Page 6 of A Rogue in Firelight (The Whisky Rogues #1)

“W hat a pity Juliet is not here to join us for supper,” Lady Strathniven said. “I so enjoy her gift at the pianoforte after a good meal.”

“She left this afternoon for the Isles to visit Deirdre.” Ellison set down her fork, satisfied after the late informal supper of barley vegetable soup, cheeses, fresh-baked rolls, and good French wine. Seeing that the others were nearly done, she rang a little silver bell to signal a maidservant that they were ready for the table to be cleared for coffee and pudding.

“I am thankful Juliet will miss the madness about to descend upon Edinburgh,” Sir Hector said. “It promises to be chaotic. My lady, when will you depart for the Highlands?”

“I am off to Strathniven tomorrow, although I will return in time for the glorious spectacle. Ellison, I hope you will come north with me. Do bring wee Balor, he is such good company! Sir Hector and Adam, you are welcome too, though you may be busy.”

“Perhaps after the king’s visit.” Sir Hector sat back as two maids entered, one removing the supper dishes, the other carrying a glass bowl containing a trifle of berries, cream, and cake, which she served in small glass bowls, then poured coffee. When both maids departed, Sir Hector cleared his throat.

“I spoke with Lady Strathniven before supper and explained our dilemma. I thought she might be of some assistance,” he said to those gathered around the table.

“Your scheme sounds intriguing,” Lady Strathniven said. “I am excited to help.”

“Scheme?” Ellison looked from one to the other. “Has something been decided?”

Corbie frowned. “Whatever we say here is in strictest confidence. It could pose a risk for all of us,” he added somberly.

“I know,” his aunt answered. “And I have thought about your predicament. Some say the only thing King George truly admires about the Scotch is their whisky, true?”

“We intend to show him all that is good about Scotland,” Sir Hector said.

“You must please him. Yet you cannot trot a prisoner before a king, even if the man brews the best drink in the Highlands. Thus, a scheme is needed, and I can help.”

“We cannot risk disappointing the king,” Sir Hector said.

“Then you must send the fellow to Strathniven for the summer. He can be properly trained for a royal introduction there, and no one would be the wiser.”

“Strathniven? Interesting.” Sir Hector frowned thoughtfully.

“It is a good suggestion, Papa,” Ellison said.

“The man is in prison!” Corbie protested.

“Let him out. Surely Sir Hector can arrange that.” The lady waved a little silver spoon and dipped it into the trifle.

“It is not that easy,” Sir Hector replied. “Marjorie, what do you know of Glenbrae and Darrach? Both glens are near Strathniven. Did you know the viscount?”

“There are so many MacGregors up there. But I never met the viscount, nor do I know your MacGregor. He reminded me of someone, though perhaps I was mistaken. They are a handsome people, the MacGregors. Such presence.”

Sir Hector waved impatiently. “What of Viscount Darrach?”

“I never met him, as I said. Castle Darrach is a long ride from Strathniven, but I enjoy touring the countryside up there, and have ridden through the glen in my carriage. So picturesque! You must see it next time you visit! I did hear the viscount was a young man, killed while hunting, they say. Very tragic.”

“They say a bit more than that,” Corbie commented.

“My housekeeper mentioned talk of murder and smugglers in those hills. But there are ruffians all over the Highlands who misbehave. Every Highland glen has dozens of stills, they say. The people are clever at hiding them and carting their whisky about secretly. They have no choice if they want to survive,” she added crisply.

“They are caught often enough by excise officers,” Sir Hector defended.

“It is not for me to condemn what they do. But I never venture out at night unless my driver takes me to visit a friend or my sister. She has a country house not far from mine, you know.”

“Mrs. Beaton is a lovely lady,” Sir Hector said.

“If this viscount met with calamity, remember that some Highlanders resent members of the peerage.” She pursed her lips. “When my husband’s father acquired Strathniven years ago, it was part of a vast estate once held by MacGregors. A forfeited earldom, I believe. My husband was granted a title of viscount. Not everyone in the region was pleased about it. Jacobite loyalties and resentments linger there.”

“Those resentments may never end, Aunt.” Corbie helped himself to more trifle.

“True. Some years ago, a few MacGregors petitioned to regain their ancestral land lost in the uprising. I remember solicitors waving documents about and arguing, but my husband prevailed. It was his right through the Crown. Such handsome and nice young MacGregors, they were. I felt sorry for them. What a delicious pudding!” She dipped her spoon again. “Fresh peaches and strawberries. Wonderful. Tell me, how long will Mr. MacGregor be a guest at Strathniven?”

“I cannot promise he will be there,” Sir Hector said.

“Dear Aunt, remember that he is a criminal,” Corbie said.

“Ellison and I saw these men when you did, Adam. And I saw three proud and vigorous Highland men in difficult circumstances. Since this laird of Glenbrae is a neighbor of Strathniven, I would like to be of help.”

“Are you sure, Marjorie?” Sir Hector asked quietly.

“Yes. The solution to your predicament seems simple to me. The fellow must be prepared for a royal introduction. That cannot happen in prison, but we can accomplish it at Strathniven, where only we would know who he is.”

“It would take time to prepare him,” Ellison said.

“A fortnight or two, even longer,” Lady Strathniven agreed.

“This is preposterous,” Corbie said. “Sir, you cannot seriously consider this.”

“If a justiciary court reviews their case soon, they could be tried and sentenced before the king arrives,” Sir Hector said. “Otherwise, it may be necessary to move them.”

“Move them? Where?” Ellison asked.

“Hanged,” Corbie barked. “All of them.”

Stunned, Ellison paused with her spoon halfway to her lips and stared at him.

“Moved out of the Castle,” Sir Hector corrected sternly. “To avoid attention.”

“King Geordie will want all the attention on himself,” Lady Strathniven said. “He will not like being upstaged by Highland heroes. He would throw a royal tantrum.”

Sir Hector coughed. “We should not express opinions on this so bluntly, my lady.”

“Aging widows can say what they like.” She sniffed.

“It would be horrid to hurry their sentencing for the king’s convenience,” Ellison said. “I hope you will not allow that.”

“They should get what they deserve,” Corbie said.

“Considering the uproar over the hangings that occurred here two years ago,” Sir Hector said, “the courts will avoid any hue and cry. Perhaps the man could be transferred into my custody until the king departs.”

“Wherever he goes, he must remain under guard,” Corbie said.

“I so love our wee scheme!” Lady Strathniven exclaimed.

“My lady, this is not amusing,” Sir Hector warned.

“Papa,” Ellison said, “Mr. MacGregor must be informed. What if he refuses to cooperate? He may not want to meet the king.”

Corbie huffed. “If he refuses, there would be consequences.”

“Consequences?” She looked at her father.

“I will see what can be done,” Sir Hector said.

Ellison stabbed a fat berry in her dessert bowl. “I had hoped for a reprieve.”

Corbie laughed. “Unlikely!”

“The man must appear proper in every respect. Comme il faut. We have our work cut out for us, Ellison dear,” Lady Strathniven said.

“I do not think it is decided,” Corbie said.

“I think it is,” Lady Strathniven said.

“It may be our best choice,” Sir Hector said. “Prepare the fellow and we will see.”

“I can tutor him in the etiquette required for a royal occasion,” Ellison agreed. “Papa, you said Sir Walter has written a pamphlet with advice on decorum?”

“He has. I will give you a copy.”

“When we are done with this Highlander,” Lady Strathniven said, “he will be a gentleman anyone would be proud to present. We could try his new skills at Strathniven with a country supper or a dance!” She clapped her hands.

“We are not giving this scoundrel a holiday,” Sir Hector warned.

“Sir, I do not believe your daughter should spend time with him,” Corbie said.

“But I speak Gaelic,” Ellison reminded him.

“She is essential for this,” Lady Strathniven pointed out. “Mr. MacGregor will require proper clothing. Adam, you must lend him some things.”

“I will not. Besides, the fellow is too large. He would split my tailored coats.”

“Then we will find something. So, it is decided,” his aunt continued. “Send the fellow to Strathniven. We will tutor him and introduce him as Lord Darrach.”

“That is not decided either,” Sir Hector cautioned.

“I have grave doubts,” Corbie insisted. “A crofter and a thief in plaid rags who speaks no English, has not seen the sharp side of a razor, and does not know a soup spoon from a sugar spoon. Civilizing him will need more than a frock coat and some English words. Remember, if this fails, all our reputations will be at risk.”

“You can be so dreary sometimes, Adam,” his aunt said.

“MacGregor was probably educated in a glen school,” Ellison said. “And if he creates a whisky so extraordinary the very king loves it, he is smart and discerning.”

“Exactly,” the viscountess said. “We shall sew up the rest into a fine gentleman.”

“Sow’s ear into a silk purse,” Corbie muttered.

“Yes!” His aunt smiled. “Hector?”

“Papa?” Ellison asked, turning expectantly.

Sir Hector threw his napkin on the table. “I see no other solution. I will arrange something. A temporary warrant of release may do for a fortnight.”

“Thank you, Papa.”

“Just tutor this fellow in the basics and be done with it. But I must insist, Ellison, that you are never alone with him. Understood?”

“If I must provide lessons—”

“I agree.” Corbie spoke over her. “Sir, I should go to Strathniven as well.”

“You are needed in Edinburgh,” Sir Hector barked.

“I will chaperone,” Lady Strathniven said. “We will teach him proper manners. Perhaps some dancing lessons too.”

“Dancing! Outrageous,” Corbie grumbled.

“He will be quite the success. So handsome and appealing!” Lady Strathniven smiled.

“Heaven forfend,” Sir Hector muttered.

*

Seated in her father’s library reading, Ellison looked out a tall window, watching for Lady Strathniven’s coach. Her baggage was packed and she was excited to start the adventure she secretly craved.

Again her thoughts went to Mr. Ronan MacGregor. Papa had promised a safe warrant to grant the man a temporary release. But MacGregor seemed proud and strong-willed; he could refuse to comply with the proposal.

She frowned, wondering if her father and Corbie would inform him of the plan. Sighing, she knew Corbie was adamant against her involvement. He was oddly possessive of her, though he claimed fondness. He might seem an excellent match for her. His persistence and remarkable head for detail could bring him more responsibility in the government; he had a good income, and he was Lady Strathniven’s sole heir. His prospects were excellent. He was nice-looking, short but strong, with pleasant if plain features, sandy-colored hair, brown eyes, and a solicitous manner.

Having known him for years, she knew his tendency to criticize, knew the lack of sympathy he could show for those in lesser circumstances. His arrogance could be too much in evidence. But she found it less easy to define her feeling of discomfort around him; she never fully relaxed in his company. Corbie was interested in Corbie, a quality she found difficult to comprehend.

Yet Sir Hector relied on him and Lady Strathniven cared about him. Both would favor a marriage between Ellison and Adam someday. She wondered if Corbie had mentioned his interest to her father yet. She had a feeling that would come soon.

And lately he seemed jealous of MacGregor. However unfounded, it explained his obstinance regarding any plan that elevated MacGregor and brought her near the man.

All that mattered to her was her father’s well-being. She had a unique chance to regain his respect and bridge the gap in their troubled relationship. As for Adam Corbie, she would continue to keep a cool distance and hope for the best.

Turning the page to read on, she could not concentrate, eager for the carriage to arrive for her escape north. She had looked forward to time alone to write and think about her life. Now she had work to do.

Exciting work! Smiling, she turned another page without reading.

Adam Corbie was a doomsayer and her father was skeptical, but she felt deliciously eager for this challenge. She was glad MacGregor would have a little freedom in the north too, and she was sure he would make a convincing gentleman.

She refused to think about what might happen to him after the royal visit.

In the hallway, she heard her father and Corbie talking. Setting the book aside, she glanced around the library with its high bookshelves, polished table, handsome chairs. She loved the comfortable refuge of a beautiful, peaceful library. Strathniven House had two handsome libraries where she could—

Papa and Corbie entered, dispelling peace with some petty argument.

“I do not want a military translator,” Sir Hector said. “Ellison will do that. This must be kept among the few of us.”

“I arranged for a regiment soldier to translate on the journey, since MacGregor will be taken north under military guard. It is part of the agreement for temporary custody, sir.”

“I am looking into a conditional pardon, which relieves me of direct custody.”

“The escort ensures that the ladies need not travel with him.”

“Fine. Otherwise, Ellison must be the only translator and tutor for this infernal nonsense. You have arranged all the details?”

“Yes. He will be taken north in a few days and cautioned not to set a foot wrong. Ah, Miss Ellison! We did not see you hiding there.”

She peered around the chair. “Good morning. I was not hiding, Mr. Corbie.”

“Silent as a mouse. I have prepared a list of the tasks that require your attention.” Corbie took folded pages from a pocket. “Sir, if your daughter follows my directions, all will go smoothly.”

“Fine,” grunted Sir Hector, taking the paper Corbie handed him.

Approaching them, Ellison took her copy and read the list written in Corbie’s spiky handwriting.

Barber and a bath, it said . Burn the plaid and Highland kit etc. Acquire one set of proper clothing and shoes from a man of matching size. Avoid unnecessary expense.

Blushing at the quick image of MacGregor in a bath, muscled and gleaming— stop that , she told herself—she tried to envision him neatly groomed in a dark coat, snowy cravat. But she could only imagine him in Highland plaid looking grand.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Corbie, we cannot burn a Highlander’s plaidie. It is an insult.”

“Fleas,” Corbie said curtly.

Ellison went on reading. Teach simple English phrases suited to the occasion. Give school examination for reading skills.

“An examination intended for children? I will not do it.”

“Meals are to be taken alone in his room,” Sir Hector said, reading his copy. “He may join an evening meal only to practice manners. Very thorough. This will do.”

“It will not do,” Ellison protested. “You must allow the man some dignity if you expect him to act the gentleman. And I should decide on the lessons.”

“The list is just to ensure the process goes quickly,” Corbie said.

“Papa, you know this will need time.”

“I do not know how much time we can spare, my dear.”

“Two or three days ought to do it,” Corbie said.

“Tutoring and even finding appropriate dress will take more time than that. Unless you want to present him to the king as he is.”

“A filthy smuggler in rags?” Adam Corbie scoffed.

“A Highlander. There will be many Highland gentlemen at the royal assemblies. Most will be in full Highland regalia. Sir Walter is encouraging it,” she said.

“The man should not look like a Scottish chief. He will attract too much notice.”

“Sir Walter is keen to show what is unique and special about Scottish culture at the royal assemblies,” she countered. “That includes tartan dress for Highlanders.”

“A parade of peacocks in plaid,” Corbie said.

“Adam,” Sir Hector warned. “Yes, Scott is keen to create a sense of the Celtic heyday of Scotland. But we risk overblown pageantry. Many gentlemen will wear formal attire that is elegant and appropriate to the occasion. Ellison, your Highlander must not be allowed to adopt excessive attire.”

“He is not my Highlander. A Highland gentleman dressed authentically is a magnificent sight. The king will appreciate Scottish culture even more.”

“My dear, do not idealize Highlanders. Especially this one.”

“But they are, at heart, a noble race brought down by oppression—”

“Enough! Romanticizing only brought you trouble in the past.”

“Years ago, Papa, and I have paid dearly for it.”

“You have a sensitive nature, Miss Ellison.” Corbie smiled, brown eyes doting, reminding her of treacle. “Teach the man his please-and-thank-you’s and be done with it. Sir, I fear your daughter is a little infatuated.”

“My dear, just see that the man is presentable. Do not let your imagination take hold of your senses.”

“Papa.” She fisted a hand, simmering, then forced a smile. She would prove them wrong and make her father proud of her again.

“I repeat, sir, I must be at Strathniven to ensure the man’s behavior.”

“And I repeat that you are needed here. Your aunt will chaperone.”

“With due respect, my aunt cannot protect Miss Ellison physically.”

“I do not believe Mr. MacGregor is a threat,” Ellison said.

“I doubt you are the best judge of that, Miss Ellison,” Corbie retorted.

“We cannot assign a guard at Strathniven,” her father said. “This must be private. Besides, every military man will be needed to manage the crowds coming into the city. Soon the streets will be full day and night. They say every bed and broom closet will be rented out as people arrive from all over Scotland.”

“I am taking Balor with me,” Ellison said. “He is fiercely protective.”

Corbie laughed. “That little mop! He snaps at boots and chews carpet.”

“That pup is more bother than he is worth,” Sir Hector said.

“He chewed a little carpet, but he grew out of the habit. Lady Strathniven adores him. You know she keeps a full staff in summer. The house will be busy.”

“Then someone at Strathniven can be enlisted to help. Who is that strapping young lad who helps there? Donald. Douglas,” Sir Hector said.

“Donal Brodie,” Ellison said. “A good lad, very smart. He works with Mr. MacNie in the stables sometimes. Mr. MacGregor will need a valet, and Donal would do.”

“Valet!” Corbie said. “Someone needs to watch his every move, not tie his cravat.”

“Donal will do. Mention it to Lady Strathniven,” Sir Hector told Ellison.

“I will.” A question burned in her mind. “Did Mr. MacGregor agree to the plan?”

“He will comply, trust me,” Corbie said.

That made her wary. “What do you mean?”

“Once he leaves Edinburgh, his conspirators will be transferred to Calton Jail. MacGregor will soon learn that their wellbeing depends on his cooperation.”

“I do not recall ordering that,” Sir Hector said.

“Sir, you mentioned some details that I appended to the petition for safe warrant. You signed the papers. Busy as you are, you may have forgotten.”

Sir Hector frowned. “I would not forget a detail such as that.”

“The other two could hardly remain in the Castle dungeon once MacGregor was removed. Questions would be asked. Moving all three at once attracts less notice. You said MacGregor must understand that his cooperation is essential.”

“Ah. Well, if I ordered it.” Sir Hector looked perplexed.

None of this felt right, Ellison thought. “What consequences?”

“Just what has been done for centuries,” Corbie explained. “MacGregor will cooperate in exchange for the treatment of his accomplices.”

“Hostage for blackmail? It is medieval and despicable! Papa, you cannot do this!”

“Transferring the other two is sufficient, Mr. Corbie.”

“Sir, we have no guarantee—”

“You cannot betray the man when you need his help!” Ellison said.

“He benefits from this arrangement. And we must exercise caution.”

“You need me, but I will not be party to betrayal.”

“You are already part of this scheme,” Corbie said. “You must ensure its success.”

Without answer, she went to the door, taking the handle in trembling fingers.

“Ellie, stop.” Her father’s quiet use of her childhood name made her pause.

“Papa, I will not be art and part to betrayal.”

“All you need do is turn a frog into a prince,” Corbie said.

“Pity. I quite like frogs.” She shut the door firmly behind her.