“It was only one barrel then?” Archer asked, relief rushing through him.
But that relief was short-lived. Just as the trio made it to the shelves of barrels, he knew that it wasn’t just the one.
“There were several that I investigated,” Alistair explained, his voice fading a little as Archer kept walking further into the shelves, inspecting everything that he found. “Each one of them had had the seal broken. It was only the one that had been leakin’, like someone had been in a hurry when they’d been tryin’ to redo the seal and hadnae been able to get it just right before rushin’ out.”
“Finally,” Archer growled, staring at the barrel in front of him.
Just as Alistair had described, the seal on the top of the barrel had been broken. Only a practiced eye would have been able to catch it if not for the leak. And Archer knew they were lucky that Alistair had noticed the leak at all.
There was a wet spot on the floor a few barrels away, and Archer walked toward it. He bent, running his finger through the liquid that had spilled out of the barrel and then bringing it to his nose.
The scent was acrid, filled with the distinct burn that he loved so much about whisky. But there was something else there as well.
Something that took away from the sweetness of the liquid, that was sharp and cloying, burning his nostrils and souring his stomach.
“What is it?” he asked Alistair, turning and finding both the manager and Marcus standing only a few feet away.
Alistair shook his head.
“I daenae ken,” he explained. “But whatever it is, there’s nae way of kenin’ if it’s safe to drink. Nae without drinkin’ it ourselves, and that could prove to be very dangerous.”
“Ye think Finlay would poison us?”
Archer couldn’t stop the doubt that had seeped into his tone.
Finlay Cowan was a nearby laird, overseeing Clan MacKay. He and Archer had known each other growing up; their fathers had been neighboring Lairds who had traded with each other to care for their people.
But then Finlay’s father had decided to get into the whisky business as well, something that Archer’s family had been in for years. Clan MacKay had undercut Clan McGregor’s prices, and slowly, over time, the relationship between their two families had fractured.
By the time they were both grown and both Lairds in their own right, Finlay had grown to hate Archer. He resented him, resented the success that Archer still had in the whisky business, despite all the underhandedness from Finlay and his father.
And now, it would seem that Finlay was up to something again.
Archer had no problem believing that Finlay would do something to ruin their supply. But poison them? Make them ill or worse? Kill them?
“Do ye think that he wouldnae?” Alistair said. “Ye trust that enough to stake one of our lives on it?”
The truth was that Archer didn’t put much past Finlay these days. Especially now, as he looked around at his entire warehouse.
How much of it was contaminated? How much of it was for show?
“Do we have any way to tell if all the barrels are tainted?” Archer grunted, turning back to face his stock.
Multiple pairs of footsteps sounded behind him. Marcus and Alistair appeared beside him a moment later.
“We’d have to pop ‘em all open,” Alistair grunted.
“But that would ruin the whisky,” Marcus interjected, turning to stare at the distillery manager.
Archer did the same, his eyes finally peeling off the barrels and landing on the other men at his side.
“I ken,” Alistair groaned. “It’s nae somethin’ I want to do. But it’s necessary. We’ll have to start this stock all over again.”
“Will we be able to get any from our other stores?” Archer asked.
Alistair nodded. “I’ve sent riders out, one to each distillery. There havenae been any that have come back yet. But I suspect this is the only place he was able to hit last night.”
Rage had been simmering in Archer’s gut since the moment he’d left the castle. But now the fire of it was raging.