As if she needed it. The captain might have some strange friction with Vaila, but he was being perfectly solicitous to Ailsa.
And offering liquor.
It suddenly seemed an egregious oversight that nobody else had yet offered her liquor. She deserved a drink after the events of the last few days.
“Thank ye,” she said, taking the drink. She sipped the whisky, letting the flavors settle on her tongue.
Ailsa was a Scotswoman; she’d had whisky before, plenty of times. But this… this was something else, a rare treat, a drink unlike any she’d sampled previously. The warm, amber liquid was smoky and complex, with layers of flavor revealing themselves the longer she held the drink in her mouth. Not one of them was harsh or biting, however.
Honey. Heather. Peat.
This whisky tasted of the Highlands. It tasted ofhome.
The captain grinned when he saw the approving look she gave her glass. In a flash, Ailsa wondered how Vaila would react if she saw that smile.
“It’s good, aye?” he said, taking his own appreciative sip. “Buchanan Whisky. The best in the Highlands, thanks tae tèine augus foighid.”
“Fire and patience?” she echoed.
“Aye. It’s what the distillers call it, the special way they distill it twice. Takes an age, it’s for a man more patient than myself, I allow, but Lord if the result isnae spectacular.”
There was a peaceful silence as they each took another sip.
It really was an incredibly good whisky.
“Ye know ye have Ewan tae thank for that drink,” the captain said with a forced casual air that was not at all convincing.
Ailsa regarded him over the rim of her glass. The whisky’s warmth had spread through her and, for once, she felt less like she was about to shake out of her own skin.
“Stick to being a soldier,” she advised him. “Ye’ll nae succeed as a diplomat.”
It was bold of her to say, but fortunately, the man only laughed. Again, Ailsa couldn’t help but think about her sister, about how things might have gone rather differently between them if the captain had let Vaila see this side of him.
“Fair enough, my lady,” he said.
That title again. As the daughter of a laird, Ailsa had been hearing it all her life, and normally, it didn’t bother her. Now, though, it reminded her that, very soon, she would be the lady of this very Keep.
And that looped her straight back around to the very thing she was trying to forget.
“Ailsa,” she corrected.
He saluted her with his glass. “James.”
“James,” she agreed.
“Now that we’re on such close terms, Ailsa,” he went on, adding emphasis to her name. “I do feel compelled tae say that Ewan is a good man. He’ll be a good husband and a good laird. Ye dinnae need to be wanderin’ around the Keep like a ghost just because ye’re set to be wed to him.”
Emboldened by their friendly rapport and the whisky flowing through her veins, Ailsa let out a theatrical sigh.
“And here we were havin’ such a nice time,” she said, her accent growing thicker with each drop of the heady spirit she consumed.
“Ye can’t blame me,” James said, giving her an innocent shrug. “He and I have been close since we’ve been lads. ‘Tis my duty to offer a good defense.”
“Duty,” she echoed. “A complex thing.” Tiredness or whisky or some combination thereof loosened her tongue, made her honest. “And I know I’ll do as I ought. I just wonder if sometimes doing our duty is even enough, though.”
James frowned at that, as Ailsa might well have expected. He was a soldier, a captain of the guard. His entire life was built on duty.
“What do ye mean?” he probed.
