Page 83 of The Highlander's Irish Bride

For some reason that Grant couldn’t fathom, Kathleen had adopted a comically prominent Irish accent. It reminded him of all the times he and Graeme had broadened their brogues to annoy various members of the family, especially theSassenachs.

“We cannot possibly disappoint the old sod,” Sabrina said, trying not to laugh.

“Och, I’ll put my foine brew up against your Irish whisky any time, lassie,” Graeme said. “There’ll be nae contest, ye ken.”

Mr. Brown darted a glance between Kathleen and Graeme, looking confused.

“Since we’re reaching the point where we won’t be able to comprehend each other,” Grant said, “I suggest we go in.”

Graeme winked at him. “Aye, that.”

“I don’t understand,” Jeannie said. “Is everyone joking?”

“No, lass, my brother is simply acting like the village idiot,” Grant replied.

“A frequent occurrence,” Sabrina cheerfully concurred.

“Aye, that,” Graeme teased as he ushered his wife through the door.

Jeannie looked suspiciously at her sister, who simply opened her eyes wide as if to suggest nothing at all was amiss. The girl shrugged and latched on to Brown again, all but dragging him inside.

Kathleen huffed out a sigh before starting to follow her sister.

Grant held her back. “What’s afoot?”

“Why, nothing.”

“A foine brew?” he said.

She seemed to debate with herself before her lovely mouth curled up in a sheepish smile. “I’m dancing on the head of a pin, if you must know.”

“And it’s Vicar Brown who has placed you there?”

“You noticed?”

“Which part? The part where Jeannie’s mooning over him, or the part where he’s mooning over you?”

“Unlike Jeannie,I’mcertainly not encouraging him. And I’m hoping that my ridiculous behavior will put him off.”

She bristled so adorably that he couldn’t help teasing her. “Aye, but the fella seems mighty taken with ye. Not that I blame him, ye ken. Yer mighty fetchin’ in that wee bonnet of yers.”

“Good Lord, you’re worse than I am.”

“Aye, that.”

She started to laugh but then caught herself. “I’m going in.”

When she sailed right past him, Grant followed, shaking his head. What the hell was he doing?

You’re flirting with her.

Fortunately, what he saw inside the building was interesting enough to momentarily distract him from the woman who was turning his brain inside out.

When Grant had last been up for a visit, the distillery was still in the construction stage. It was now completed, with three copper stills running on the spacious ground floor, with room for at least three more double stills. Fires burned in the large brick hearths behind all the gleaming copper, and stairs at the back of the room led up to what would be the mashing floor.

A lanky young fellow was tending the hearths, carefully restocking the flames with peat. He glanced over at them with a smile but continued in his work.

Grant breathed it all in, the scent of peat and mash filling his nose. The heady scent was replete with memories of his wild youth, memories that made him feel rather wistful.

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