“We’ll tell Her Grace that ye’ll be along,” Jesse giggled as she and Constance hurried away.

  “I doona think anythin’ was wrong with the parrots.” Fanella laughed.

  Chapter 12

  Fanella spent a good portion of the afternoon fighting giggles. It wasn’t right that she should have viewed the parrots mating, but it also wasn’t something she’d not seen before. Well, not parrots, but there were a number of animals on their estate and no matter how often her brothers tried to shield her from their natural inclinations, she’d come across her fair share of couplings between the sheep, cats and birds, that it hardly shocked her any longer. However, witnessing Ethan’s face turn pinker than the roses in her mother’s garden had been quite delightful, and the reason she had a difficult time controlling her laughter, no matter how inappropriate the cause.

  “Who ever thought to bring mistletoe and greenery into a home in the first place?” Jesse asked.

  They’d been sitting around large trestle tables in the great hall where some of the men were tying limbs from an evergreen together so that it could be hung for decoration. Some of the women were fashioning bows, while Fanella, Ethan, Jesse and Constance were helping separate the mistletoe and tying it together with ribbon so that it could be hung.

  “The Druids first gathered mistletoe because it grew on the scared oak tree and they saw it as a symbol of hope, peace and harmony. Sprigs were hung to bring good fortune,” Claresta explained.

  “Mistletoe also has an odd history of being an antidote for poison, even though it is thought to be poisonous, and to promote female fertility.”

  “Perhaps we should hang some in the conservatory,” Fanella whispered to Ethan only to witness his cheeks turn pink.

  “Hush,” he ordered under this breath.

  “What have ye said to cause Mr. Copeland embarrassment, Fanella?” Duncan demanded.

  This time her cheeks warmed, but she couldn’t tell him, especially in a room full of Copelands, MacGregors and Grants, a mixture of males and females.

  Beside her Jesse snorted and Constance giggled.

  Had they heard her comment? She certainly hoped that wasn’t the case.

  “Fanella?” Duncan demanded after glancing at Jesse then back to her.

  “It is nothin’. I’ll explain later.” She kicked Jesse beneath the table to get her to sober her humor before they both were in trouble.

  Instead of quieting, Jesse and Constance laughed harder.

  “It’s Rogue and Lady,” Constance finally stated. “We know why they were behaving oddly.”

  “Is that so?” Her Grace asked with interest, which made Fanella wish to crawl beneath the table.

  Fanella ducked her chin and hoped nobody noticed her as she tied another ribbon around a few sprigs of mistletoe. Perhaps she should visit the watchtower again. The cold wind would take the heat from her face.

  There was silence around their table as if the others were waiting for an explanation, one she wouldn’t be giving.

  “Ethan, have you determined what caused Rogue and Lady to act uncharacteristically?” True concern filled the tone of Her Grace and Fanella wished the floor would open and swallow her whole. One did not explain such to a duchess.

  “We um…” Ethan cleared his throat. “It’s just that… well…I’m sorry, but they witnessed something they should not have in the conservatory.”

  Fanella cast a glance at him from the corner of her eye. She didn’t think it was possible for anyone’s face to turn so red. Ethan was likely to burst into flames if this topic of conversation was not ceased. As it was, her face burned hotter than Hades.

  For a moment silence surrounded them until the other guests of Her Grace understood the meaning. A few gasped and others giggled, but many returned to their work because this wasn’t a topic to be discussed in polite company.

  “Jesse, go to yer chamber,” Duncan ordered.

  “Why?” she demanded. “It wasna my fault that…”

  “It is that yer speakin’ of it.”

  After blowing out a sigh, Jesse rose from the table.

  “You as well, Constance.” Darius, Ethan’s older brother and heir apparent told his younger sister. “You know better than to discuss such matters.”

  Duncan then focused on Fanella.

  “Ye willna be sending me to my chamber. Yer the one who pressed for the explanation.”

  As soon as they gathered everything to begin decorating the common rooms, Her Grace had cornered Ethan with all manner of questions as to when the eggs would be produced, the number he expected, when would they hatch and how soon the chicks would be on their own. Ethan had no answers for her because the two had never mated before.

  What if Lady needed to sit on her eggs for months. Or, what if baby parrots didn’t leave the nest for months? He couldn’t return to Louisiana without Rogue and Lady, but could he take the chicks with them? Or, would the pair not suffer if the babies were left behind in the conservatory for Her Grace to love?

  The only thing Ethan knew for certain was that he needed to find a book on parrots, and soon. He should have done so before now, but he and the parrots had gotten along well and they hadn’t shown the two hadn’t shown slightest interest in mating, until this morning.

  Would this go on for days? Would he need to keep everyone from the conservatory and only enter to bring them fresh food?

  He knew that with some animals, the mating time could last for nearly a week. Is that how long it would last for Rogue and Lady?

  Blast, he didn’t need this complication in his life. Would he need to remain in England longer than necessary, waiting for the birds to hatch and be on their own?

  After Her Grace had left him, Fanella had come around the corner, dangling a bit of mistletoe tided in a bow from her finger.

  Perhaps remaining here longer wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  Instead of hanging her sprig, she tucked it into her sleeve and smiled.

  Ethan’s body heated. It might not be wise to continue coming to know Fanella, but it was impossible to stay away. He’d tried and failed so now he’d take her advice and come to know her. But it wouldn’t matter if she was surrounded by mistletoe because he’d also make certain that others were always with them so that he wasn’t tempted to kiss her again, or do anything else that he shouldn’t.

  “A toast.”

  Ethan turned his attention to his uncle. He and Her Grace were seated on the tall dais, much like the duke and duchess would have been when the castle had been first built in the thirteenth century. To his uncle’s right was his only child, Lady Claresta and her betrothed, Donovan MacGregor.

  “In little over a sennight, Donovan MacGregor will join our family and I could not be happier for my daughter, because she is happy and loved.”

  Donovan was holding Claresta’s hand and brought it to his lips for a loving kiss.

  “But that is not the only family we have.” He studied Ethan and his siblings who were seated together at a lower trestle table, as if they were residents of the castle from the Middle Ages. “In these past months I’ve come to know my nieces and nephews from America. I don’t know how many of you will decide to remain in England, or how many will return home, but as long as you are here and I am alive, you have a home at Chatwell Castle.” He smiled. “It has been a joy and privilege, and I look forward to meeting the rest their siblings.”

  Ethan glanced around and tried to clear the knot that suddenly grew in his throat. The hall was filled, which had been her Grace’s desire. She’d been the one who wished to celebrate the winter solstice as it had been in the past. The Yule log burned bright, having been started with the bark and ash of the year before along with a good dosing of brandy. So much greenery had been placed about for decorating that it smelled as if they were in the middle of a pine forest, and mistletoe dangled from every doorway.

  Seated at the trestle table next to theirs were the MacGregors. Behind, a table was filled with Trents, and another with the Grants. Everyone in the room was related by either blood or marriage even if many were still strangers to Ethan. In the end, it didn’t matter and as the meal concluded and the mulled wine flowed, Ethan couldn’t help but wonder who he might have been back in the thirteenth century. Would he have been a knight or a lowly stable hand?

  He chuckled and took a sip of his wine. Now he was beginning to think as Fanella, since she was the one who usually had these fanciful thoughts.

  In that moment, Ethan glanced to the table beyond theirs and met her eyes. They were warm with happiness and it pulled at his heart. Soon, he’d find a place to take her, where they could be alone and they could continue to come to know one another more.

  He set the wine aside and reminded himself once again that he would not be alone with Fanella, no matter how much he wished it. He’d not put temptation in his path when he wasn’t certain he could overcome it.

  Chapter 13

  Instead of taking tea in the parlor and leaving the men to their port, the guests of the duke and duchess remained within a great hall, but the guests moved about and visited. As much as Fanella wished to go to Ethan, she would not as she didn’t wish to draw the attention of Duncan, nor did she want anyone curious about their friendship.

  Her brother, Lachlan, and his wife, Maddie, remained at the table with her and they were soon joined by Arabella and her new husband, Gideon. As Donovan’s only sister, Arabella would want to be present at the wedding, and that was probably the reason Donovan and Claresta joined them as well, soon to be followed by Ethan, much to her delight.

  Though Arabella had been talking of her new home, the attention quickly turned to Ethan, whom the others didn’t know very well, other than Claresta and Donovan.

  “What is a plantation like?” Lachlan asked. “How does it differ from an estate?”

  Fanella was curious as well and leaned in to hear his response.

  “The purpose is not so different. We have a large home and much of our land is devoted to crops, and we are self-sustaining.” He shrugged. “Structures are different, of course, along with the climate.”

  She assumed the differences were vast and she wished he’d provide more description, but it was as if Ethan didn’t wish to speak of his home.

  “Darius mentioned you grow sugar cane,” Donovan offered.

  “As well as corn and rye. However, it’s the sugar that we sell after it has been milled.”

  “You don’t sell the corn and rye?” Lachlan asked.

  “We use that to make whiskey.” The corner of Ethan’s mouth tipped. “Another lucrative business, though we are beginning to make rum as well.”

  Certainly she did not hear him correctly. “Whisky, ye say?” Fanella asked.

  “Yes.”

  “From corn and rye.”

  “Yes,” Ethan answered a bit slower.

  “What of barley?”

  “We don’t use barley,” he answered, though there was a question in his tone, as if he wondered why she was even asking.

  “No barley? Ye canna make a good whisky without barley.” Fanella couldn’t even imagine the taste. They didn’t even use corn, though their family had in the past. Now all they used was barley and rye, as it should be.

  Ethan smiled, then tilted his head, studying her. “And how do you know so much about making whiskey?”

  While her family stared at her, Fanella struggled to find an appropriate answer. “Our family distills whisky for our family.” Which was the truth, of course, so she hadn’t lied in not telling Ethan about the smuggling that was quite lucrative for the Grants.

  “I can assure you that our whiskey is quite good without barley.”

  She would love to prove to him that her family’s whisky was superior to the American whiskey, except it could see her family arrested.

  Or, would it?

  “Perhaps before ye return to America ye might visit and ye can taste it then.” She smiled so sweetly that it was all Ethan could do not to call her bluff. Except, perhaps she wasn’t aware of to whom they smuggled, and, in that case, he couldn’t risk revealing his uncle.

  “I just might take you up on that offer.” Not that he needed to taste the whisky again. Little did Fanella know, but Ethan had already drunk Grant whisky, as well as MacGregor whisky. His uncle had shared it with his nephews with a promise to never reveal where it had come from. They had been required to renew that promise when Claresta and Donovan became betrothed.

  What Ethan really wondered was how much Fanella knew of the smuggling, if she knew anything at all. Though, now that he was coming to know her better, he wouldn’t be surprised if she participated, which didn’t set well with him at all.

  The Scots distilled a fine whisky but not as fine as what they produced in Louisiana. However, he would like to see her home and visit Falkirk and see if it truly was tedious, then perhaps he could gauge how she might enjoy New Orleans.

  Except, she wouldn’t be returning with him so Ethan must stop wondering how Fanella could fit into his life back home.

  “Do you happen to have any of your Louisiana whiskey with you, Mr. Copeland?” Lachlan asked.

  “I wasn’t certain if it would be legal to bring any with me,” he answered, without actually answering.

  “Aye, he does.” Donovan smirked. “It isna as fine as MacGregor whisky.”

  Lachlan lifted an eyebrow. “Then it is certainly not as fine as Grant whisky as ours is superior to yers.”

  “Ye ken that isna true,” Donovan argued.

  “To tell you the truth,” Ethan interrupted before the two could come to blows. “I have tasted them both and could not tell them apart.”

  Stunned silence fell over the table. A moment later, Claresta burst out laughing at the shocked faces of the Grants and MacGregors followed by the laughter of Gideon Trent who had only married a MacGregor had no attachment to the whisky.

  “There is a distinct difference, Mr. Copeland,” Arabella insisted.

  Actually, when he sampled the two side by side, he had noted the difference but if his uncle were to give him a glass of whisky now, Ethan would not be able to tell if it was Grant or MacGregor. Besides, if he had admitted to noting the difference that one time, they may attempt to force him to name the best, which he was not willing to do. For one, he had preferred the Grant whisky when he’d had the opportunity to compare, but his cousin was marrying a MacGregor.

  “Am I to understand there is a disagreement over which whisky is better?” His Grace asked as he stopped beside the table.

  “Aye, Yer Grace,” Donovan answered.

  “Has anyone at the table tasted the Copeland whiskey?” he asked.

  “Only Donovan,” Ethan answered.

  “Then we must have a tasting to determine which is the superior whisky.”

  “Which the MacGregors will claim is theirs, the Grants will insist theirs is the best, and the Copelands will claim their own,” Her Grace reminded her husband.

  “Yes, I can see your point.” His Grace rubbed his chin. “However, I don’t see why that should stop any of us from enjoying a nip, do you.” At that he returned to the dais. “There has been a discussion, or challenge you might say,” he laughed. “Any man who wishes to make the comparison between the MacGregor Whisky, Grant Whisky or Copeland American Whiskey should join me in the library.”

  Apparently, there was no secret within the castle or among the guests that His Grace enjoyed illegal whisky smuggled from Scotland.

  “Well, that hardly seems fair,” Fanella complained.

  “It certainly isna,” Arabella Trent echoed.

  “It’s just like the men to go off tastin’ and leave us behind,” Arabella grumbled.

  Did these women actually drink whisky? It was hardly proper that they do so. He’d been under the impression that England and Scotland were much like America. Women could sip wine at dinner, or after, but they never drank stronger spirits. Perhaps these women were allowed a small taste since their families did produce the whisky, but he couldn’t imagine any of the women at the table drinking more than that. Further proof, if Fanella was used to drinking stronger spirits, the wine that she had partaken in wouldn’t have caused a slight inebriation in her a few evenings earlier.

  As much as he wished to remain with Fanella in the great hall, every other man had decided to join His Grace and it would seem odd if only Ethan remained back with the women.

  After they entered, His Grace had a footman begin to pour the drinks. However, he set a privacy screen so that nobody could see what the footman poured. The first was a Scot whisky, but Ethan didn’t know which Scot had produced it. At least not until the MacGregors proclaimed it to be theirs in which the Grants agreed. How the blazes could they tell the difference without a side by side tasting?

  As the night grew long and camaraderie abounded, with much help from the whisky, Ethan enjoyed himself but remained near the open door and watched for Fanella. He knew that she’d pass the library on her way to her chamber and he wanted to see her one last time before he retired. And, just as His Grace asked the footman to pour another round, Fanella walked by with barely a glance into the room. Ethan set his glass aside and ducked out and caught up to her just outside of the music room, and quickly pulled her within.

  “What are ye doin’?”

  “Shhhh.” He put a finger against her lips. Perhaps this wasn’t wise, and hadn’t he insisted, to himself, that he’d not be alone with Fanella? Except that was before he had spent an entire evening first at a separate table, but where he could view her from afar, and then across from her as they debated the merits of making whiskey. It had been frustrating to only view her and not touch.

  “Do you still have the mistletoe.”

  Fanella pulled it from her pocket.

  “You should always keep it with you.”

  She tilted her head. “And why is that?”