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Adair’s grin spread to lighten his weathered face. “If you are around long enough, you may just find that out.” He winked at Mathew. “And now, lads, I’ll bid you good-night. We’ve put the pair of you in Catlyn’s solar, it being the only chamber that’s not occupied. I’m told the maids took up sleeping pallets, blankets and such. If you need anything, just ask.”
Anything but freedom. Still Ross could not fault their caution. Nodding, he followed the pair of guards up two flights of narrow, winding stairs, conscious of Mathew’s suppressed tension. His cousin was canny enough to hold his tongue till the door to their borrowed chamber had shut behind them.
“By the rod!” Mathew exclaimed. “Do you think they plan to keep us prisoners here? Murder us in our—”
“Shh.” Ross drew Mathew across the long, spacious room to the window. “If they meant to harm us, they’d have taken our weapons. Their wariness is reasonable, if damned inconvenient.”
Mathew’s tense shoulders relaxed. “What now?”
“We find the stills,” Ross said softly.
“Oh, and how will we get out of here?”
“Climb, I hope.” Ross unbarred the double shutters covering the window and eased open one side. Cool, damp air swirled in as he leaned out. “Ah, only three stories to the ground.”
“Only,” Mathew gasped.
“Aye, and there’s a wee ledge just below.”
“You cannot be thinking of walking that!” he whispered.
Ross just grinned. He had always had a penchant for climbing, whether it was a tree to filch apples or down a cliff side after falcon chicks to train for hunting.
“Idiot.”
“I just don’t have your fear of heights.”
“Respect. I respect the fact that birds fly and men were meant to keep their two feet on the ground.”
“I will be careful.” His mind made up, Ross turned and surveyed the room.
Like everything at Kennecraig, it was neat and clean if sparsely furnished. An attempt had been made to make them comfortable. At one end, a large table held a trio of pitchers, cups and a bowl for washing. Surprisingly, there were also stacks of books and what looked like writing materials. Did Lady Catlyn read, or were these her father’s?
There was no bed, of course, but the promised sleeping pallets had been laid out before the hearth at the other end, where a small fire crackled. Blankets and pillows lay nearby, along with their saddle packs.
Ross made for his pouch, pawed through it and found the thin coil of rope at the bottom. “It pays to be prepared.” Grinning, he straightened and looped the rope around his torso.
“And what am I to do while you are off risking your fool neck?” Mathew whispered fiercely.
Ross scanned the chamber again as he had so many others in his career as a thief-taker. “Conduct a thorough search.” He pointed to the two large tapestries that brightened the long walls. “Look behind the hangings for hidden passageways or safe-holes. It is doubtless too much to hope that she has left this recipe laying about, but examine the books and papers on yon table.” He frowned, surprised to find little evidence the lady spent time on the traditional female pursuits—no needlework frame, no mending basket.
But then, Catlyn Boyd was a most unusual lady. One he wished he had met under different circumstances. If he was to steal her secrets, he must know her better.
Chapter Three
Catlyn found herself standing before the double doors to the distillery with no memory of how she’d gotten there after fleeing the great hall. There was no other word for the way in which she had run from the hall, from Ross Sutherland’s touch. Even now her wrist still prickled where his callused hands had encircled it. And her heart beat much too swiftly.
The man was a menace to womankind. And it was a blow to her pride to find she was not as immune to him as she should be. Awash with shame, she leaned her forehead against the door, drawing strength from steel-banded oak.
There were too many people counting on her, too many decisions to be made without cluttering her head with silly thoughts of Ross Sutherland. It was just that he was handsome. And strong. Curiously his size and warrior skills appealed to her even more than his poet’s face. Part of her wanted to acquiesce to Adair’s suggestion and hire the knight.
Oh, and would that not be the most foolish thing she had ever done.
Agitated, Catlyn pulled open the right-hand door and stepped into the distillery’s anteroom. Immediately, the familiar scent of the Finglas wrapped itself around her. To her, this was the heart of Kennecraig, the center of her world for as long as she could remember. She knew and loved every inch of this ancient tower, from the keg maker’s workshop on the floor above to the cellars beneath housing the mash tuns and stills. On this main floor were the settling rooms and her workroom. Her province, her responsibility.
Catlyn sighed. Small wonder she craved a champion. Even before Hakon had come into their lives, her days had been hectic and full. Now, as she passed through the entryway and into the maze of dimly lit rooms beyond, she felt weighed down by all that must be done. Always before there had been others to share the burden, but her father was gone, her mother as good as.
Oh, Roland and his men would perform the manual tasks associated with each phase of the whiskey making, but it was up to her to record these steps in the journals. It was up to her to decide if the Finglas from four years ago was up to Boyd standards and how much of it should be sold, how much kept by for her father’s pet project.
Tucked away in a darkened corner of the still rooms were kegs from as far back as ten years ago. Thomas had reasoned that whiskey became smoother and more drinkable every year. At ten years, he felt it had reached its peak. If he had been able to, he would not have sold a drop of the Finglas till it was ten years old. But in order to provide for his clan, he’d been forced to sell most of each year’s production.
This year, he had intended to offer the ten-year-old Finglas to a few discriminating customers in Edinburgh. Among them, the king.
Now it was up to Catlyn to make her father’s dream reality. But was she strong enough to do it? Would the nobles deal with a Highland distiller who was also a woman?
Frowning, she wandered into the settling room. It was twice the size of the great hall, the ceilings one and a half stories above the stone floor. During the day, air and light filtered in through narrow openings at the rafter line. By night, only a single lantern, such as the type used on ships, was left burning in a center table, for flame and liquor were an explosive mix.
Row after row of shelves filled the room, so it resembled a maze. They were lined with single rows of whiskey kegs. Each keg bore a label with a date and batch number inscribed in Catlyn’s precise hand. The numbers were recorded in her ledger books, and from them she could tell what barley fields had been used in the distilling, how many times the liquor had been run through the stills and, СКАЧАТЬ