Taming the Heiress (18 page)

"I am not sure," she said. "Another week, perhaps longer. The weather has been mild, with very few storms. It's so peaceful here that I often find myself not eager to return to Edinburgh."

"You've had some excitement lately, from what Mr. MacNeill said. That was a quite a daring rescue," he went on. "The topic was on everyone's lips in Tobermory after Mr. MacNeill brought the news. Mr. Stewart is something of a daredevil, from what I hear. He performed another such rescue last year, apparently. Some men simply must act the hero." He sighed.

"He saved some men who were working on a bridge or a dock that collapsed, I think. That time, too, he happened to be there, and he had the courage and the skill to act. He was not the only hero the other day when he saved the boy. Others were ready to help, as well. We are all grateful to Mr. Stewart. If not for him, Iain might be gone."

"That little fellow over there?"

"Yes," she answered. "He is... my cousin's foster son. My family would have felt his loss very deeply." She felt Frederick's hand tense on hers. He stopped, turned to face her.

He was very tall, the black top hat making him seem even taller, so that he towered over her. His whiskers were fashionably trimmed in the long side-whiskers called Dundrearies. She did not find such hairy feathering attractive, preferring Dougal Stewart's simple habit of shaving every few days, so that his dark whiskers evenly shaded the planes of his face in a most becoming way.

"Sir Frederick," she said, "you did not truly come all this way simply to stroll with me on a beach."

"Ah, the lady is clever and perceptive," he said fondly. "Lady Strathlin—Margaret. I came to speak with you about a matter of tremendous importance. It simply could not wait for your return to Edinburgh."

"I, too, have something I wish to speak to you about."

He covered her hand with his own and brought it to his lips. "Shall I hope?" he whispered. "Shall I allow my heart to beat as it now wants to do, with the rhythm of adoration and deepest affection?"

"You can hardly control the beat of your heart, sir," she said curtly. When she tried to pull her hand away, his grip tightened and his lips touched her knuckles. Her skin seemed to crawl.

"Margaret, you know I lost my darling wife a year ago," he said. "My heart broke from abject loneliness. I felt certain I would never find a worthy helpmeet again. But my dear, you were there, like a lantern shining in my time of darkness, to offer me your generous friendship. My dear lady, you have come to mean a great deal to me in this past year, though we were excellent acquaintances before."

"I have always been grateful for your guidance, Sir Frederick. When my grandfather left his estate to me, I felt very... lost, confused, and overwhelmed. I needed good friends at that time myself. You gave me your advice as a member of the bank's board, and you and your wife were helpful in bringing me into new social circles. That made all the difference to me in the first years of my inheritance. I was only happy to return the favor when you were in need."

"So much in need," he said. "And fair Lady Strathlin came to my rescue. I am so very glad... Margaret, I cannot express to you how ecstatic I am... that you have consented to be my wife."

She stared up at him. "That I... Sir, I never—"

"Oh, Margaret, do not be coy," he said, smiling. "It does not suit. I am several years older than you, my dear, so allow me to guide you. Coyness simply does not become a woman of your stature and significance."

"Sir Frederick," she said, pulling back, "I have not consented to be your wife."

"Now the temper we see.
Tsk.
My dear, you do enjoy a game. Well, so do I." He continued to smile, so much that it gave her chills. "I asked you—twice, I believe—to marry me, and you agreed in a letter."

"Sir, if you read the letter, I refused you."

"'My dear Sir Frederick,' you wrote, 'I am honored by your affection and would be equally honored to be your wife.'"

"I said that I would be honored to be your wife—"

"There, you see!"

"I would be honored to be your wife,
but,"
she ground out.
"But,
I fear it is not possible. Did you read the entire letter?"

"Come now. I know feminine wiles when I see them."

"I refused you then," she said. "And I refuse you now. I am sorry if you choose to be a little blind to that. I must ask you, please, not to tell others that we are engaged. It is not true."

"Not true yet," he said blithely.

"Not true and never will be true," she said.

"Not true yet," he said stubbornly. "Tell me something, my dear. That little boy over there..." He turned to look at Iain, who had piled up a little hill of sand and was kicking it into fine sprays. "Is he your son?"

She stared at him, all the blood leaving her face, leaving her cold. "My... what?"

"Your son," he said. "He looks like you. And I know you have a child."

"What?... Who told you such a thing?"

"Come walk with me." He tucked her hand in his elbow again. Stunned, she walked beside him, her heart slamming in fear.

"I met a man a few years ago," he said. "A very pleasant fellow, especially when he was in his cups. He is a doctor, and he told me, over some very fine whisky, that he had attended Lady Strathlin when she first inherited her fortune? A very nice fellow," he said, smiling. "But he had run into some problems with his finances, poor man. He said the lady fell ill, and he had attended her several times. Do you know what he told me, Margaret?" He stopped again and turned to look down at her, her hand imprisoned in his arm. She could feel the hard, stringy muscle beneath his coat.

"Wha—what did he say?" But she knew. She remembered the doctor that Angela Shaw had insisted on calling to visit her more than once when her stomach did not agree with her and she had felt faint almost daily for a while, in the first few months of the pregnancy she was trying valiantly to hide.

This doctor, an older man with greasy hair and a mild manner, had told her that she was suffering from a female condition that he could not name for modesty's sake. He had declared her overwrought by her new position and responsibilities. Advising her to take a long holiday among close family, perhaps for several months, until spring at least, he had looked at her pointedly before leaving.

She had known what he meant and what he knew. And she realized that some way or another, Sir Frederick had managed to coax the truth out of that doctor.

She faced him. "What did he say?" she repeated. "Tell me."

"He said that Lady Strathlin would have a child by now, a healthy child by all the looks of it, and would have had that child in the spring following the year she inherited her grandfather's fortune. In other words, when she accepted the role of the Baroness Strathlin, the lady was already with child. And never married, of course." He gazed down at her.

The pounding in her head was so fierce that she thought she might faint. She watched Iain play on the beach, watched, far in the distance, the harbor where a few men stood in a cluster and talked. She saw Dougal Stewart's head and shoulders above those he stood with, and she wanted to run to the safety and security of his arms.

But he was too far away to hear, too far away to help. And he must never learn about this conversation—never.

"Well, my dear?" he murmured. "You cannot deny it."

"That man was a drunken fool."

"And that spring," he said, his voice smooth and his grip so tight on her hand in the crook of his elbow that her fingers hurt, "a little boy was born and welcomed into the MacNeill family, fostered with a cousin of yours. This child's parentage is somewhat obscure, from what my sources say. But every year, several times a year, Margaret, you come back to Caransay and spend a great deal of time with that child. I believe you have arranged for his education with your former governess. You have not done that for any other child on this island, as far as I am aware. The harbormaster in Tobermory is a cheerful companion over beer and loves to gossip like a woman," he added. He stood watching Iain, his expression benign.

She wanted to slap him, shriek at him, shake him until the evil in him showed. But he only smiled in a smug and unbending way, waiting.

"He looks very much like you," he said. "So blond, with a winning smile. But I think his hose is not yours, nor is his chin yours. That must belong to his... father." He glanced down at her. "This news would be of great interest in certain circles, don't you agree, Margaret?"

"Who—you would not tell—" Oh, God, she had admitted it.

"Of course I would not tell. A man never betrays his wife in such a reprehensible fashion. Her secrets are his."

"Wife," she repeated dully.

"Now, he may wish to betray a mere friend, a woman who falsely represents herself as having good moral character and has inherited a position of some merit. It would be a service to others, I think, if her story were known to the public."

"What do you want, Frederick?" she said, resigned.

He bowed, kissed her hand again. "Autumn weddings are so very lovely, my dear baroness," he said, his use of her title faintly mocking. "Kiss me, Margaret." He leaned down.

Meg tipped her face up, but as he lowered his mouth to hers, she turned her face to the side in revulsion.

"How can you deny me, my sweet Margaret," he murmured against her cheek, "when my heart beats only for you and my thoughts are only of you?" He took her hard by the shoulders, for he was a large, strong man, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. His lips were too soft, slightly sticky, his breath heavy.

Meg broke free. "I need time—to think."

"Of course. Until the soiree, then," he said, caressing her cheek with his gloved finger. "That night I will have my answer."

Leaning away from his touch, she whirled in silence to leave him standing in the sand. He did not follow, and she knew he would be leaving soon with Fergus, smug in his cruel victory. Trembling, she felt as if her whole world stirred beneath her feet, ready to collapse.

She could not bring herself to look back and see if Dougal Stewart still watched. Somehow she sensed him there, steady as sunshine on her shoulders and sharp as a crack of lightning.

Chapter 11

"Good to see you enjoying yourself, Mr. Stewart," Angus MacLeod said, raising his voice above the sound of Norrie MacNeill's fiddle. "After all, our ceilidh is to honor your brave deed in pulling wee Iain out of the waves."

Dougal nodded as the song drew to a rousing close amid wild clapping and shouts for more. "Thank you, Angus. The lobsters were excellent, by the way—our cook made a fine meal for all of us." The crofter fisherman, an old friend of Norrie's, had brought a bucket of lobsters to Dougal at the barracks two nights after Iain's rescue to express his personal thanks and admiration.

"There's more lobsters and fish from my catch for you and your crew, anytime." Called for by an acquaintance, he excused himself and turned away, leaving Dougal content to stand in the midst of the crowded main room of Norrie MacNeill's house.

Anywhere he turned, he was shoulder to shoulder with the inhabitants of Caransay and most of his work crew, as well. Seated in a chair beside the hearth, Norrie wielded the bow over a burnished fiddle, filling the room with his skilled music. For more than an hour.

Norrie's songs had varied from joyful rhythms that set the dancers spinning, to exquisitely evocative songs that captured the emotions and raised more than a few tears.

Norrie was accompanied by others, including Angus's son Callum MacLeod, who tapped out cadences on a worn bodhran, and Fergus MacNeill, who played fiddle with less deftness than Norrie but great verve. Fergus also sang, and Dougal remembered Meg's fond remark that Fergus reminded her of her deceased father.

As the evening grew later and the whisky flowed as freely as the music, Dougal had been surprised to see Evan Mackenzie take the lead in singing, his voice so rich and sure that people grew quiet when he sang. Evan seemed familiar with many old Gaelic songs, and when he sang a ballad in broad Scots, the islanders joined him in the refrain. Meg lifted her voice along with the others, and Dougal listened, closing his eyes to let the magic of her sweet voice flow through him.

The walls fairly shook with dancing and stomping feet. Voices rose in natural harmonies, and the house sepmed to glow with laughter and chatter. Content to listen and watch much of the time, Dougal leaned a shoulder against the wall as Meg swirled past him in Alan's arms, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.