Dressed to Kilt Read Free Page A

combination—apple green, lime, and sunshine yellow.
    At this rate, though, I’d finish by next December, but I was determined. I also lived in terror of dropping my first stitch. Because once that happened, the mittens were sure to be doomed.
    Soon after, my phone rang again. This time it was Leith Cameron. After several comments back and forth about the storm and a few minutes spent on arrangements to pick me up tomorrow night, he said, “I’m looking forward tae the event.”
    â€œSo am I.”
    â€œThis special tasting is as exclusive as the Glenkillen Distillery’s fine whiskies. Bridie Dougal doesn’t invite just anybody tae her private gatherings, ye know?”
    â€œI’m appropriately honored.”
    From what I’d heard through the pub’s active rumor mill via Vicki, Bridie Dougal was a crusty old woman who’d run the family distillery with a firm hand after the death of her husband, finally turning it over to her son in the last year when her advanced age began to slow her down. These days, she was rarely seen in public but still had managed to arrange this special night of tasting, thanks to her personal companion, Henrietta McCloud.
    When the invitation had arrived, I wasn’t at all surprised to discover that Leith’s name had been included on the exclusive guest list. The barley he grows on his farm next to the MacBrides’ is used for the production of the popular Scotch whisky produced at this particular local distillery.Not only that, his family had been key suppliers for generations.
    So I was taken aback when he went on to say, “I’m still wondering how ye managed tae get invited. How do ye know Bridie Dougal?”
    â€œI don’t understand,” I said, after a moment’s pause. “I don’t know her at all.
You
invited
me
.”
    â€œI would have fer certain, if I’d been the one doin’ the inviting.”
    We ended up comparing them. I read mine:
“Leith Cameron requests the pleasure of your company at a special winter whisky tasting . . .”
    â€œYe’re not foolin’ with a poor Scot, are ye?” he teased.
    â€œNo. What does yours say?”
    â€œEden Elliott requests the pleasure of your company at a special winter whisky tasting on Saturday evening, December 8, at 7:00 pm . . .”
    â€œBut I sent a note to you accepting,” I sputtered, while my mind raced to figure out how this happened. “Didn’t you get it?”
    â€œSure, I did. I thought it was a wee bit strange, but ye’re from the States and they’re an odd lot.” Now I heard the amusement. He went on. “Henrietta musta been confused when she wrote them out. She’s come on pension age, not as young as she once was. Although anybody coulda made a mistake like this.”
    A reasonable conclusion.
    â€œIf it was a mistake . . .” I began, feeling disappointment at the thought of missing out.
    â€œOnly a slight one,” he reassured me. “Henrietta hasn’t gone dotty. We both are invited, I’m sure o’ it.”
    â€œWe’re still on then?” I asked, hopeful.
    â€œIf ye’re game, so am I.”
    â€œGreat. I’m looking forward to my first whisky tasting.”
    Besides, I wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to get an eyeful of Leith Cameron in a kilt!

C HAPTER 2

    That night dreams interfered with my sleep. When I awoke, they had disappeared into the recesses of my memory. The details might have faded away, but I was left with a sense of impending doom that was hard to shake off.
    The day before, I’d been preoccupied with preparing for the whisky tasting and fearful of the unknown I’d encounter when I left the Highlands. Something there must have triggered the disturbances I’d encountered during the night.
    It was still dark outside, making whatever visions I’d awoken from seem even more