Page 7 of Highlander’s Wild Lass (Wild McLeans #1)

She wrapped and tied her bum roll around her waist before snatching the petticoat that hung off her chest of drawers. The petticoat slipped over her head with ease and settled neatly over her hips.

She looked into the long mirror that stood alone in a corner of her room and inspected herself. “Only one petticoat today, I think,” she murmured decidedly.

“Cellie, please, we need to leave.” Hugo must have been pressed right up against the door because his words were mashed and muffled.

“I’m comin’!” Celestia shouted and threw open the door sending Hugo staggering backward.

“Good lord, a little warnin’ next time!” Hugo exclaimed.

Celestia let out a short laugh and continued into the kitchen finding Auralia and her father eating breakfast.

Brannan lifted a key off the table. “You’ll be needin’ this.”

She took the key and pocketed it in one of the deep pockets she had sewn into her skirts.

“Jacob is outside in the cart, waitin’ to take ye to the storehouse. Ye ken who Jacob is?” Brannan asked.

They nodded. Jacob was the young man, a few years younger than her, that her father had hired a year before he fell ill. He had taken him in as an apprentice but had entrusted him with running the entire business in the last six months.

Jacob knew enough about the business to help Celestia and the twins get acclimated, but he was no master businessman like Brannan McLean. And the business had floundered without Brannan guiding him.

Jacob waved to them as they made their way to the cart. “Good mornin’,” he said cheerfully once they were close.

They parroted his greeting back and climbed into the cart. The twins took to the back of the cart and nestled themselves comfortably against the side panels, while Celestia sat with Jacob.

“Would ye like to take the reins, Mistress Celestia?” Jacob asked, holding them out to her. “Yer faither has told me how good of a horsewoman ye are.”

“Has he?” she wondered with a small grin. “Well, he’s nae wrong, but I’d much rather have ye lead us into town.”

“Aye, will do.” Jacob took hold of the reins. “The road to Inverness is clear enough, it should nae take us much longer than two hours.”

The slow jostling of the cart had lulled Chester and Hugo to sleep soon after departing, while Jacob had kept a constant stream of what Celestia suspected to be nervous chatter since leaving.

She did her best to keep up with Jacob’s rapid speech but found herself drifting to his dark brown hair, like Anthony’s. Although Jacob’s didn’t curl handsomely at the ends like his did.

* * *

Anthony had traveled to visit his older sister in Aberdeenshire. Thanks to the marriage their father had arranged for her, she was now Lady of Castle Huntly and wife to the chief of Clan Gordon, George Gordon.

The birth of Eleanor’s first child—his first nephew—offered a perfectly timed distraction and reason to get away from the castle and Celestia for a little while.

It was very early, the sun was just starting to rise, and the view out of Eleanor’s living chambers was that of the two small rivers that met and converged into one to feed the loch a few miles from the castle grounds.

“When will ye return home, brother?” Eleanor asked, voice still rough from sleep.

“Ah, eager to be rid of me so soon?” Anthony turned from the window and saw his sister standing in the middle of the room, before the roaring fireplace, swinging the bairn slowly in her arms.

He had only been there a few days.

She scoffed. “Nay, ye’ve been a help, and ye’ve been keepin’ George well occupied.”

“He’s nae so bad once ye get to ken him. It’s just too bad ye can’t go huntin’ with him, he becomes an open book then. Would nae keep quiet, honestly.”

Eleanor passed the bairn off to him and turned to the tea-table where a porcelain tea set had been placed by a housemaid. She filled two cups near the top with tea. “Sugar?”

“Sure, just a wee lump.” Anthony lighted his fingers gently across the bairn’s forehead. He had the red hair of the Gordon’s, but the beginnings of the green eyes that were his family’s. “He’s a bonnie lad, El. Ye did well.”

“Thank ye, he is very bonnie if I can say so myself,” Eleanor said, taking a seat.

He took a seat in the armchair opposite of her, bairn still in his arms. “I still cannae believe ye named him after me.” He looked at his sister, her dark brown hair loose and cascading down her back.

“Anthony George Gordon is a strong name. And he’ll be needin’ it if he’s going to be heir to this troublesome clan.” She brought the fine China teacup to her lips and took a long sip.

Anthony only smiled. The Gordons were known for their bloody feuds and changing allegiances during the times of Robert the Bruce and William Wallace. Just two centuries ago, one Gordon chief had been beheaded by none other than Queen Mary in the very hallways of Huntly Castle for refusing her entry to his home. However, Eleanor’s husband thankfully seemed to be far milder than his ancestors.

The bairn started crying then, and Anthony passed him over to Eleanor. She turned slightly away from him and adjusted the little one at her now exposed breast. Anthony stood once more and headed to the window again, taking his teacup with him to give Eleanor privacy.

“Any worthy lasses to fit into your perfectly organized life?”

Just Celestia.

“Ah, nay.”

“Ye are a terrible liar.”

“I am nae, ye are just too wicked that ye see right through me.”

“I am nae wicked!” she exclaimed, sounding only a little offended. “I just ken ye well. Now, tell me about the lass?”

Anthony took a long, exaggerated sip to delay his answer. He did not want to admit that he had asked Celestia to marry him twice now and both proposals had been rejected. Nor did he want to admit that he felt something, even if it was the smallest inkling of something, for the lass.

Celestia was not of nobility. And while many would not consider her a gentlewoman, he would. But none of that mattered to him. As frustrating as she was, he found her entirely captivating.

“Do ye remember Celestia McLean?”

“Of course…”

“I have been courtin’ her.”

“Lies again.”

Anthony sighed and sat down on the window seat.

“Tell me everythin’.”

Anthony did.

Amid his retelling, the housekeeper had come and taken the bairn to the nursery, and when he finished telling Eleanor everything, it was just them alone in the large sitting room.

Eleanor busied herself with making another cup of tea. “Well,” she said finally. “That is quite the story. But I do nae blame her for wantin’ a love match either, I once longed for one myself.”

Anthony stood from his seat and made his way to stand in front of the fireplace. He looked at his sister, put his arms on his hips, and then dropped them. He paced back and forth, turning to try to say something to her, and then began pacing once more.

“Ye are very out of sorts,” Eleanor noted.

Anthony pressed the palm of his hand to his forehead and slid it roughly upward. “What if it is a love match? Rather, what if it can turn into a love match?”

“Ye just said it wasnae.” She settled herself deeper into the plush couch, eyeing him warily. “Wait—are ye sayin’ yer in love with her?”

“Nay!”

“Then,” Eleanor started, “ye… care for the lass?”

Anthony gave his temples a weary rub. “I guess ye can say that.”

Eleanor raised her eyebrows. “I guess ye can say that I’m surprised. The Chief of Clan Moore actually cares for a woman.”

Anthony squeezed his eyes shut and crushed his hand into a fist. “Please daenae mock me, Eleanor. She is frustratin’ and irritatin’, but…she is willin’ to fight tooth and nail for her family—and that is honorable.”

She smirked at him. “I do nae mock ye. I just find it…funny.”

“Funny?”

“Oh, aye.”

“How?” he said. “Yer the one who keeps pesterin’ me about settlin’ down.”

“Only because ye have a duty to the clan and our family to carry on the name, to ensure that the chiefship doesnae go to any of our beastly cousins.”

Anthony took up pacing the length of the elaborate Persian area rug that covered much of the hardwood flooring.

“Listen, brother. I ken ye to be a loner save only Sebastian as a true friend. What is funny is that ye have found a lass to keep yer attention for more than week. And—it’s difficult for me to admit this—but my life is a little less lonely now with George by my side.” She lowered her voice and continued, “While I am nae in love with him, we have kindled a great friendship and partnership to run this castle, this clan, and this new family we’re growin’.”

“That’s good to hear about ye and George. I did worry when ye two were wed. Ye were near tears walkin’ down the aisle.”

“Daenae change the subject, Anthony.”

“I wasnae tryin’ to, Eleanor.”

She sighed. “What I mean to say is, I think this is a good thing. Ye have time on yer hands, more time, and more privilege than I ever did. Just get to ken her before ye go blunderin’ in with another proposal.”

“That’s basically what Sebastian said,” he told her.

She laughed. “That’s no surprise. Sebastian has always had the better mind.”

Anthony’s eyes widened, a smirk playing on his mouth and clutching a hand over his heart. “Ye wound me!”

She laughed again, mollifying him with a wave of her hand. “And ye have always been the brawn of ye two. With yer muscles and yer expert swordplay.”

“Aye,” Anthony said, jutting out his chin proudly. “That’s much better.”

Eleanor placed her teacup back onto the tea table and stood. “Come,” she said, still smiling. “Let’s see if breakfast is ready.”

* * *

They finally reached Inverness just as the sun peaked in the sky, just like Jacob said. They weaved their way through the cobbled streets toward the port and the McLean Distillery Storehouse nestled along the edge of the River Ness.

Celestia could see the tall pagoda-shaped chimneys rising into the sky. She inhaled deeply. The key felt heavier and heavier in her pocket as the horses pulled them closer. Would she truly be able to run and sustain this business?

The horses slowed and soon stopped altogether. The storefront was only one story with the main entrance right on the streets of Inverness, but the rest of the distillery was attached just beyond and spread out on near a quarter of an acre. There was the storeroom just beyond the back door of the storefront, partially underground, where they kept the casks until they matured. Beyond that were the buildings that kept all the machines needed to make good Scottish whisky.

“Here we are!” Jacob said, turning towards Celestia with a wide grin. “Ye three go ahead, I’ll take the horses round back to the stable. Make sure they’re watered and fed.”

The twins jumped out of the cart while Celestia carefully climbed down, making sure her heeled boot didn’t catch awkwardly between the cobblestones.

She grabbed onto the key in her pocket and pulled it out as she made her way from the street to the wooden door. The plaque beside it read:

McLean Distillery & Storehouse

Inverness, Scotland

Est. 1677

Celestia traced the raised script on the plaque before plunging the key into the lock. After a loud metallic noise, Celestia pushed open the heavy door. She was hit with the familiar nostalgic scents of oak and sweet malt.

“It smells just like I remember,” Hugo said, walking deeper into the building.

“It does,” Chester said, wandering around the front of the storehouse.

Celestia remained in the doorway, letting the sunlight stream in behind her. A lump had formed in her throat—she couldn’t figure out if it was from overwhelm or sadness.

“Celestia?” Hugo said.

Celestia focused on her brothers and smiled, pocketing the key. “Let’s pull back the curtains and let in some light.”

The twins divided between each side and began throwing open the curtains that covered the storefront windows. By the time Jacob had returned from caring for the horses, the front door had been propped open to let in some air and the bright afternoon light was spilling in through the windows.

“Ah, ye can tell a woman’s touch is just what this place needed,” Jacob said, brushing off his hands on his trews.

Hugo scoffed with laughter. “The last thing Celestia needs is to be flattered. Just get on with the work and ye will be in her good graces.”

A crooked grin grew on Celestia’s face when Hugo had spoken up. Jacob turned to her, mouth agape, an apology about to slip out of him. Celestia held a hand up. “Just grab a broom. This place needs a good cleanin’ before we get to countin’ barrels.”

“Let’s split up the work. Hugo, take the left side of the storeroom. Chester, take the right. Da said it’s always best to work back to front. Jacob will be there to help ye keep a tally of everythin’ ye find.”

They nodded their heads and went to the storeroom with Jacob following closely behind them, a logbook and quill in his hand.

She stayed in the front of the store, pulling out a quill, inkwell, and stack of parchment and envelopes along with a logbook of all her father’s clients.

Her main priorities today were to take inventory and write letters to all their customers to let them know they were back in business. She grabbed a singular piece of parchment and flipped open to the first page before dipping her quill into the ink and beginning.

She had written near three and twenty letters when a voice broke the silence and her concentration: “I cannae believe my eyes!” It was a voice she didn’t know, and it had startled her speechless.

She stared at the young gentleman. He wore a tartan kilt of pale brown, dark brown, and a hint of pale green. He was of Clan Brochy, just to the east of Inverness.

“Excuse me, miss? Ye are open, correct?”

“Aye,” she said, finally coming to her senses. “We are.”

He approached the counter, taking off his bonnet and sweeping a boyish hand through a mop of strawberry blonde hair. “I’m Deacon Brodie, youngest cousin to the chief of Clan Brochy.” He gave a short bow of his head.

Celestia smiled. “I’m Celestia McLean, owner of this distillery.” It was the first time she had said the words out loud, and it felt strange hearing them.

“O-owner?”

“Aye, it’s passed into my hands now.”

“Oh,” he said, fumbling with his bonnet between his hands. “Is that why the place has done little business in the last several months? Did Mr. McLean pass?”

Celestia shook her head and saw the relief in the man’s eyes. “He’s very ill. But what can I do for ye today, Mr. Brodie?”

The young Mr. Brodie shrugged. “Nothin’ really. I couldnae believe my eyes when I saw the door wide open. I had to come see what was goin’ on—my faither will be very glad to ken McLean’s is back in business.”

“That’s kind of ye. What sort of business does yer faither run?”

“A pub in Elgin. It’s the biggest pub in all of Morayshire.”

“I cannae wait to make his acquaintance—”

“Although,” he started, “due to how hard it was to come by yer whisky, we have had to make changes to our supplier.”

Celestia expected some would have found other distilleries to do business with, her father had expected it would happen too. “If ye daenae mind me askin’, who is yer supplier now?”

“Och, I daenae mind at all.” He smiled, showing a grin with a missing first molar. “We have been gettin’ whisky from Koll Distilleries, but—” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “—I can tell Da is nay happy with the quality and neither is our clientship.”

A cold settled around her heart when she heard Koll’s name. But it was good news that the Brodie’s were not set on keeping business with Ryder Koll and his whisky.

The young Mr. Brodie tapped the counter excitedly with his fingers. “I tell ye, this is goin’ to make my Da’s entire day.”

“Ye have no idea how good that is to hear,” she told him.

“I must go tell my faither! I will be on my way. Good day, Mistress McLean.” He bowed once more, replaced his bonnet, and left.

She returned to her letters once she lost him amongst the people outside. Her heart started beating again and she felt much more reassured about taking on her father’s business. The young Mr. Brodie had given her a much-needed confidence boost.

It couldn’t have been more than an hour when she heard Mr. Brodie’s voice once more, along with a few other voices.

“Oh my,” she whispered, seeing five more men walk through the front door. She closed the client book and shoved it under the counter.

“Mistress McLean, I couldnae help myself. I told a few other men that I ken to be yer clients,” Mr. Brodie said, saddling once more up to the counter.

“Thank ye, Mr. Brodie. That’s very kind of ye.”

“Aye,” one of the men budded it. He was tall but thin, with nearly no hair at all. “I didnae believe what young Deacon was sayin’—I had to come see for myself.”

Celestia stood from the barstool she had been sitting on. “McLean’s is back in business.”

“What happened to Brannan McLean?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“Aye! Where is young Jacob?” another man asked.

The men crowded closer to the counter, closing in on Celestia. She began to feel breathless. “Jacob is just in the back,” she told them as she tried to maintain an even, confident voice.

“Well, get him out here. I willnae be doin’ business with a woman,” another man said, this one with mud-colored hair and pock-marked skin.

The men began to get rowdy, speaking over one another. Celestia couldn’t make heads or tails of their questions or their jeers of her being of the fairer sex.

She heard muffled footsteps coming from behind her and she turned to see Chester, Hugo, and Jacob.

“What is the meanin’ of this?” Jacob asked, his voice far deeper and louder than it had been the entire ride to Inverness.

“We’re told ye’re back open, only to hear that a woman is runnin’ things,” the pock-marked man spoke up once more, pointing a beefy finger at Celestia.

“Aye, it is true. And nay one better to be runnin’ her faither’s business,” Jacob told them, puffing out his chest slightly.

“Her faither’s business?” It was the thin man that spoke now.

“Aye! This,” Jacob said, stepping up to Celestia and laying a firm hand on her shoulder and giving it a firm shake, “is Mistress Celestia McLean—the new owner of the McLean Distillery.”

The noise level grew once more as they objected to this, wondering where Brannan McLean was. Not even Jacob was able to control these men now. It was not until Mr. Brodie whistled loudly behind him and another man near his age spoke up did the others finally fall silent.

“Well,” the young Mr. Brodie said. “I ken my faither and I will be more than pleased to once more be doin’ business with McLean’s.”

Jacob stepped around the counter and began slowly ushering the men out. “We’ll be sendin’ letters to yer establishments. If ye would like to continue workin’ with us, McLean’s will be happy to oblige.”

Once they were gone, only Jacob, the twins, and Mr. Brodie remained.

“Apologies for all of that,” Mr. Brodie said. “The older generations are curmudgeons when it comes to new ways of goin’ about things.”

“I appreciate that, but there’s nay reason to apologize,” Celestia told him. “We expected some pushback from people when they found out I was takin’ over.”

“I’m sure ye have lots to get done today. Thank ye for yer time, we will eagerly await yer letter,” Mr. Brodie said and took his leave.

It was quiet once again. Celestia exhaled loudly, placing her fingers on her forehand before collecting herself and looking at her brothers.

“That was a wee bit frightenin’,” Chester said.

“Aye. I didnae like how they crowded ye,” said Hugo. “I was about to pummel the lot of them.”

Celestia scoffed. “Ye would nae fair well against a gaggle of disgruntled men.”

“They were old men, we could’ve taken them,” Chester said, nudging Jacob. “Jacob would have helped too.”

Celestia reached under the counter for the logbook. “Well, thankfully, we didnae have to resort to violence. Let’s let the whisky speak for itself.”

“Aye, let’s let the whisky speak for itself.”

Celestia dropped her grip on the logbook and their heads snapped in the direction of the front door. “What are ye doin’ here, Mr. Koll?” she asked. The anger from weeks ago bubbled up at the sight of him.

“Ye must have forgotten, as weak-minded as I ken women to be, my distillery is a few miles from here.” He folded his arms across his barrel of a chest.

“I didnae forget,” she said resolutely, but she had forgotten. In all her nerves of both fear and excitement of this day, she forgot that the Koll Distillery was just northeast of here, closer to the mouth of the sea.

“Well, if yer here, ye havenae given up on this rubbish dream of takin’ over yer faither’s business, Miss McLean.”

“Clearly.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“I’m sure ye’ll find that I’ve been successful in acquiring some of yer faither’s clients. Absence makes the tongue long for good whisky, and that’s what I have been givin’ every Highlander that is in need.”

Hugo and Chester stepped forward.

“Get out of here, ye clarty bastard,” Chester told him, his voice low. “We daenae need to be hearin’ any empty threats from the likes of ye!”

Mr. Koll snorted. “Empty threats,” he muttered. “Ye better all be watchin’ yer back from now on.”

And with that, Mr. Koll left as silently as he came.

A tightness gripped Celestia’s heart, as she watched Mr. Koll’s figure finally disappear from the last of the large windows and into the mix of people walking the streets of Inverness.

She took a seat, attempting to even out her breath. “Well,” she exhaled, “he certainly has a way with showin’ up out of the clear blue sky.”

“Aye,” Jacob started, “that man came around a lot when yer Da first got sick. He only asks—well, demands is the best word for what he does—to see a list of our customers and once ye tell him nay, he threatens ye a bit and is gone for a while.”

Celestia nodded, hand resting on her neck to feel if her heart rate was slowing.

Hugo had jumped up to sit on the counter beside her and squeezed her shoulder. “All is well, Cellie. With Da’s help—” He pointed to Jacob and smiled, “—and Jacob’s, we will be the most successful distillery in the Highlands.”

“Nay, the whole of Scotland!” Chester exclaimed, slamming a fist on the counter.

Celestia was startled once more, still feeling a bit unsettled by Mr. Koll’s sudden appearance. She did not doubt the man was ruthless, fashioning himself after pirates and the like. She wondered if his threats were not as empty as Jacob assumed.

“Speakin’ of customer lists, yer Da would probably want me to show ye the other list,” Jacob said.

“The other list?” Celestia asked, brows raising.

The twins shared a perplexed look between them.

“What other list?” she asked again.

Jacob nodded, his wide mouth in a grim line. “Lock the door, and I’ll show ye.”

After the door was locked, they followed close behind Jacob as he crept behind the long counter and knelt on the creaking floorboards. He pulled away a false cabinet door to expose a centuries-old lockbox.

He made quick work of a small iron key and pulled open the door, exposing a pile of coins, a small dusty bottle of whisky, and a logbook thinner than the one Celestia had been working from all afternoon.

Jacob pulled it out and handed it to Celestia, who only looked at the nondescript book, face scrunched up in confusion.

“This is the… other customer list?”

“Aye, the one Queen Anne’s government doesnae ken about.” Jacob told her.

Celestia blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“An illegal list of customers?” Chester wondered aloud.

Hugo catapulted himself back onto the counter. “Wonderful—here we are thinkin’ Da is an honorable gentleman, and he’s been bootleggin’ this whole time!”

Celestia shushed him, hoping the stern look came across on her face.

“Daenae talk of yer da like that. Ye should ask him about this yerselves, but after the 1688 rebellion saw King James exiled, a good deal of whisky merchants went underground,” Jacob explained, standing up.

Celestia chewed on her lip and laid the logbook on the counter beside Hugo. She peeled open the hardcover and began looking through her father’s underground customers. “This is mostly a list of brothels!”

“What?” Chester nearly shouted.

“Keep yer voices down!” Jacob warned. “There are excisemen all over this town waitin’ for a whisky merchant to slip up. The good thing about your da’s business is that most of the customers are above board, there are even some Englishmen that yer faither has made great connections with.”

“Even surgeons?” Celestia’s voice came out in a whisper.

“Aye,” Jacob told them. “They use it primarily for healin’, cleanin’ wounds and such.”

“There’s chiefs, lairds, and landowners on this too. Even the Armstrong and Bruce chiefs,” Hugo said, leaning into her, his dark blonde hair falling into his face as he pointed to the names.

The list was in alphabetical order, and Celestia wondered if Anthony Moore and Castle Ferguson were on this list too.

Chester scratched his forehead and leaned over the list. “This is extraordinary. Mr. Koll must ken this list exists or assumes it does. He wouldnae be so put out about the taxed ones, would he?”

Jacob shrugged. “Yer guess is as good as mine, but I keep this in here, locked up good and safe so nay one can get their hands on it.”

“Good,” Celestia said, shutting the book and handing it back to him. “Keep it shut up. I’ll be speakin’ to Da about this before we decide to continue business with them.”