Page 15 of A Rogue in Firelight

“Sir, we could present the whisky and say that an introduction could not be arranged,” Corbie said. “Two years ago, the Lord Provost sent the king a gift of Highland whisky in honor of his succession. Sir Alasdair Drummond—the Lord Lyon, King of Arms, if you recall, brought it down to London against all odds—a supreme effort to ensure that it was presented to the king.”

“Which is why the king favors Glenbrae whisky,” Sir Hector said. “Besides, the king hates being refused. To be blunt, Corbie, you and I could both lose face if this does not go smoothly.”

“True. Every detail of the royal visit must be successful. I will accompany Miss Ellison to interview this fellow.”

Seeing her father nod, she smiled faintly. “Very well. Shall I explain the king’s request? Mr. MacGregor will want to know his whisky is favored.”

“No. The less he knows the better.”

“Yes, Papa.” She hid a rising excitement. Which prisoner was MacGregor? The man with the searing blue eyes and resonant voice came to mind. She sighed.

“Sir, if we present a prisoner amid Sir Walter’s spectacle,” Corbie said, “that could make us a laughingstock.”

“True. Those rough Highlanders should not be seen,” Sir Hector agreed.

Ellison recalled Lady Strathniven’s words.With a barber, decent clothing, and better circumstances, they could be taken for fine Highland gentlemen.

“Papa,” she said, “could you introduce MacGregor to the king as Glenbrae, the laird and the distiller? It could be done very quickly.”

“Impossible!” Corbie said.

“An interesting thought.” Sir Hector frowned.

“They say royal introductions last only a minute or less. But there are strict protocols for an introduction—proper etiquette, required dress, and so on,” she said.

“Absurd,” Corbie replied. “The assemblies in Edinburgh will be attended by hundreds, even thousands, of peers and dignitaries, even Highland chiefs with their entourages. Bringing in a prisoner into that situation is unthinkable.”

“He could dress as a gentleman for the occasion,” Ellison said. “Papa, as chief of the constabulary, you could arrange his release for the day.”

“Unthinkable!” Corbie looked appalled.

Sir Hector frowned. “I wonder.”

“If the man is kin to the deceased viscount, perhaps he is even the heir,” she said.

Corbie snorted. “Even more ridiculous.”

“Is this fellow presentable?” her father asked.

“No,” Corbie said.

“Yes,” Ellison said. “They would all look like gentlemen, given the right clothing and proper grooming.”

“Next it will be lessons in manners!” Corbie waved a hand.

“Perhaps!” Ellison felt sudden excitement. She could be even more help to her father. “What if I tutored him in manners and protocol?”

“Better if we tell the Crown the fellow is dead,” Corbie snapped.

“A risky proposition.” Sir Hector scowled, tapped his fingers. “I suppose it is possible that he could be the heir if he is a kinsman of Darrach.”

“Perhaps he could be introduced as such,” Ellison said.

“Adam, find out the status of the Darrach inheritance,” Sir Hector said.

“This is madness,” Corbie muttered. “We would be complicit in fraud. Treason.”

“Then we would claim the fellow misled us,” her father said bluntly.