Page 26 of Highlander’s Sloth

Kirsty and Callum said nothing; they kept watching him, waiting to hear what he had to say next.

The baron continued. “Ah, I see you are not in a hurry to forgive me, and rightly so, rightly so. The thing is, I find that with my venture to the New World and the many other expenses I must meet, circumstances have changed since I wrote to you, my dear Mister Macanroy. I can no longer offer you five thousand sovereigns. Would you be so kind as to accept five hundred?”

Callum had moved closer to Kirsty and took her hand in his, as much to reassure her as to move her further away from the musket. When he had maneuvered Kirsty behind him, he replied, “Nay, Fotheringham. I will no’ accept five hundred. The cargo’s worth three thousand pounds on a bad day at market, as ye well ken.”

The smile fell off the baron’s face as though Callum had slapped it away, “But my dear fellow,” he wheedled, “be reasonable. You can make more of the stuff. It’s not as though I’m taking away your ability to produce it.”

When he said the words, Kirsty and Callum were able to observe the subtle shift the baron’s thinking underwent. The fat face paused and seemed to think long and hard before he continued. “Unless...well, my goodness me, if you choose to be obstinate about the whole deal, I have no choice but to think of you as my enemies. And indeed, why should I settle for a fingertip when I could have the entire hand? You must write to your father, Laird Macanroy, and inform him of our little stalemate, and tell him he can have his son back if he hands over the receipt for the whisky to me. You lot have had it long enough. It’s time you gave someone else a shot at brewing it. And the best place to do that would be in the New World.”

A grin fully as wide as the baron’s own was on Callum’s face when he replied, “Me faither’s sick, and in such poor frame I’m afeared ye’ll have no chance of learning the secret. Ye see, Fotheringham, the receipt comes in six stages, each one unknown to the other, and then on top o’ that, ye need the seventh final step to tell ye how to assemble all the others together. The only one who kens how to do that is me faither, and he’s too sick to do much besides groan in bed. I’ve lately come back from France for this very reason. Me faither wished to tell me the key to the method afore he meets his maker.”

The smile was wiped from the baron’s face at these words. He looked like a chubby, petulant cherub when he sulked, saying, “I have no doubt a plan can be made. You are your father’s only son and heir, after all, and he would not be happy to see his son imprisoned in England, especially with Laird Macanroy so sick and close to death, if what you say is true.”

The man waddled to the door, saying over his shoulder, “I have a great ally in Edinburgh, Mister Macanroy, and he would be more than happy to assist me getting my hands on the receipt if it comes to that. Either you sign over your consignment of whisky to me for the price of five hundred pounds, or I will send my good friend in the Lowlands up to Macanroy Lodge with a troop of soldiers.” He turned around when he reached the door, saying smugly, “Or what if I keep your pretty little wife here with me, while you go back to the Highlands and fetch the receipt and the knowledge of how to use it? I’m sure she would be so comfortable here. When you return with the secret and share it with me, you can have your wife back—hopefully, none the worse for her little adventure. One way or another, Mister Macanroy, I want that whisky!”

The last man to leave the room was the one with the musket, and only when the door shut did Callum move away from standing in front of his wife.

“I hope Brock is all right,” Kirsty said. “The poor fellow is probably kept in worse accommodation than we are.”

Callum went to sit on the bed, his head in his hands.

“Why did my faither never tell me there was a chance this would happen? He does nae have a single soldier, guard, or sentry up at the lodge, and yet this has never been a cause for concern.”

Kirsty sat down beside her husband and rubbed his back soothingly. “Hush. How were ye to ken? Has the clan had dealings with a Sassenach before?”

Callum groaned. “Now that ye mention it, I dinnae think so. We’ve always kept our dealings to the merchants at Inverness. ‘Tis they who take the risk in transporting it, which is why they get the whisky at a better cost. But when I saw the price the baron was offering, I didnae tell Faither anything. I wanted it to be a pleasant surprise for him, and now, when he finds this out, the shock could kill him!”

Kirsty said nothing. She only continued to stroke and pat her husband’s back, but inside, she was screaming.

How can we get word to the lodge? This baron thinks he’s so crafty, but his plan has not been well thought out. There must be a loophole, and I will no’ rest until I find it!