Sarah Gabriel by Highland Groom

Author:Highland Groom
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Dougal tipped his head as Rob hurried away. “My thanks,” he said.

“No thanks necessary,” Eldin said. “I am not flattering you, sir. If the brew is indeed that good, then I am merely stating a fact.”

“Indeed,” Dougal said. He sipped his ale again.

Eldin lifted his own tankard to drink as well, then set it down. “I am quite surprised,” he said. “That’s more than passable stuff.”

“Far more,” Dougal said. “A cousin of mine, Helen MacDonald, makes it.”

The earl swallowed from the tankard again. “It is light for an ale, and…delicate. Quite refreshing. I’ve never had the like. What makes the difference in the brew?”

“Heather flowers, I believe. Helen uses an old recipe known to the family.”

“Ah, heather ale! I’ve heard of it. This is excellent. Does she sell it?” he asked quickly.

“She does,” Dougal answered. “Though she does not produce it in much quantity, so of course the price goes higher for that.”

“No matter. I will seek out the woman and request that she provide ale for my hotel.”

“I will ask her,” Dougal said cautiously, “and send her answer to you.”

Rob returned quickly with a dark bottle and two glasses, which he poured out, the liquid golden, its familiar fragrance wafting as the drinks were poured.

“Sláinte,” Dougal said, lifting his glass as Eldin lifted his. The earl sipped the whisky, and Dougal studied him: wealth and elegant lifestyle were apparent even in the smallest immaculate details of the man’s garment, from the snowy linen neck cloth tied high and close, stuffed beneath the high lapels of the woolen coat, whose precise cut flattered a wide-shouldered torso and narrow waist, to the polished beaver hat set on the table, and the gold-headed cane leaned beside it.

Unconsciously Dougal straightened his shoulders, his jacket the same brown wool he favored, his plaid in the MacGregor hues of burgundy and green, his shirt plain linen with a simple open-throated collar, his hair unkempt, windblown, too long. Lord Eldin was a man of obvious means and sophistication, had probably been raised with luxury and ease, and Dougal felt the differences keenly.

But he felt no lack. Rather, he was more aware of his own solid, plain, reliable nature, and was satisfied with it. He suspected that Eldin was not as content as his expensive garments and shining black barouche might make him seem. The man had shadows beneath his eyes, and a grim set to his mouth. And he downed the whisky rather quickly, reaching for the bottle to pour another inch or so in the glass.

“Excellent,” Eldin said. “This is from your own distillery?”

“It is,” Dougal answered. He had not finished his own dram, and set the glass down.

“Legal or illicit?”

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