Aaron frowned down at his drink. “It’s not that good.”
“Yes, it is.” He was staking his clan’s future on it.
The man pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “Very well, it might be that good.” Then he looked around. “All of this was not to get Clara’s dowry?” Doubt laced his tone.
“I brought you here to taste the whisky, to see how we make and bottle it. And to get you to bring it to your cousin and put it in Prinny’s hand.”
“You could have brought me a bottle in London. I would have been more amenable to it then.” Aaron’s eyes narrowed. “But then you wouldn’t have Clara here.”
Liam let his admiration and his desire show through his expression. “Clara is a fine woman who can make up her own mind.”
Aaron snorted. “She’s a sheltered woman, and I’ll not have her exposed to that.” He gestured with his chin to the mess that was the great room. A kitchen maid was cleaning in the far corner, but the debris of a hearty celebration were everywhere. And lest Liam thought he meant only the hearty enjoyment of the clan, Aaron’s gaze moved from the dirty tables to the stairway where Liam’s father had disappeared. “He’s the viscount and laird,” Aaron said, his voice thick with scorn. “You’re powerless against him.”
Liam smiled. It was a slow shift in face accompanied by a steady rise to his feet. Soon, he towered over Aaron. “You promised four days—”
“Not anymore—”
“I’ll take one—tomorrow—and I’ll show you who has the power in this land.”
Aaron stared at him, his expression as unforgiving as any protective brother could be. But in the end, he nodded.
“One day.”
And one night. That was the important part. They wouldn’t leave until the morning after tomorrow.
“Done.”
