Page 56 of Laird of Secrets
“You mentioned that Lord Struan married a MacArthur girl,” he said casually.
“Elspeth MacArthur, aye. Her grandfather is Donal MacArthur, a weaver.”
“Ah.” Donal was a cousin on his mother’s side, an older fellow than his uncles. That was yet another bond with Fiona MacCarran, but he was not about to reveal that he was the kinsman who delivered the fairy brew to the weaver.
“What is fairy whisky?” she asked again.
“Oh,” he said, “simply a Highland whisky made in some households, according to very old recipes kept within families.”
She tipped her head. “According to magical secrets handed down by fairies?”
He chuckled. “Not quite so special. A few flowers might be the difference.”
“In whisky? You mentioned that another time, and I wondered about it.”
“Flowers can flavor the water used in the brewing process—heather, primroses, buttercups, bluebells, and so on. The water has a certain character from the burn where it flows, and that can change and take on the flavors of its surroundings. Peat, flowers, grasses, wild garlic, and the kinds of rocks that the water flows over can affect the quality and taste of the water.”
“I see. Is that what makes fairy brew, a certain flower or plant, or a kind of water? Is it illegal, this fairy brew, or just legendary?”
“Legendary, lass.” He smiled. “Highland distillers pay careful attention to the many factors that influence the taste of the whisky. It is tradition and part of what sets Highland whiskies apart. We do not manufacture it merely for the quantity, but for the quality. As for what is legal and what is not, that does depend only on the quantity produced. Every Highland household is permitted to distill up to five hundred gallons a year.”
“That seems like quite a bit.”
“Not particularly, when you consider that families consume it and share it, and store it to age it. Whisky can be kept in casks for years, and its flavor and quality will increase, unlike ale. Once it is bottled, the taste and quality are captured and held.”
“The value increases with the aging as well,” she said, nodding. “But fairy brew—such a romantic name! I might like to try some.”
“And you such a practical lass, collecting rocks like a scientist,” he teased.
She smiled. “Rocks fascinate me. They are so primeval and ancient, and they can have their own legendary character. I love hearing legends of fairies and such,” she added. “I want to learn more about the tales of Glen Kinloch.”
Dougal remembered Eldin’s odd remarks about her, yet he sensed nothing unusual in her interest in local fairy stories, some of which involved Kinloch whisky and the fairy brew. He smiled, nodded, did not reply directly.
“Is that a clachan ahead?” She pointed toward the buildings visible beyond the bushes and trees where they walked. The path skirted a bend there and crossed a meadow to the cluster.
“It does look like a village,” he agreed. “But it is the Kinloch distillery.”
“I thought Highland stills were hidden away to keep them safe from the revenue men.”
“Some are. This one is legitimate. There is no need to hide it.”
“Are there many such stills in the area?”
Against his will, he thought of her gauger brother. “Why do you ask?”
“The night we met, the customs man said the laird of Kinloch could be held accountable for any illegal stills found on his lands if the owners were unknown.”
“A new law, aye. And a devil of a thing it is.”
“It seems unfair,” she agreed.
“Along with that, the government lowered taxes on barley to discourage us from plying our trade.”
“The free trade?”
“Not the free trade. The manufacture of it. Specifically, they are taxing the wort,” he explained. “That is the mash created from boiling and steaming the barley. The wort, you see, is the heart of the whisky process. The steam from it simmers in a large copper pot and is channeled through copper coils to drip down and be caught. The distillation that is collected will become the whisky itself.”
“So the wort is key to making the whisky? No wonder they tax that part of the process. But how does lowering it make a difference?”
