A Mackenzie Clan Christmas by Jennifer Ashley

Author:Jennifer Ashley [Ashley, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2019-10-29T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Ackerley looked doubtful as Ian poured another measure of whisky into two glasses. They sat in a little parlor off the barrel room, where clients and privileged tourists were allowed to meet with the steward or a Mackenzie—whichever brother happened to be home—and sample the wares.

Ackerley had already downed one glass of the special reserve and declared it excellent. He seemed content to prudently stop after one glassful, so Ian brought out the special special reserve.

“The queen drinks this,” Ian said, as he poured it, the liquid making a musical sound.

Ackerley lifted his glass, studying how the amber liquid caught the light, the facets of the heavy crystal throwing warm spangles to the table. “The queen herself, eh?”

Ian shrugged. “Hart says she mostly serves it to guests.”

“Ones she wishes to impress,” Ackerley said. “Well, I must sip what Her Majesty does, mustn’t I?”

Ian watched closely as Ackerley let a droplet flow over his tongue. He sat quietly for a moment, then his face changed. “Good heavens, my lord. That is ambrosia. Pure ambrosia.”

Ian topped up Ackerley’s glass and lifted his own. He took a sip, letting the smooth liquid tingle over his tongue and down his throat.

Ackerley took another mouthful, closing his eyes to savor it. Ian’s respect for him rose a notch. Ackerley didn’t swig the stuff, or claim to not understand what the fuss was about. He seemed to share Ian’s appreciation for a well-made whisky.

Ian waited patiently until Ackerley finished his glass, then he poured more.

Ackerley shook his head. “Oh no, I should not. I’m not used to spirits.”

“Ye are staying at the house, going nowhere,” Ian said. “Do ye have to face any of your flock later today?”

“My flock? No, of course not. I’ve retired. My last flock is still in India, ably tended by my replacement.”

“Verra well, then.” Ian filled his own glass and lifted the decanter, offering.

Ackerley hesitated, then flushed. “Oh, why not? Just another taste.”

The whisky lessened Ian’s shyness a bit. Being slightly drunk didn’t always help him, especially when he was with a crowd, but sometimes, he’d feel less inhibited. Not always a good thing, Beth warned him.

However, Ian wanted to know all about John Ackerley. And the best way to find out was to loosen the man’s tongue and encourage him to reveal things about himself.

“Never thought a missionary would approve of whisky,” Ian said. “The Scots’ ones are teetotalers. They drive Hart spare.”

Ackerley looked amused. “Those of us in the C of E are not quite so uncompromising. Excessive drink is a terrible thing, of course. A taste now and again of a fine wine, or indeed, whisky such as this, is far different from living in a glass of gin. Even our Lord Jesus Christ drank wine. Not that he had much choice in those days—I imagine it was much better for him than the water. Though they had ale as well. An ancient drink, is ale.”

Ian did not want to talk about the history of ale or wine in Roman times.

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