Page 16 of In Search of a Husband
“Good morning, Finn.”
Finlay and his brother had been friends since childhood, and Gabriel had always been considered the younger tag-along of the trio.
The man towered over Gabriel’s already tall frame, and beneath the mess of red hair, he had green eyes that were almost always full of anger unless he was drunk. Which he often was.
“Why is he there?” Finlay yelled, throwing his arm out toward the village.
“When I walked through last week, I noticed some structural damage from the fire last autumn. It needs to be corrected if we’re to continue operating the stills in the cellar.”
“Tavish doesna care. We dinna need to change anything. The stills by the river are fine as well.”
Gabriel nodded, annoyed that the girls were doing anything but listen. “Lorna, stay down. I need to reach the inn sometime tomorrow.”
Maisie tittered, then slipped, scraping her knee.
Gabriel peeled her off the tree and placed her firmly on the ground. “It’s only a scrape.”
“It’s only a scrape,” Finlay mimicked.
“Ye too, Wallace,” Gabriel said, motioning for everyone to walk toward the village. “We will all go together, but we’re late.”
“The architect isn’t late.”
“Good, at least someone is on time in this damn country.”
“This damn country was good enough for ye before ye decided to take off and live on the continent like some damn dandy.”
“What’s a dandy?” Maisie asked, miraculously cured of her scraped knee. She spun around Gabriel, nearly tripping him. How was it so difficult to place one foot directly in front of the other?
“Exactly what yer Uncle Gabriel became,” Finn scoffed. “Too good for the rest of us now.”
Annoyance rippled through Gabriel. Well, more than annoyance really, but rage wasn’t productive. No, he needed to perform a walk-through with the architect at the distillery, visit the inn, then meet with the land steward to discuss the castle and its tenants in the village.
Except he hadn’t found the land steward, and he had a sinking premonition Tavish had managed Dunsmuir without one.
His brother hadn’t taken care of anything toward the end, not even himself. And now it fell on Gabriel to swoop in and fix everything before it was too late.
“I dinna remember ye bein’ so grumpy, Uncle,” Lorna said. She slipped her small hand into his, and he paused, gazing down at her fingers twined between his. Years ago, he remembered holding his mother’s hand as she walked through the orchards on the long summer nights. And how she hummed to herself, examining the trees for the autumn’s harvest.
He had toddled beside her, trying his best to keep up as her head spun visions of some sweet, prosperous future with a happy, healthy family.
But those were dreams, and right as rain, they rot given enough time. Just like the rest of the MacInnes family.
“Forget walkin’,” Gabriel said. “Help me hitch up the carriage, Wallace, and we’ll ride together.”
Nearly half an hour later, the carriage sped into the small, sleepy village. The slight breeze was perfumed by burning peat and heather, and the river behind the Thistle & Glen Inn was high after a week of rain, racing over the large granite boulders.
Gabriel checked his timepiece again before he curled up the ratty throw rug under the kitchen worktable, revealing the hidden door cut into the old floorboards that led to the stills. Or attempted to. Everyminute counted if he were to rescue the remnants of the family legacy. Or else they would lose everything. Returning home meant he was using his own empire as collateral. The risk could ruin him and the years he had spent building it.
He climbed down the ladder into the dark musty crawl space before he reached yet another door. His father had sectioned off the cellar so as to hide the stills. The cellar access by the stairs from the kitchen was used for storage and preserving food. The side accessed by the hidden door was much larger and had little light. The advantage was that, as it was the part of the foundation built into the hill overlooking the river, the ceilings were taller.
Even that damn door stuck. He shoved his weight against it, finally barreling through and stumbling into the damp room.
For years, his father and brother had smuggled whisky. But with last year’s fire at the inn and his brother’s death, Gabriel was left with an interesting problem. They could continue doing business as his father and brother had done, or he could make the business legitimate now that the Excise Duty Act of 1823 had passed.
That required money and time.
Two things that they didn’t have.
