a good day, Emily could get no more than a few words from the woman.

“But tell me what I missed,” Fiona repeated. “I canna remember when a Campbell last came to visit, let alone Gavin Campbell.”

“Do you fancy him?” Lorelei asked.

“Fancy…? Och, nae!” Fiona laughed. “I have listened to him tell too many lasses they are beautiful as Venus herself and sweet as roses in the spring and other such nonsense.”

Juliana gave Emily a direct look. “I hope you remember that.”

Fiona furrowed her brows. “Why should she remember… Oh! Did the mon flirt with ye already?”

Emily waved a hand. “He asked leave to call on me. That is all.”

Her eyes widened. “He did?”

“Yes, but I suspect he did so to have an excuse to come over to rile your brothers.” Emily smiled. “They do not seem to be on the best of terms.”

“’Tis true there has been bad blood between us.”

“So I gathered.” Emily paused. “I probably should explain to you why I granted Mr. Campbell leave to call.” When she finished, Fiona’s face looked stormy.

“My brothers expect to use ye?”

“They were not very subtle about it,” Juliana said.

“I canna believe Ian would agree to such a thing.” Fiona gave Emily a sideways glance. “I thought he might be sweet on ye.”

Emily felt her cheeks warm and prayed she wasn’t blushing. The idea was preposterous, given how he felt about his land. Just because she thought him attractive—she couldn’t deny that her senses were heightened around him, but she tried to check those feelings—didn’t mean he reciprocated. Just because their exchange of words reminded her of a well-played game of chess didn’t mean anything, either. They were engaged in a war of sorts and both of them knew it.

“Your brother has been very kind in tolerating us. And, actually, I agreed to the scheme. I would like to see the clan name restored.”

“Ye would? But—” Fiona stopped abruptly. “Ye really wouldna mind Gavin paying ye court?”

“I would not go so far as that,” Emily answered. “As a widow, I can allow a bit of flirtation if it will help your family accept me, but I have no intention of allowing anything beyond that.”

Fiona tilted her head. “Ye loved your husband so much, then?”

Juliana snorted. “Hardly.”

“Juliana…” Emily warned.

Her sister frowned. “There is no harm in telling Fiona you were not happy with an old man who—”

“That is enough.” Emily turned to Fiona. “My marriage was one of convenience. Let us leave it at that.”

“I never liked the earl, either,” Lorelei declared before switching the subject. “So tell us why you said you were surprised that Gavin would come here.”

“’Tis just that he spends little time in the country. He prefers Glasgow or Edinburgh and, of course, London.” Fiona looked wistful. “I wish I could go to London sometime.”

“Well, you can come with me when I go back,” Lorelei said.

Fiona frowned. “Ye are returning to London?”

“Not yet, but Emily promised me a Season next spring.”

“A Season…” Fiona’s eyes sparkled. “I would so like to attend a real ball, and go to the theater, and see an opera and all those things that Gavin has talked about…” She sighed. “But Ian would never let me.”

Lorelei lifted her chin. “Well, then we will have to figure out a plan to make him let you.”

Fiona smiled. “Do ye think we could?”

“Of course!” Lorelei looked at Emily. “We can come up with something.”

Emily smiled back, not wanting to burst any bubbles. She still hadn’t looked at any reports beyond what she already knew. Providing a Season for Lorelei—and Juliana if she could be persuaded—would be costly. She would have to rent a townhouse as well, if she needed to chaperone. But…if the funds proved to be there—and they would be her funds—she would certainly offer to include Fiona. It might set off another battle in the war she and Ian were engaged in, but it would be one more challenge to win.

…

Neither of the uncles looked overly pleased to see her two mornings later when she appeared in the doorway of the distillery. Ian and his brothers had gone to check on the barley fields to determine which ones were ripe for harvest, and she’d decided to use the opportunity to ride over.

The sweet-sour smell of damp barley germinating filled her nose as she walked into the malting room where Broderick and Donovan were turning the wet grain over with wooden shovels so it wouldn’t clump. They both straightened, and Donovan looked over her shoulder.

“Did Ian bring ye? I thought he was checking the fields.”

“He is. I came by myself.”

Broderick raised a brow. “Did we nae answer your questions the last time ye were here?”

The only time…she’d been there once. But she didn’t correct him. “Yes, you were quite thorough in explaining the process. How this”—she gestured to the grain on the stone floor—“will next be dried in a kiln, then put in a mash tun to produce sugar, which will then be fermented and eventually distilled. And,” she added, “that the whisky is put in used oak barrels only so it does not gather too much wood flavor.”

“It seems ye listened closely,” Donovan said.

“I think the process interesting. You both explained it very well.”

“Then why are ye here?” Broderick asked.

“Actually, I wanted to look at the ledgers. Ian said you kept them here.”

“We do, but why would they interest ye?”

He already sounded defensive, so Emily smiled at him, hoping to defuse the situation. “I involved myself with the running of my husband’s estate and want to do the same here.” No need to mention she’d involved herself out of necessity. “Working with numbers is mentally challenging.” No need, either, to say the challenge was how to keep herself and her sisters from being put out on the streets of London. “I am sure everything is in order, so do not worry on that account.”

“’Tis nothing for us to fash about,” Broderick said. “Ian kens we keep a clean record.”

“I am sure you do.” Emily smiled again, not wanting to demand the ledgers, but determined that she would. “I am truly interested in seeing what your production is, the cost of it, how much you sell to Glasgow and at what price, and also how much you retain for personal use.”

“That is all?” Donovan asked in a dry voice.

She chose to ignore his tone and nodded pleasantly. “That is all.”

Broderick frowned. “If we show ye the ledgers, what good will it do ye?”

“I learned how to cut costs while studying the earl’s books.” Again, no need to say that it was a matter of survival. “I want to see if there is a way we can increase profit.”

“We make enough profit without taking advantage of the public-house owners who buy from us.”

“I understand,” Emily said, “but if there is a way to earn more money—without hurting your current customers—would you not want to do it?”

“What do ye mean?” Donovan asked.

“Your whisky is excellent.” For the first time, both of the men smiled slightly. “I know that the gentlemen’s clubs in London would snatch up all you could send them once they have tried it.”

The uncles exchanged glances and then Donovan shrugged. “It will nae hurt anything to let her have a look.”

Broderick hesitated, then shrugged, too. “I suppose it willna.”

Following him to the small office to the side of the malting room, Emily felt like she’d just won a huge victory.

The feeling of winning was short-lived once she arrived back at Strae Castle that afternoon. Ian’s face looked like a thundercloud as he met her at the entrance.

“Where have ye been?”

“I rode over to the distillery.”

“By yerself?”

He sounded indignant, although she wasn’t sure if he was angry or upset. Probably both. “It is only a mile.”

“Maggie said ye left this morning,” Rory said as he and Devon came out of the Great Hall to stand beside Ian. “Were ye sampling too many drams and fell asleep?”

He probably meant that as a jest, but before she could answer, Devon spoke up. “Or did ye ride off somewhere to meet the Campbell?”

“Why would I…” Her voice trailed off as she realized Ian was staring at her with suspicion. “You think that I would chase after Mr. Campbell?”

Devon didn’t give Ian time to answer, either. “Ye are a Sassenach. Who kens what ye might do? We doona need—”

“Sguir dheth.”

Ian didn’t raise his voice, but his tone was hard. Emily didn’t need to understand Gaelic to realize that the command had its effect. Devon gave him a surly look but grew quiet. Ian turned back to her.

“What did keep ye away all day?”

“I was going through the ledgers. You can ask either of your uncles to vouch for my presence,” she answered.

Rory gave her an incredulous look. “Why would a woman spend hours looking at numbers?”

Emily gave an exasperated sigh. No wonder Juliana found the man so annoying. “As much as it may surprise you, some women are actually good with numbers.” He started to retort, but she went on. “I want to send some of the whisky that is mature to London to establish a market there.”

“And what did Donovan and Broderick have to say about that?” Ian asked.

“They were not that terribly excited about it,” Emily admitted. “I gather they are quite loyal to the Glasgow men they sell to.”

“As they should be,” Rory said. “Scots need to take care of their own first.”

“I do not disagree,” Emily replied, “but I intend to improve the lot here at Strae Castle. How can anyone not want that?”

“Bloody English.” Devon stomped off before Ian could admonish him.

She sighed once more as she watched him leave. “I do hope I can get him to change his mind about us.”

“Nae likely,” Rory said with no trace of sarcasm in his voice. “Devon was captured by dragoons a number of years ago, and they tortured him.”

Emily’s hand flew to her mouth. “I am so sorry. I did not know.”

“’Tis a tale for another time,” Ian said grimly. “Meanwhile, I will speak to him.”

“Please do.”

As he and Rory left to find Devon, Emily made her way to her bedchamber to change her clothes, but the thought of what Devon must have gone through stayed with her throughout the evening meal and lingered as she prepared for bed.

She lay for a long time staring at the ceiling, wondering what she could do, before finally drifting off into a fitful sleep, filled with odd pieces of dreams.

And then, the dreams shifted, and she saw the man again. Once again, he stood in the shadows near her bed watching her, knife in hand. Her skin chilled as a cool breeze swept over her and she opened her eyes slowly.

No one was there, but the room definitely felt chilly. Emily glanced at the window to see if it had been left open, but it was tightly closed. She knew the door was bolted, since she’d taken to barring it after the last “dream.” Still shivering, she drew the blankets to her chin.

She did not believe in ghosts, but where had that cool air suddenly come from?