Whiskey Prince Read online

  Pushing my seat back, I stand, mirroring my da in height at nearly 6’2 as I hold his vexed gaze. I want him to see in my eyes that I want these things, that I don’t want to lose my chance to make our whiskey better than before, but I know all he sees is that I’m not what he was at my age. My ma stands too, her hands out in a pleading way as she says, “Enough, sit down. Let’s finish our dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I say before turning and walking away, despite them calling my name, demanding that I come back. Ignoring them, I walk through the many halls of the O’Callaghan estate. With over sixty rooms, one would think I would get lost, but I’ve had the same room my whole life. I was born in this room, which is bigger than most suites in a five-star hotel. It’s the room that I’ll bring my bride to, and more than likely, my child will be born in there too. That’s the way the O’Callaghan’s do things.

  As much as I would like to say that I don’t want these things, that I want to do something completely different, I don’t. I want the same traditions, this way of life. I want my children to grow the way I have, and then their children to do the same. I love what my family stands for. I love our brand, our whiskey, and I will do anything for the things I love.

  But do I give up my need to have what I desire, what I’ve dreamed about, to have the traditions and life that has been mapped in the stars before my birth? Or do I stand strong and look for what I want? What I deserve? Looking around my empty room, which is filled with furniture older than my grandfather is, I decide that I am not going to find any answers here, so I turn and head for the front of the house.

  On my way, I pass by our housekeepers and, unlike my sister, I do not say a thing, only give a curt nod as I head to the place that brings me peace. When the fresh air hits my face once I am outside, I let out a breath and then take in a deep one, filling my chest with the air of my homeland. Ignoring my car, I make my way to the stables to where my Irish Draught, Cathmor, awaits me. When I enter, my stable hand, Mitch, is putting the saddle on my friend as I run my hand along his white chest, which is speckled with black. He snorts loudly, greeting me with his furry lips on my face.

  “Howya, Cathmor, good lad?”

  He snorts again as Mitch says, “He’s ready. Good day, sir.”

  “Thanks, Mitch,” I reply before mounting Cathmor. When Mitch backs away, I kick Cathmor to go and, like a bullet, he is off. I always love to ride to the distillery rather than drive. There is something about the air hitting me in the face, and the speed of the beast beneath me, that pulls all the stress from my body. It’s relaxing and soothing as he runs through the fields of my home. The trees are in full bloom, the grass so green, and the sky blue. I can feel the lake on my skin from the wind, and I can’t wait to get down there to fish or take my boat on the lake. Summer is my favorite time because of the beauty my land provides me with. Well, my da’s land. In six months’ time, I could have nothing.

  Depressing, I know.

  Kicking Cathmor’s side so he will go faster, I leave that thought in the dust as he takes a sharp turn around the lake that separates our land from that of the Maclaster’s Bed and Breakfast. I’ve never been there but my best friend, Kane, enjoys going to the pub that is a part of their establishment. He tries to get off with the owner’s daughter, Fiona Maclaster. I haven’t seen her yet but from what Kane says, she is easy on the eyes.

  When the large, stone building that holds my family’s dynasty comes into view, I kick into Cathmor again to get there. Not only would being around the smoky and spicy aroma of the whiskey calm me, but I could use a glass too. Stopping before another worker, I dismount Cathmor and run my hand down his beautiful mane, saying, “Good ride, lad, thank you.” To the worker, I say, “Please give him plenty of water. He ran the whole way.” The worker, whose name I notice is Cal from his nametag, nods as I hand him the reins and make my way inside.

  As soon as the aroma of whiskey hits me, I take in a deep breath, savoring it as I look around the room. With large windows letting in the sun, the room is like its outside, stone, with a dark, dungeon feel. Some people may fear the O’Callaghan distillery, but I love it. Have loved it since I was a little boy. Heading to the back distilling room, I shut the door behind me, to give myself privacy, before heading to where my bottle of whiskey is hidden. Passing by the pot stills, I run my fingers along the copper base, lightly, making sure not to burn my fingers. My great-great-great-great-great-grandda learned how to make whiskey from a Scottish pal and because of this, we use pot stills to this day. I’ve always loved the look of them and enjoy this room the best because it reminds me of my history.

  My dynasty.

  Reaching for my bottle, I sit on a stool as I pour only a little at the bottom of a glass. Bringing it to my nose, I take in a deep inhale, the smell of vanilla and caramel overloading my sense before I take a small sip, moving it around in my mouth, savoring the smooth flavor before swallowing it. It has a kick but it’s one I enjoy. This is my bottle, the one I plan to name Cathmor once I have my chance to own the name. My da isn’t adventurous with his whiskey, keeps it to the books. But me, I like mixing and trying new flavors, and I feel that the Cathmor will blow people away. It has taken me five years to find the right flavor and I want my chance to share it with the world, which means one thing…

  I need a wife.

  When the door suddenly opens, I pause with my glass at my lips as my best friend walks in and shuts the door. With a grin on his face, Kane says, “Saw you sneak in here, thought I’d join you.”

  I nod as I place my glass down, picking up one for him before filling and passing it off. Taking it, he holds it against mine before saying, “Cheers.” We both take a good sip, savoring the flavor as we sit in silence.

  “It’s not good to drink alone, Dec.”

  “Da pissed me off.”

  “When does he not?” Kane scoffs. “What did he do this time?”

  I take another sip before shaking my head slowly. “Pressuring me into marrying off.”

  “Again?” Kane asks, even though we both know that Da won’t stop pressuring me until I do what he wants.

  “Yes. I told him I want to marry for love, and he said fall in love then! Says I have six months to get it done, or I lose my chance at the name.”

  A shocked look comes over my mate’s face as he exclaims, “Well, you best do it!”

  “Come off it! I’m trying.”

  “You do no such thing. You don’t go out and meet anyone.”

  “I do too,” I insist. “I go to the pub and meet women all the time.”

  “Fucking shite, ya do! You go to the pub that your da’s mates drink at—not somewhere that would produce a wife.”

  I let out a sigh; Kane is delusional. “I’ve met plenty of women there.”

  “Sure, but have they stuck? No, they are slappers, out for your money. You need to meet a good woman, someone that will stick. Someone to be mad about.”

  He’s right, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that. “Fine, what do you suggest then?”

  “Come out with me. We’ll find you someone.”

  That gives me the shakes. The places that he goes make me nervous. The kind of places that are full of people I don’t know, but they know who I am because of the news or magazines. Because of that, they treat me differently than they do Kane. Then again, Kane is easy to get to know. He is fun and charming. Me, I’m off as he says. I don’t know how to act normal when people I don’t know stare at me or talk to me. My shyness, as Kane has so nicely informed me, is probably the only thing that makes me not like my name, the title I have. It isn’t easy being the Whiskey Prince. Not only does it draw attention to me, but it seems like everyone wants something from me. Sometimes, I come off a little abrasive because of it. Even being my best mate, I can’t tell this to Kane. He wouldn’t understand. His life is easy, ladies flock to him, and no one wants anything but his company. With me, it’s different, and I hate the way it makes me feel.

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