Suddenly uncaring of the careful script covering the papers, Blair scratched a few quick figures across them. “Five bottles per gallon—and let’s be honest, we’d do better to cut them a wee bit with water if they are headed to the Lowlands and England. Pure Highland whisky is far too strong for outsiders. Two pounds a bottle, with one pound duty on the gallon…”
“There is a hefty licensing fee as well, my lord,” Cullingham piped up. “At least twenty pounds to apply, and an annual fee thereafter.”
Blair nodded distractedly, making another note on the paper. “Not to mention the cost of growing the grain, manpower for harvesting, the still equipment, but… Unless I’m missing something, even with all that, we would come out on top.”
“Forgive me, my lord, but…what on earth are you talking about?” Cullingham exclaimed.
But Blair didn’t bother to answer. He shoved back from the desk and shot to his feet. Even before he’d scrambled around the desk’s corner to the study door, he was already shouting.
“Amelia!”
“My lord, what in—” Cullingham sputtered behind him.
Blair yanked open the door and charged out. “Amelia!”
Mrs. Drummond burst from the kitchen. “Is all well, milord?”
He glanced at the housekeeper as he barreled toward the entrance hall. “I think I’ve found a way. I need to tell—Amelia!”
Just as he reached the bottom of the stairs, she appeared at the top. He leapt up the steps three at a time, skidding to a halt beside her.
“I think I’ve found a way,” he repeated, his breaths coming ragged now. “A way to save the estate. Without clearing it.” He took up her hands in his, his words tumbling out in a rush. “The whisky. If we go above-board, we’ll be able to charge an arm and a leg. The taxes will be substantial of course, but it will allow the crofters to remain on. And they won’t have to live in fear anymore.”
He paused to draw a lungful of air. At last, he focused on her face. Her dark eyes were wide with confusion at his frantic speech. But the pinch in her brow wasn’t just from bewilderment.
“What is wrong?”
Her features tightened further. “It’s Livie. I can’t find her anywhere. I’ve looked in all her usual hiding places, as well as a few I doubt she’s aware I know about.”
“What about that blasted cat?”
“I haven’t seen Scone about, either.”
Blair frowned. “Let’s look together.”
As Amelia took him through each room abovestairs, opening armoires and cupboards, and even a few wall panels Blair hadn’t known were moveable, Blair lifted his voice to call to the lass. “Livie, ye can come out now. I have good news. There is a way to save the estate without clearing it.”
Once their sweep of the upstairs was complete, they moved through Blair’s chambers, as well as the drawing room. But there was no sign of the girl.
Just as they crossed in front of the door leading to the kitchen, a high-pitched howl stopped them. Hastily, they rushed into the kitchen. But once inside, Blair froze, foreboding sweeping through him like a blast of icy air.
Scone paced before the door at the far end of the kitchen, yowling in discontent. Every once in a while, he’d stop to scratch at the door, which led out the back of the manor.
“Could she have…?”
Amelia didn’t bring herself to finish.
In three strides, Blair was to the door. Nudging the cat out of the way with his boot, he pulled it open, letting in a rush of cold air. A few stairsteps led down to a muddy puddle. Beyond that, a slushy sheet of old snow spread out to the edge of the woodland.
A few muddy footprints marred the snow closest to the door, but then they vanished.
Beside him, Amelia’s breath caught in her throat.
“She’s gone.”
Chapter Sixteen
“Mrs. Drummond!”
Amelia started at Blair’s bellow.
The housekeeper burst into the kitchen, her face red and her eyes wide.
“Fetch my coat, gloves, and hat,” he ordered. “And keep Mr. Cullingham in the study.”
“I’m going with you,” Amelia blurted.
He turned dark, severe eyes on her. “Nay, ye are not.”
“She may be hurt, or scared.” Amelia swallowed past the knot lodged in her throat. “Besides, I know the estate grounds better than you.”
When he hesitated, she knew she’d won.
“And bring my cloak, please, Mrs. Drummond,” Amelia called after the housekeeper as she hustled out of the kitchen.
“Why would Livie leave?” Blair asked quietly. “Does she have any hiding places out of doors around the manor?”
“Yes, in the stables, but she always takes Scone with her when she goes out there, since that is where he’s from, as she says. We could check, and perhaps fetch your horse.”
Blair shook his head, his frown deepening. “If she left any more tracks in the snow, we won’t be able to see them from atop my horse. Perhaps…” His voice dipped lower. “Is she trying to run away from me? Might she have heard my solicitor arrive and left in anger?”
The pain in his soft tone made Amelia’s chest ache. “It’s possible.”
Amelia had been so preoccupied with her worries over Livie that she still hadn’t truly made sense of Blair’s breathless exclamations about whisky and the estate. Though she longed for a solution to the estate’s precarious position, none of that mattered if Livie wasn’t safe.
When Mrs. Drummond returned with their winter garments, they bundled themselves up in silence. It was just before noon, but given the recent solstice and their far-northerly location, they would have less than four hours of overcast daylight before dusk would darken the land.
Blair strode rapidly to where the muddy footprints ended in the snow. Amelia squinted at
