Page 32 of Owned by the Scarred Laird

A small, conspiratorial smile tugged at Angela’s lips. “The distillery. The old storage croft behind the kitchen block. Follow the smell of peat smoke and the rot that makes yer eyes water.” She tilted her chin up. “Are ye goin’ to confront him?”

“I am goin’ to find out what me purpose is in this place,” Chloe said, her jaw tightening.

She left Angela by the gate and followed the outer wall. The scent hit her before she even reached the timber structure. Thick, heavy peat smoke, laced with a sharp, sweet heat that bit at the back of her throat. The distillery door was massive, hanging crookedly on rusted iron hinges. She pushed it open.

The room inside was small, dark, and stiflingly warm. A roaring fire burned beneath a massive copper pot still that glowed like a setting sun in the dim light. At the far end of the room stood Edward.

His back was turned to her. His linen sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, revealing the thick, corded muscle of his forearms and the faint, pale scars of old wounds. He moved with a slow, unhurried grace she had never seen before. His broad shoulders relaxed. His jaw was entirely unclenched. Here, free of his Lairdship’s armor, he appeared younger. Vulnerable, almost.

Then, the floorboard creaked under her boots.

The change in him was instantaneous and violent. Chloe watched his shoulders snap back, his large hands freezing over a wooden barrel stave. In the span of a single breath, the careful, cold machinery of the Laird of O’Brien assembled itself right before her eyes.

He turned around, his blue eyes hard as flint in the shadows. “Ye’re lost.”

“I am nae.” Chloe stepped into the room and pulled the heavy door shut behind her, sealing them into the hot, intoxicating air. The scent of wood, smoke, and pure alcohol wrapped around her like a blanket. “Angela told me ye spend yer nights here.”

She crossed the room, her eyes tracking the gleaming copper and the neat rows of oak barrels aligned perfectly against the stone wall. “What are ye makin’?”

Edward watched her. It was that sharp, assessing gaze she was growing to hate, the look that tried to dissect whether she was mocking him or truly curious. Chloe did not flinch. She met his stare evenly.

“Dram,” he said flatly. He turned back to the barrel, dismissive.

“I can smell that much, Edward. I mean, what kind? How do ye do it?”

He grunted, his thumb tracing the seam of a wooden stave. “Pot still. Malted barley. We dry it over peat smoke to give it the bite.” He checked the iron hoop holding the wood together. “Then time. It takes time.”

“How long?”

“Depends on what ye want from it,” he muttered, still refusing to look at her. “A young dram is sharp. It burns the throat because it has nay patience for what it is yet. But leave it in the dark long enough, and it becomes somethin’ entirely different.”

Chloe watched his scarred fingers work the wood. They were incredibly steady, infinitely patient. “Do ye sell it to the clans?”

“Nay.”

“Then why make so many barrels?”

“Because it is useful to have somethin’ in this life that requires patience.” He spoke without inflection, but the words hung heavy in the warm air between them.

Chloe crossed her arms, her chest heaving slightly against the tight laces of her stays. “What do ye actually want from me, Edward?”

The tool in his hand hit the wooden shelf with a sharp clatter. He turned his full, towering height toward her.

“William,” he said, the word cutting through the steam. “That is all I require. The boy needs a mother who stays. Someone consistent.”

The bluntness of it stung, cutting through her defenses. “And his birth mother?”

A dark shutter slammed down over his features. “She isnae here.”

“Where is she?”

“She isnae here,” he repeated, his voice cracking like a whip.

Chloe stared at him, the heat in the room suddenly making it hard to breathe. She wanted to push, but the raw wall he had just thrown up warned her away. “So that is the whole of it? I am to care for William, and nothin’ more?”

“Aye.”

“And the rest of me days?”