Page 6 of Highlander’s Sloth

“Ye’re ungrateful and overindulged since yer sisters left home, Kirsty,” Laird MacGill said sternly, “and until ye have rediscovered the manners Miss MacCorkindale taught ye, ye can eat with the servants in the kitchen dining room.”

Kirsty shrugged. “That’s good to hear, Brither. At least then, the food I eat will be served to me hot.”

Christine watched as her husband dug deep for his reserves of patience. He had not taken care of his three sisters for nearly ten years without learning a few tricks of his own.

“May I remind ye, dear sister, that the food was cold because ye were late to the table. But fear no’, I will have hot food brought up to ye in the nursery. Ye can eat with the bairns and nurse and Miss MacCorkindale from now on instead.”

Kirsty gave Gilbert a poisonous look and opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Christine caught her eye and shook her head. When was Kirsty going to learn that her brother was not only a tolerant family member but laird and chief of the vast MacGill clan?

Kirsty bit back whatever it was she had been about to say, rose from the table, and made to leave the dining room. And then, just when Lady Christine thought her boyish sister-in-law was going to act like a dignified lady, Kirsty leaned over to the middle of the table, grabbed two chicken legs, and ran out of the room laughing wildly.

Laird and Lady MacGill sighed in unison.

“I dinnae ken where she gets it from,” Gilbert complained. “Ye are a pattern card of virtue and womanliness, and so were her sisters. Why is her behavior so aberrant? If Kirsty does nae guard her tongue and her actions, word will spread that she’s unmaidenly enough for folks to doubt her virtue.”

He signaled to the footman to bring him the port and then changed his mind. “I dinnae want to end up like yer father, Christine, afflicted with the gout.” He shook his head and said to the footman, “Bring me some of the whisky Laird Buccleuch sent over as thanks for the use of me stallion amidst his mares.”

The footman went to the serving table and ceremoniously broached a dark glass bottle. When he removed the seal and cork, the room filled with a delectable odor. It even caught Lady Christine’s attention.

“Ye ken I favor the Rhenish, Gil,” she said, “but that whisky smells so fine, I believe I will join ye in a glass.”

Gilbert looked over to see if the footman had heard the request and saw the man reach for another glass. It was one of the reasons why he preferred eating in the small dining room and was happy to reduce the number of feasting and public days held at Mac an Goill Castle: he never had to raise his voice to shout for things during a meal anymore.

The footman set the whisky in front of the laird and lady.

He had not even returned to his station by the serving table before the MacGills were asking him to come back and pour them another glass. After they finished their second serving, Gilbert exclaimed, “It’s the finest whisky in all of Scotland!” He beckoned the footman back over. “Tell me, Lourie, d’ye ken from where Laird Buccleuch acquired this?”

The footman, whose job it was to sample a drop from every bottle Laird MacGill drank, eagerly informed his master that the Buccleuch clan were bragging all over the countryside that they had managed to obtain a case of Macanroy whisky. It was a rarity, as most barrels and bottles got sent to France, England, and the Lowlands—areas that would happily pay double for such a luxurious product.

“Macanroy, hey?” Laird Gilbert said, and then leaned forward to say to his wife, “Imagine having access to such magnificent whisky whenever we wanted it. Such a drink as this would make me allies’ eyes widen when I served it to them.”

“Did ye no’ hear what the man said, Gil?” Christine replied. “The whisky is rarer than hens’ teeth. And expensive too!”

Gilbert sat back in his chair, indicating to the footman to pour him another serving, and said to his wife, “Aye, maybe so. But if the Macanroy clan has a son of marriageable age and no objection to expanding their sphere of influence to including the prestigious MacGill clan, I see no reason why we should nae have as many bottles of this stuff as we like in the future!”