Nay, of course he wouldnae. Of course nae.
“Taste good?”
His voice made her flinch, and she nearly dropped her spoon. “What?”
His eyes crinkled with a smile, and he nodded at her bowl. “Yer soup. Ye havenae touched it. Does it taste good?”
“Uh, aye. It does.”
“Good.” He nodded, spooning up another mouthful. “So, I have something to ask ye.”
She studiously focused on her soup, able to feel his eyes on her. “Aye?”
“Ye run a distillery.” She glanced up at him. “Nae sure I’ve ever seen a lass so confident in such a craft. How did it happen?”
Hannah smiled, albeit sadly. “Me da passed shortly before me ma of a sickness much like this one, a little over a year ago,” she explained quietly. “I inherited the distillery and chose to continue the family business, as I’d been taught since I was a wee bairn.”
“Surely the man I saw in yer distillery could have taken over?”
She bristled immediately, dropping her spoon into her soup with a sharpclack. “It is Leon Distillery, thank ye kindly. Nae Someone Else Using Our Name Distillery.”
Aiden held his hands up. “Hold, lass. I meant nay offense.”
“I’ve had to hear such nonsensical comments for a year now,” Hannah muttered, glaring at him. “Everyone seems to think that a lass cannae possibly ken her whiskey. As if I didnae grow up playing amongst the casks and smelling the mash and smoke. As if I werenae the one in those boys’ place when I was eight, banking and stocking the fires, learning the sounds of the distillation copper.
“As if I didnae learn how to keep the books, read the manifests, tell a good batch from one that was over-dried or over-heated. As if I couldnae possibly have ever seen a cask with a bad seal that ruins an entire batch. The whiskey is in me blood, me Laird. That distillery is mine.” She was panting by the end of her rant.
“Hannah.” Aiden’s voice was soft. “I believe ye. I daenae think ye’re incapable. If anything, it’s quite the opposite. I saw ye in action, ye ken? I thought ye were brilliant.”
Hannah paused, realizing at some point that she’d risen to her feet, both hands braced on the table, leaning forward, teeth bared. She snapped her mouth shut, blinking, and dropped into her chair again.
It took her another moment to fully comprehend what he’d said. Embarrassment turned into surprise. “Really?”
“Aye, lass,” he confirmed, not looking nearly as offended as he should be.
“I’m sorry.” She ran a hand over her face. “I didnae mean to raise me voice at ye like that.”
“Nay, lass, daenae apologize.” Aidan waved a hand. “Eat yer soup.”
Hannah lifted her spoon, and they continued eating in silence for a moment. She cast a glance at his face to see if he was upset, only to find him watching her.
She swallowed her bite. “It gets exhausting having to explain why the distillery is mine.”
“I figured as much from yer tirade, lass.” Aiden chuckled warmly. “I can only imagine. Very few openly challenge me as Laird, and nay one does it more than once. I can believe it’s beyond frustrating, having to prove yer worth over and over.”
He smiled at her as he put his spoon down in his empty bowl. Every time he smiled, it made her stomach flutter.
“Ye daenae have to prove yer mettle to me. I saw how ye realized something was off the moment we walked through the door. How those lads responded to yer authority without question. Ye ken what ye’re about.”
Hannah smiled a little, relieved to hear such words from a mouth that had been?—
Her face heated, and she choked on the last bite of her soup.
“Are ye well, lass?”
“Aye,” she said between coughs, wiping her mouth with her linen napkin and folding it neatly back beside her bowl.
Aiden leaned back in his chair, studying her. Moments later, footmen hurried in and cleared their bowls.
