24. Scotland, 1824“So, Mr Fearmòr, what do you say?”
Paul Fearmòr, as he looked at the woman who had just asked him the question, could find neither the right words nor the composure to hide his discouragement. He had just spent an hour minutely examining the equipment of the Glen Ciùin distillery and, even though these used stills were perfectly suited for the distillery he was endeavouring to set up, he didn’t have the means to pay for them.
“The equipment could serve my purpose, but we need to discuss the price.”
Catriona MacInnis couldn’t hold back an impish smile. She perfectly understood the meaning of Paul’s words and, even more, what he hoped to conceal from her. With a wave of her hand, she invited the young man to follow her.
Wary of the coming negotiations, Paul fell into st
