Chapter 14 #2
Fook. Hunter could see now how his mistake could’ve been a disaster. He knew from Helena’s instruction that it was vital to keep the germinating grain at a lower temperature—that’s why the room was made of stone and kept as cool as possible. And yet no amount of theory could replace the real thing.
He was wincing as he accepted his mistake and crossed to hang his shovel up beside Angus and Johnny’s. The older man was eyeing him angrily.
“I’m sorry,” Hunter admitted, meeting Angus’s gaze. “That was my fault.”
“Aye,” the older man grunted. “An’ I’m fair bamboozled, sir. Are ye no’ the bigman clever clogs what’s meant tae keep an eye on this? Shame on ye!”
Johnny, a bit quietly and looking awkward, shrugged. “Angus says he’s surprised ye let it get this far, seein’ as you’re supposed tae be the expert an’ all.”
“Aye, I got that,” Hunter sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face.
This had gone on long enough. “I’m beginning to understand him well enough.
” With another sigh, he met each of their eyes.
“I’m no’ an expert. Ye’ve been lied to, and it’s high time ye kenned the truth.
” He glanced around the room, empty save for the three of them—Angus and Johnny looking shocked and confused, respectively—and a shite-ton of barley.
“But no’ here. All of Bruadarach—fook, all of Islay, all of Scotland—deserves to hear this truth. ”
His mind made up, Hunter strode toward the door.
“Helena!”
At the sound of her name being called—she’d recognize Hunter’s teasing tone anywhere—Helena gratefully put down her pencil. She’d spent the last hour laboring over the letter she was trying to write to Mr. Huffington, and couldn’t seem to land the correct tone.
On the one hand, she had to convince the man Hunter wasn’t actually her husband.
If their theory was correct—and it fitted so perfectly it had to be correct—and Huffington had indeed been trying to kill Hunter in order to make her a widow, then the parrotty man simply had to understand that she and Hunter weren’t actually married in the first place.
But on the other hand, Helena needed to make it perfectly clear that she wasn’t interested in marrying Huffington, because she was in love with Hunter and desperately wished to marry him.
Hmmm.
Seeing it written out so clearly—I am in love with Hunter Lindsay, and will do everything in my power to convince him to allow me to spend our lives together—was so very satisfying. Freeing.
She’d worked so hard to build Bruadarach Distillery into the success it was, but all of that meant nothing if Hunter wasn’t willing to stand at her side. Whisky was, after all, best enjoyed with a companion.
He was what was important.
“Helena!”
The call was coming from the front of the house, his voice drifting through the front hall—and he sounded eager. Helena scooped Wulfie from her lap and pushed away from the desk, wondering if she should be concerned that his tone had changed to exasperation.
Perhaps she should have been, because when she yanked open the front door, an alarming sight met her eyes.
“Hunter?” she whispered, tucking the dog against her side.
He stood with his back to her on the front porch, facing…what looked like every single employee of Bruadarach Distillery. The men carried their tools—rakes, shovels, heavy tongs—in fact, they had the making of a superb mob. But none of them were threatening. Yet?
Because every single one of them looked confused. Or confused and angry.
And when she stepped out onto the porch, those glares turned her way.
Hunter stretched out his hand, his smile looking forced, a little too charming to be believed. “There ye are, sweetheart. I was just telling yer men about ye.”
“Our men,” she emphasized, moving to stand at his side, clutching Wulfie tightly. “What exactly have you been telling them?”
“The truth.”
His tone was so serious that she whipped around to stare up at him. No. No, he would not dare.
Hunter nodded firmly, then turned back to the crowd. “I was telling them about the celebration tonight, and what ye’ve been planning, and how it’s no’ to welcome me, the way ye told them. Because I’m no’ yer husband.”
Helena felt her knees go weak, and perhaps she would have fallen had Hunter’s arms not snaked around her waist, pulling her against him.
“Aye, I was telling them how ye’re no’ married at all, and ye made me up completely—”
“Aye, an’ he kens shite about barley!” came the call from the crowd that sounded suspicious like Angus. Enunciating.
Hunter’s grin flashed as he smoothly finished, as if he’d been intending to the whole time, “—and I ken shite about barley. And grain. And distilling’.”
There were a few chuckles here and there, which Helena would have appreciated—that’s why she chose Hunter, after all: for his brawn and his charm—had she not been hyperventilating. How was she supposed to explain this? He just announced to her employees that she’d lied to them—
Oh dear, she was thinking in italics.
When Angus shuffled forward, hat pushed back on his head and a deep frown visible through his heavy beard, the other men quieted down. He was her Head Distiller, the one she would have to apologize to.
For lying.
“What baffles the breath outta me—an’ the whole lot o’ us—is why ye had tae be spinnin’ tales in the first place, m’lady. Ye’re the mistress o’ the works, aye, an’ we want tae be able tae put stock in yer word.”
Helena opened her mouth.
Then she realized she had no idea what he had said, closed her mouth, and turned a helpless look Hunter’s way.
Hunter, for his part, lifted a brow and cocked his head at Johnny White, Angus’s second in command. The younger man snatched his hat from his head and gripped it in front of himself.
“He says he cannae understand why ye lied, Mrs. Lickfold. Ye’re our boss—we were meant tae trust ye.”
Oh.
Right.
“Because,” Hunter’s voice rumbled from her side, “what would ye have done, all those years ago, if a beautiful, delicate, refined woman like Miss Helena Lickfold showed up on Islay and announced she was building a distillery? Ye would have laughed.”
“We did laugh,” Johnny admitted, “’Til she proved she kenned the business.”
“Aye,” Hunter agreed, “and she did that all on her own. Nae husband needed.”
Helena’s eyes fluttered shut as she marshalled her thoughts. She needed to be the one to speak to her men. How could she explain this so they would understand?
Just tell them the truth.
The time for lies was over.
And if the truth cost her the Best of Islay competition, then so be it. With a deep breath, she handed Wulfie to Hunter and stepped forward.
“I am sorry I lied to you.” She held Angus’s gaze, then switched to Johnny.
“I am sorry I lied to each and every one of you.” One by one, she met each man’s eyes.
“Hunter is right; I never had a husband. I made him up so you would believe me, listen to me, work for me. I…I invented him and attributed all my ideas to him so that you would take direction from me.”
“Why no’ tell us the truth, m’lady?” Angus asked gently, and for once, she understood.
“Because I did not think you would follow my orders. I…I did not think you would trust me, trust that I not only had the funding to build my dream—build Bruadarach Distillery into the success it is today…but the knowledge as well.”
The men were muttering among themselves now, but it was Johnny who spoke up.
“Ye’re telling the truth now, ma’am? All the plans, the details, the changes an’ science an’ temperatoors an’ everything—that was from yer brain?”
“I have spent quite a long time studying distilling, Mr. White. Yes, every order I have ever given was from me. I am sorry I thought it necessary to lie to you.”
Johnny heaved a sigh, exchanged a rueful glance with Angus, then glanced around at the gathered men.
“Truth be told, Mrs. Lickfold, ye probably did need tae lie.” He nodded at Hunter.
“Mr. Lickfold, or whatever he’s callin’ himself—he’s right.
If ye’d come clean from the start, we’d no’ have trusted ye, and we sure as salt wouldn’t’ve worked under ye. ”
Oh no. Helena’s fingers curled into fists at her sides to keep from pressing them against her lips to hold in her tears. She would not cry, not in front of her men, not after all she’d done the last six years. But hearing that they had no desire to work for a woman like her?
It was over. All her dreams…they were done.
But Johnny took a deep breath, glanced around at the other men, and Helena saw a few nods here and there. The Second Stillman turned a serious gaze back to her.
“But now we ken the truth, ma’am—that all o’ this, every dram o’ success, it’s down tae you. So aye… I reckon we can forgive ye.” He raised his brows in question. “That is, if ye’ll still have us workin’ under ye?”
They forgave her?
Helena’s heart leapt in excitement as she glanced around at the gathered men. “Is this true?”
When every single one of them nodded—albeit a few of them more reluctantly than others—her face split into a grin.
“Well then, Mr. White, Mr. McGillicuddy…” She nodded to Johnny and Angus respectfully—a respect earned now, from both sides.
“I suppose this means we have even more to celebrate tonight. Not only do I absolutely want to continue working with you remarkable men”—she allowed her gaze to settle around the crowd as her grin grew—“I firmly believe that Bruadarach Distillery is the Best of Islay, in every way!”
The men’s cheers were a balm to her soul, after the panic of a few moments ago.
As the noise started to die down, she lifted her hands. “But I must correct you, Mr. White—all of you. I am not Missus Lickfold…I am Miss Lickfold. I was born Helena Lickfold, and…”
She turned instinctively to reach for Hunter, who was grinning proudly as he stepped up to her side and finished her sentence with his deep voice.
“And one day, if God is good, she’ll agree to become Mrs. Hunter Lindsay!”
The men broke into raucous cheers again, hooting and calling ribald advice—goodness, perhaps they should make love with the windows closed next time—but Helena couldn’t concentrate. Because…
“Did you just propose marriage?” she whispered.
His smile told her everything she needed to know. “I love ye, Helena Lickfold, and I’m desperate to call ye mine. Will ye consider allowing me to live here with ye and pick up distilling and barley shoveling as I go?”
He loved her.
He loved her.
“Hunter…” she breathed, her heart ready to burst from her chest. The cheers and hollers in the background faded into the distance. There was only him. Hunter loved her, and she wasn’t going to have to give up her dream to have him.
He was still smiling when he lowered his mouth to hers. Helena flung her arms around his neck, careful not to squish Wulfie, and kissed him back eagerly.
Despite the hollering and cheers, the kiss might have gone on indefinitely, had a familiar—and unwelcome—voice not risen from the gates.
“Hunter Lindsay? Did that man just say his name is Hunter Lindsay?”