Chapter Seven
Liam was halfwayup the east tower stairs when Mairi blocked the way. It wasn’t just her body filling the narrow stair, but her attitude radiated from her folded arms and dark scowl. She and her father were the last of the MacAdaidh clan. Though they’d been absorbed into his clan in order to survive, the woman radiated all the pride of a laird’s daughter. If Culloden had turned out differently, she would be sought by every Scotsman who might catch her eye. But her people were gone, along with her land—taken by the English fifty years ago. And yet, she still acted like a queen of all she surveyed. And she was none too pleased with the look of him.
He didn’t bother with pleasantries. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate them. So he waited, knowing she could not tolerate silence for long.
“It’s her, then?” she demanded. “Is she stupid or desperate because she’s old?”
“She’s barely two years older than you.”
“Stupid, then. Have you had her yet? Have you claimed her in public?”
Liam glared down at his childhood friend. She was the first to ask him this, but she wouldn’t be the last. Best to make it clear from the start. “No, and no. I’m playing a different game with her.”
Mairi snorted. “Whatever game, you’d best do it tonight. Your father won’t wait beyond tomorrow.” She glanced behind them. “I put the women together to hold him off tonight.”
Liam jerked upright. “He’s gotten as bad as that?”
“He’s a mean drunk to be sure. You have to stop him from drinking the stock.”
“What stock? The whisky?” Liam cursed under his breath. “Damnation, we need that! We can’t sell what he drinks, and I can’t put a royal mark on his belly.”
“Och, the king will no’ give you his warrant any more than he can dress hisself. He’s mad and—”
“But Prinny will. What have I been working for these last years except to secure our future with our whisky?”
She arched her brows and leaned forward. “Our future, is it? And just who are you including in that?”
He blew out his breath. “The clan, Mairi. A royal warrant will let me charge ten times over for our whisky. That money’ll pay for food and clothing. We can repair the grounds and hire teachers for our bairns.”
She straightened away from him, her expression wary. “So you’ll not be marrying that Long Meg for her dowry?”
“Not for her dowry, no.”
“But for something else then. Her smiles? Her bonny—”
He cut her off before she became crude. “The whisky, Mairi. Tell me how much he’s drunk. Is there any left?”
She didn’t look like she would answer at first. She was too interested in Clara to want to be deterred, but in this, he held firm. In the end, she relented.
“Half of what was made—”
He cursed.
“But he thinks it’s all. I had Brian hide the rest. It’s out behind the old bathhouse because for sure, your father won’t be going there.”
“Good thinking,” Liam said, as his gaze jumped over her head to the bedroom above. He heard a thump and then laughter. Clearly the two women were settling in, but the urge to see that for himself had him stepping higher on the stairs. Mairi still blocked him, but now he stood taller than she.
“You made me a promise,” Mairi said. “We were going to change things here. Fix what’s broken—”
“I still plan to do that.”
“But with her? Or just her money?”
He looked back at the girl who had—years ago—been his closest friend along with their neighbor Connall. They had indeed plotted a grand future for the MacCleal clan, but hard facts often trumped youthful dreams. “You remember, don’t you, how we said the lying was the worst thing. The way my father cheats friend and family alike.”
“So you mean to remain true to our promise, one to another.”
“We were children, Mairi.”
