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Not that her past matters to me. It's curiosity only.
She pulls her knees up to her chest and wriggles about to turn halfway toward me. "Since I have no clue what that phrase you just said meant, I can't say for sure if I want to hear about the legend."
"That's understandable." I bend one knee, resting my arm on it, and rotate my torso toward her. "The Daoine Sith are known as the good folk or wee folk, and also sometimes as the 'people of peace.' They are essentially the fairies."
"Oh. In that case, yes, I do want to hear the legend. I've always loved mythology, the older the better."
"Some of the sith are friendly, others are decidedly not. But the Scots in times past believed that by giving the fairies titles that sound sweet or at least pleasant, they could remain on the good side of the sith."
"I guess that makes sense. Were the fairies thought to be dangerous?"
"Some were, yes, but not all. The sith who were friendly belonged to the Seelie Court, while the most dangerous ones were found in the Unseelie Court. Most people feared the Unseelie, since they were known to assault humans without warning and for no reason." I have never discussed Scottish fairy lore at length with anyone, not until today. Yet I can't deny I'm enjoying the chance to share the folklore with Rebecca. She watches me with rapt interest as I continue. "The legends include the tale of the Dame of the Fine Green Kirtle, who is friendly to humans."
Rebecca shimmies closer, and her eyes are alight with interest. "What about the myth that involved the river? I'd love to hear about that."
"I was about to tell you." I wave toward the dark waters. "Last year, the MacTaggarts uncovered a manuscript at Dùndubhan that had lain in a hidden passage for hundreds of years, apparently abandoned there. Only recently have they mapped all the hidden passages. The manuscript was in the last one they discovered."
Falling silent, I gaze down at the river. I wonder how long it will take the lass to grow agitated because I've stopped talking.
Not long at all, as it turns out.
Thirty seconds after I fell silent, Rebecca folds her arms over her chest and gives me a stern look. "You can't stop without finishing the story."
I can tell she's teasing me with that sharp look, and I like that. She's a mature woman, aye, but she also has an impish side. And she loves British pop music. I never would have guessed that. "Calm down, gràidh. I was about to elaborate."
She hugs her knees to her chest. "Well, hurry up, then."
A soft chuckle rumbles out of me. "As you wish, my lady. I am your faithful servant."
"Just get on with the story, please."
"The manuscript was written by an ancestor of the MacTaggarts who lived long before Kieran MacTaggart and his three aunts moved to Dùndubhan. It's a mystery how the manuscript came to be at the castle." I place two fingers on her lips when I can tell she's about to speak. "Let me finish."
Rebecca clamps her teeth down on her lips and nods.
"The mysterious manuscript was written by someone called Ciannait, but no surname is given," I explain. "Ciannait is a female first name. The text she wrote discusses the Daoine Sith at length and a previously unknown Highland myth about this river. It's said that the black waters are the purest on earth, and that when a woman or a man bathes in the river or drinks from it, that person will meet their true love within a fortnight."
"Have you drunk from the river?"
"No. And I dinnae believe in magic or the Daoine Sith."
She tips her head to the side and studies me. "But you seem like the kind of man who would love mythology."
"Why would you say that?"
"Your whisky proves it."
I feel my brows shoot up. "My whisky? Dinnae follow your logic."
"There's something rather mythical and almost epic about the flavors." She kneels beside me, so close now that I could kiss her with only a small movement of my head. "You call your first vintage 'sensual secret.' And your new varieties embody that sensuality too, in their unusual mix of flavors and the way they slide down your throat and make your whole body feel warm and liquid."
My whisky doesn't do that. Does it? "I think you drank too much Triple Threat yesterday. Best stay away from it for a while."
"You don't want to admit that you make erotic Scotch. But that's what we need to show the public---how sensual and unusual your product is."
I can do nothing but gawp at her. I called my whisky "sensual secret" because it sounded intriguing, not because I want customers to feel randy while they drink it. But perhaps she has a point. Sex sells, isn't that how the saying goes? "You honestly feel that my whisky is...erotic?"
"Oh, yes, absolutely." She lays her fingers lightly over her mouth and drags them down her chin, along the column of her throat, straight to her breastbone. Her hand lies between those mounds. "I swear I could almost orgasm just from drinking your whisky."
