Elijah heard the pain beneath the casual words. “Yer faither sounds like he had moments of sense, even if he was mostly terrible.”
“He had his moments. Few and far between but they existed.” She moved back toward him. “So? Are ye goin’ to show me where the whisky is, or do I have to search the entire castle?”
“The good whisky’s in the kitchens. I have some here, but it’s nae as fine.”
“Then take me to the kitchens.” She held out her hand. “Unless it’s too scandalous to be seen wanderin’ the halls with yer own wife at night?”
He stared at her outstretched hand, at the invitation in her eyes. Every instinct told him to refuse, to maintain his distance, to not give her any more ammunition to use against him.
But hadn’t he just promised to try? To be different?
He took her hand. “Come on, then. But if we’re caught, I’m tellin’ everyone it was yer idea.”
“Of course, it was me idea. I’m the one askin’ for whisky in the middle of the night.” She laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Ye’re just the poor husband bein’ dragged around by his demandin’ wife.”
They made their way through the darkened corridors, Iris still holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. He’d never walked through his own castle like this, hand in hand with someone, moving through shadows without purpose beyond shared company. It felt strange, foreign.
But not entirely unpleasant.
“Why is it so dark?” Iris asked as they descended the stairs toward the kitchens. “Do ye nae keep any torches lit at night?”
“A few in the main corridors. But most areas are dark to save on oil and prevent fires.” He guided her around a corner. “Besides, I ken these halls well enough to walk them blind.”
“Show off.” But she was smiling. “I suppose growin’ up here gives ye an advantage.”
“Aye. I used to sneak down to the kitchens as a boy, stealin’ honey cakes when Cook wasnae lookin’.”
“Ye? Sneakin’ and stealin’?” She sounded delighted. “I cannae picture the fearsome Laird McMurphy as a boy with sticky fingers and crumbs on his face.”
“I wasnae always fearsome. I was a bairn once, believe it or nae.” The admission came easier than he’d expected. “Though me faither tried his best to beat the childhood out of me as quickly as possible.”
Her hand tightened on his. “He beat ye?”
“Nae with his fists. With his words, his expectations, his constant disappointment.” Elijah pushed open the kitchen door. “But we’re nae talkin’ about me faither tonight. We’re gettin’ ye dram.”
The kitchen was dark except for the dying embers in the massive hearth. Elijah moved confidently through the space, lighting a candle and using it to navigate to the small, locked cabinet where Cook kept the good spirits.
“Is that locked?” Iris asked, peering over his shoulder.
“Aye. Cannae have the servants helpin’ themselves whenever they please.” He produced a key from his pocket. “But the Laird has privileges.”
“Apparently, the Laird has many privileges.” She moved closer as he opened the cabinet, revealing rows of bottles. “That’s quite a collection.”
“Me grandfather was fond of dram. Built up the stores over his lifetime.” Elijah selected a bottle of amber liquid that caught the candlelight. “This one’s from Islay. Smoky, rich. Ye’ll either love it or hate it.”
“Then let’s find out which.” She held out her hand expectantly. “Do we need glasses, or are we drinkin’ straight from the bottle like heathens?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “We’ll use glasses. I’m nae completely uncivilized.”
“Could have fooled me earlier when ye were growlin’ at me in the library.”
“I wasnae growlin’, ” He stopped when he saw her grin. “Ye’re teasin’ me again.”
“I am. It’s surprisingly easy.” She accepted the glass he poured for her. “And enjoyable. Ye should try it sometime.”
“Try what? Teasin’ ye?”
“Aye. Instead of always bein’ so serious and broodin’. A little levity never hurt anyone.” She raised her glass. “Now, are we goin’ to toast to somethin’, or just drink in grim silence?”
