Taming the Heiress (15 page)

Yet as he stood beside her in the damp, salty air, with the seabirds calling overhead and the diamond glint of the ocean in his eyes, he suddenly knew that he wanted to marry Margaret MacNeill.

Deeply wanted it, fiercely, as if the desire had been there all along, formed over years out of dreams and longing, waiting only for the revelation of her existence.

The wind was quiet, the sea mirror calm, yet he felt as if a gale had just knocked him to his knees.

* * *

Meg sat alone on the far side of the rock, making small sketches in her leather journal. Dougal and Alan had gone to tend to some work, and Norrie was talking with Fergus MacNeill and a few other Caransay men who had joined Dougal's crew. The need was great on Sgeir Caran not only for laborers, but for local men who knew the reef and the Isles and who understood the moods of the sea and the weather.

She sketched quickly, deftly, watching a pair of gannets return again and again to a nest perched on a ledge near the stack rock. The hushed washing of the water over the rocks below was a peaceful, lulling sound.

Turning the page, she began another sketch, but paused, glancing around, unable to ignore where she sat. The little cave they had shared was just beyond a cluster of rocks.

A shiver went through her, a deep longing, an ache so fierce it made her head spin. She moaned softly and sank her face into her hands.

"Meg?" He was there beside her suddenly, though she had not heard him approach. "Miss MacNeill—are you well? Is the sun too strong?"

She looked up. "I'm perfectly fine," she said tersely. "Is it time to go? Does my grandfather want me to come back?"

"Not yet. Norrie is having a fine time with his friends from Caransay. The men are taking luncheon now, and Norrie saw you come this way. We wondered if you might be hungry, and I offered to ask. Nothing fancy—just bannocks, cheese, and meat pies prepared by our cook back at the barracks on Caransay. But there's plenty to share."

She shook her head. "Thank you. I'm not really hungry."

"Well, then." He did not leave, but remained standing a little behind her. "I see you found some birds to draw in your journal, after all. They are not all gone, then."

"Yet," she said pointedly, and she closed the book, tucking it and the pencil into her pocket. As she got to her feet, Dougal offered his hand in assistance.

Hesitating, she took it, aware of a thrill of comfort upon touching him. She released his fingers as soon as she stood.

"Mr. Stewart, let me show you something. Come this way."

Runnels of water over ages had worn an inclined pathway in the stone, and Meg took the slope upward, Dougal following, their steps careful on the damp rock.

To one side was the entrance of their little cave, and he glanced at it, tilting his head in question, clearly perplexed and a little startled. Silently Meg turned to face the sea.

She pointed below where they stood. On innumerable ledges and protrusions in the rock, hundreds of birds clustered. The closest birds to them were white with black markings.

"Gannets?" he asked.

She nodded. "They come here every year to nest. In spring, they gather by the thousands to raise their young and to seek shelter from storms. Shearwaters also nest on Sgeir Caran, and guillemots, and a few shags. Over there, see that one on its nest? The dark diamond-patterned feathering gleams in the sunlight. Sometimes we see the shy little petrels that skim close to the water. They make their nests beneath overhanging rocks—"

"Where they cannot be seen," he said quietly. "I know."

She flickered a glance at him. "Puffins nest here, too, though at the other end of the rock, where there is more consistent sunshine. This end lies in the shade of the stack rock. Seals sun themselves on the lowest slopes of the Sgeir Caran, there"—she pointed—"where the rock slopes toward the water. There is a little sandy beach they love." She gestured out toward the sea. "If we waited here long enough, we would see dolphins, perhaps a whale or some basking sharks. The dolphins and the sharks will not appear together—where there is one, you will not see the other. But either is quite a sight, a reward for the patient observer."

"Obviously you've spent a good deal of time observing here."

"I come here fairly often. Over the last few years, I have filled my journals with drawings and notations about the wildlife and the sea and birdlife on Caransay and Sgeir Caran." She faced the water, the wind fresh on her cheeks, ruffling her hair. "I come to study, but I love the peacefulness here, too."

"Miss MacNeill, I know the rock is a naturalist's paradise and a worthy habitat for many creatures. I can appreciate that, too, though you think I do not."

She slanted a sideways glance at him and waited.

"I assure you that we will not disturb any seabird or wildlife colonies. When we put up lighthouses elsewhere, the wildlife did not seem to be effected except during actual construction, when they shy away from the site. Does that suit you? Take that message back to Lady Strathlin, if you will, though I suspect neither of you will believe me or trust that I am sincere. Too many people have died on this reef. I cannot forget that."

"Nor can I, Mr. Stewart," she said stiffly. "But the construction will frighten away many of these creatures. Look up there," she said, indicating the stack rock. "We call that Creig nan Iolair."

"Creig nan
yoolur
," he repeated softly. He tipped back his head. "What does it mean?"

"Eagle Rock," she said.

"Aye, someone told me that eagles nest here."

She had told him, in a letter to which he had not yet replied. "They build aeries up there and have done so for many generations. We see golden eagles soaring around the rock sometimes, and for a few years, a pair of sea eagles has nested up there—the white-tailed
iolair mhar,
the rarest of the eagles in Scotland."

"And you are concerned that the lighthouse will keep the eagles away."

"Yes, the sea eagles in particular. Eagles are over-hunted, and every year there seem to be fewer of them—not only here in the Isles, but in the Highlands, too, so I hear. But they have always been safe on Sgeir Caran, and so they come back."

"They will continue to be safe," he said firmly. "We would never disturb their aeries or the nesting places of any seabirds here on Sgeir Caran."

"But you can do nothing about the noise and activity, the men, the boats going back and forth. Sgeir Caran has always been a peaceful sanctuary for the birds. It must stay that way."

"The construction is temporary. Once the lighthouse is up, the sea rock will be quiet again. There will be one or two keepers here with their families and some coming and going of boats, but no more than usual. Peace will return, I promise you."

"If they cannot nest here next season, they will not come back the year after that. Another improvement"—she uttered the word with contempt—"that is set to destroy a cherished tradition in these Isles."

Dougal shook his head. "Let me assure you—"

"You cannot!" she burst out. Her breath tightened as she glared at him. All thoughts of birds and lighthouses, the frustration of months of unpleasant letters, suddenly fell away as deep-set anger and the hurt and grieving of years overwhelmed her. "You cannot assure me of anything!"

She turned, meaning to stomp off, but his hand lashed out. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Meg," he said gruffly, turning her swiftly, so that she came close to him, felt his heat, felt the subtle tug between his body and hers and the answering whirl in her belly.

She raised her hands to push him away. "Leave me be!"

His hands closed tight around her wrists. "Come here," he growled, yanking her toward him, holding her bent and resistant arms against his chest. He lowered his face toward hers, imprisoning her hands in his.

She half closed her eyes, tipping her head, expecting him to kiss her at any moment. Feeling the throb of need in her body, she wanted to be kissed just as much as she wanted to flee.

Instead he rested his brow on hers. "Meg MacNeill, hold now, and hear me out." His voice was a tender rumble. He leaned his cheek against her head and kept her hands pressed between them. Her krifees went weak beneath her, and she closed her eyes, still expecting to fight, to struggle in defense of all the hurt, all the years of wondering, resenting, and longing.

"Let go," she gasped, a desperate half sob. "I do not want to talk to you any longer. You have nothing to say that I want to hear, and you cannot hold me against my will." She twisted her hands in his.

"It's only a precaution, should you feel tempted to slap me again," he said.

"Why? Are you going to kiss me?"

"If you want," he murmured, his face pressed to hers, his breath upon her lips. She longed for it, and did not want to, for his mouth hovered close to hers. His lips brushed the edge of her lip and traced over her cheek, an enticement rather than a kiss. Her legs felt so weak that she was glad for his support.

He drew back. "I only want to talk to you."

"We have nothing to say."

"You may have nothing to say to me. But I owe you an apology, and you are going to listen."

"Do not think to charm me again." She tried to wrench out of his unrelenting grip. "If that is what you call it."

"Easy, love," he murmured. "First, let me apologize for that kiss when we were out on the machair."

"That hardly matters. And do not call me love." She crabbed her fingers on his shirt. His fingers were strong on hers, and his other hand, at the small of her back, pinned her against him.

"Be still and listen. Allow me the chance to speak before you claw me to bits."

"Seven years," she said between her teeth. "You come back after seven years—"

"And I found you, when I thought I'd never see you again."

"Found me?" She stared up at him. "Did you ever look?"

"My dear girl, I searched for you but did not believe it was possible to find you. Now that I have, you make clear that you have no desire to see me. Sometimes you seem so furious with me that I must fear for my life." His tone held a wry gentleness.

"Did you expect a happy reunion of lovers?" Meg wished, all at once, that she had a hand free with which to slap him—yet she wished, too, that he would pull her into his arms and kiss away the hurt, help her dissolve the bitterness she had carried for years. She wanted to be free of that anger and sadness, but did not know how to release it or if it was even possible after so long.

"No happy reunion," he said, "once I realized who you were and what I had done. I thought you did not remember me until we met on the machair and watched the northern lights. I hoped a kiss would remind you more clearly than an explanation."

"How could I have forgotten?" she snapped.

His grip eased on her hands, though he did not let go. "I do not know why you appeared that night, or quite what had happened—my memory of it is very dim."

"All but one part, I am certain," she said frostily.

"Aye, well. For you, too, I hope." He pursed his mouth. "The storm was fearsome, and the night was dark, and I was not sure what I saw or who you might be. I thought—" He paused. "You will think me a fool if I tell you what I thought that night, Meg MacNeill. Though you may already think me a fool."

"Just a brutal cad."

"Fair enough."

"Leave me be. And leave this rock and the island, too."

"I will stay until my work is done," he said firmly. "But I will leave you be, if that is what you want. First hear me out."

"You cannot convince me your behavior was justified."

"And what—whoa, stay with me until this is done!" He pulled her back gently but firmly when she jerked away. "This is not a pleasant encounter for either of us, but it must be got through. What, exactly, do you think I did then?"

"You took advantage of me, sir, and left me in a boorish and inconsiderate manner." She leaned forward, spoke hissing through her teeth, sharp and angry, fueled by years.

"Left you! My dear, you left me. I awoke to find you gone."

"I saw the boat," she said between her teeth. "I saw the men come to fetch you again, those who no doubt left you there. All of you—whoever the others were—schemed it together."

His brow tightened. "Just what," he said, "have you believed of me all these years?"

Meg searched his eyes, saw only sincere puzzlement, felt his free hand hold her snug and insistent at the small of her back. Their joined fists nestled against her breasts. He felt lean and hard against her. Deep within, she ached for him—but she would not give in to that.

"I believed what I saw that morning," she said. "Your friends came back to get you. They must have left you on the rock the night before, knowing that I would be here. The storm blew in and marooned us, so that your friends could not fetch you under cover of darkness. So I saw your departure at dawn. Norrie had already come to bring me back."

"Why on earth were you here that night? And I did not know that I would end up here myself." He shook his head as if confused. "Had you come out to Sgeir Caran to watch the birds, perhaps, and got caught in the storm?"