Page 102 of The Highlander Who Protected Me

“Especially with you puffing away like a dirty chimney,” Ainsley said tartly. “I shouldn’t wonder if Tira suffers a cough from inhaling your smoke.”

Angus shot her a grim look but held his fire. Royal had to give him credit—the old fellow was trying.

“I’ll open a window,” Royal said. “We could all use a little fresh air.”

“Going outside to smoke a pipe seems like an even better idea,” Ainsley said. “Then everyone would be happy.”

“I’m perfectly happy right here,” Angus replied, taking a few extra puffs for good measure. Billows of smoke curled around his head, making him look a little like a demented version of Father Christmas.

Ainsley waved a dramatic hand in front of her face. “I amcertainthat’s not good for Tira’s lungs.”

Royal would have been concerned if Angus was sitting near Tira, but he was a good twenty feet away. Repressing a sigh, he unlatched a casement window and pushed it open. Leaning out, he drew in the clean, heather-scented air. Rather than a quiet stay at Kinglas with his new wife, his wedding trip had been transformed into a state of armed truce. Since there was little chance he could persuade Angus to leave, the sooner they returned to Glasgow the better. Even more to the point, he needed to quickly find a suitable town house for his little family, since separation of the warring parties was growing more critical by the moment.

In the meantime, he supposed he’d better have a chat with Ainsley about managing Angus. Otherwise, there was the risk of coming down to tea one day to discover his new bride had murdered his grandfather with the cake knife.

“Royal, are you all right?”

He turned to see Ainsley peering at him with concern. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You don’t look fine.”

“Just taking a moment to enjoy the peace and quiet of the country,” he said dryly.

She gave him a tentative smile. “Yes, I was hoping that we could take a nice, quiet—”

“Royal, can ye fetch me a wee dram while yer up?” Angus barked from across the room.

“Walk,” Ainsley finished, shaking her head. She went to join Tira, while Royal crossed to the mahogany sideboard to fetch a glass.

“None of that swill from Glasgow or Edinburgh, mind ye,” Angus said. “Fetch me the good stuff.”

Royal frowned at the collection of decanters on the polished wood. “Grandda, it’s all from Glasgow or Edinburgh. What are you talking about?”

His grandfather pointed the stem of his pipe toward the cabinet below. “Look there.”

Royal opened the small door to find several plain, unlabeled bottles. He pulled one out and held it up. The deeply colored amber brew glowed richly in the late afternoon sunlight. “Where did this come from?”

Angus gave him a sly smile and went back to puffing his pipe.

Royal glared at him. “Is this fromourstill? The one Nick ordered shut down months ago?”

Last year, Angus and the twins had secretly run an illegal whisky operation that was tucked away in a small glen on Arnprior lands. Once discovered, it was only by paying a significant fine that Nick had been able to keep Graeme and Grant—not to mention Angus—out of the hands of the local excise officers.

Angus feigned an expression of offended dignity. “Of course we shut it down.”

“Then what the hell is this?” Royal asked, holding up the bottle.

“Just the final batch, I reckon,” he said evasively. “And dinna ye be cursing around yer daughter, laddie.”

“Oh, that’s rich, coming from you.”

Angus cursed like a trooper around Tira, and even regular scolds from Victoria couldn’t seem to break him of the habit.

Crouched down next to Tira’s blanket, Ainsley threw the old fellow a haughty glance. “The family patriarch was running a criminal operation? I suppose I should be shocked, but for some reason I’m not.”

Now Angus looked genuinely offended. “It was nae a criminal enterprise, ye daft woman. We always made our own whisky until the bloodySassenachsput their boots on our necks.”

“Afineexample you set for my poor daughter. Defying both the earlandthe law. It’s disgraceful.”

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