Taming the Heiress (20 page)

Would it be so wrong, she wondered, just once, to go to him and give of herself? Soon she would return to the mainland, to the other world, to Sir Frederick and a life of lies and fear. She would have to leave Dougal and Iain and all her newest hopes and dreams behind forever.

The dance ended, and she turned to see Dougal, his brow puckered thoughtfully, his eyes dark with concern. Tipping his head, he seemed to ask silently if all was well. She looked away. Despite her longing, she could not explain her heart to him.

The music began again, and several people separated into two lines to perform the Seann Triubhas, or Chantreuse, as she knew Lowlanders called the old dance still popular in the Isles.

Dougal moved toward her. "Miss MacNeill?"

"I... I would be delighted, Mr. Stewart," she said softly, glad for this chance to forget what troubled her for a little while, a chance to simply be near him and feel his touch.

They moved toward the dancers, some of whom shifted to offer them the lead positions. Facing Dougal, Meg curtsied as he bowed, and they stepped in natural harmony, folding into the center, gliding in unison on the rhythms of the music. With her hand on his lifted forearm, they reached the end of the line and separated again. Happiness bubbled briefly through her, rippling again as she faced him across the gap.

He smiled in the way that she had grown to adore, private and quick with twinkling eyes, as if his heart were hers alone.

Beyond this dance floor and this celebration, it could never be so. Here she was simply Meg, dancing carefree with handsome Dougal, and dreams were still possible. Out there, she was Lady Strathlin, with a desperate secret and a vile enemy—and Dougal, the man she loved, despised that lady.

* * *

"Ach,
I should have sent the child to his bed," Fergus told Meg. "Look at him now. He cannot keep his eyes open, though he begged me to let him stay up the night." Tilting his head, he indicated Iain, half asleep on a bench, chin and arms leaned on the scrubbed pine surface of Thora's table. His eyelids drooped, flew open, then sagged again. "I'll take him to bed now."

"Fergus, I'll take him," Meg said, smiling as she looked at Iain. He had stubbornly lasted until this late hour, when guests were leaving, the lively music had ended, and the storytelling had begun with a smaller gathering. "They're waiting for you to join them with the stories and such. And... I'd like to tuck Iain into bed myself."

Time with Iain was precious to her, for she saw her son only a few weeks out of every year. Days ago, he had come close to death, and now another threat loomed, one only she knew about.

Fergus touched her arm. "A moment, Cousin. I want to ask you something." His golden-brown eyes seemed troubled.

Meg nodded. Her cousin had a good-hearted, earnest nature, and she had never regretted her decision to entrust her son to his care, even after Anna had died.

"I hear the lad is doing well with his schooling," he said.

"He's a bright lad, and Mrs. Berry is a fine tutor."

"I am thinking he will need much more learning, unless he becomes a fisherman, like me and so many of his kinsmen."

"He would do well to follow in the footsteps of you and Grandfather Norrie."

Fergus removed his cap and rubbed his head. "I am thinking he might do well in a mainland school."

She blinked, surprised by that. "Is that what you want for him, Fergus?"

"Well, I am thinking it is what you want for him." He kneaded his cap in his hands. "If you take him back to Edinburgh to live in your castle and your other fine houses, he can go to a real school. He can grow up to have all that a man dreams of."

If she took Iain back to Edinburgh, she ran a great risk of losing him entirely, now that Sir Frederick knew about him. Soon enough Dougal might learn the truth and take his son.

"I can think of no better place than Caransay for a boy to grow up," she said.

He smiled in shy agreement. "Margaret, I have not forgotten who gave birth to the lad. And though I love him with all my heart, he has no mother in my house now," he said sadly, glancing around to be sure they would not be heard. Most of the others sat by the fireside, creating a private corner for Meg and Fergus.

Meg leaned close, her hand on his arm. "On the day Iain was born, I trusted you and Anna with him. And though she is gone, I would trust you with him always. He loves you and small Anna. He would be heartbroken to leave you." Tears stung her eyes.

He nodded, looking down. "We nearly lost him the other day. So I am thinking you will want him to live with you now, in your great castle, where you can see him each day."

Her heart surged. "Is that what you want, Fergus?"

"I want him to be happy—and you to be happy, too."

"And for yourself?"

"I would miss him like my life," he said. "But it is good for a man to have an education. And the lad is smart. He read a story to me. Read it!" He smiled proudly. "I can sign my name and speak some English. But he can learn far more than I can ever teach him. What can I give him, but what I know about lobster fishing or the ways of the sea and the signs of the weather?"

"All that is just as important as a university education—even more so," she said fervently. "If, when he is older, he wants to go to school or to university, I will make it possible for him. For now, he is too young for anything but a tutor. He can learn from Mrs. Berry when we are on holiday here, and next year he can go to the village school. He should stay with you and the rest of his kin. Iain needs a family."

"But you are his—" He stopped, glanced around.

"He cannot learn the value of family by living with me in my cold and lonely castle, with only my servants and my advisers. And some of them are not very fond of children. Besides," she added, "where I live, he could not see the water each day."

Fergus nodded, still twisting his cap. "Now that is a sad thing. And yourself?" He looked at her. "Do you miss the sea?"

"Every day."

"And you miss Iain whenever you go back."

She gazed at Iain's golden head. "I miss him like my life," she whispered. "But he needs to be here."
He is safe here.

"Someday there will come a time for you to take him. I have always known that," Fergus said.

"Someday," she agreed. "Not now."

Not for a very long time,
she thought. In the outside world, Lady Strathlin would soon be forced to marry a banker and a minor baronet, a heartless man. In that household, she knew, her beloved little son would not be welcome.

Chapter 12

While several voices lifted in singing harmony around him, Dougal saw Meg and Fergus talking privately in a corner, their heads together, their discussion clearly serious. He wondered what troubled Meg that evening, for she had been preoccupied, even sad, in the midst of the revelry. He hoped she would at least confide in Fergus, who seemed a good friend to her.

Soon Fergus joined the others, and Meg led a sleepy Iain toward a connecting door. The boy sagged against her, and she bent to gather him into her arms. Dougal rose to offer his help.

"Let me take him for you, Miss MacNeill. He looks like a sack of grain. And you must be tired from such a long evening." He opened the door for her as he spoke.

She hesitated, then gave the boy up to him silently. Iain's head lolled on Dougal's shoulder, and small arms looped cozily around his neck. Meg led them through the door into a wing of the house. Camus nan Fraoch consisted of three croft houses joined together under one long thatched roof, each identical, only differing in their functions of main living area, kitchen and dining area, and what was called the sleeping room.

They entered a large room with low rafters, whitewashed walls, a stone floor, and two small windows. A hearth at one end blazed with a low peat fire. Through the shadows, Dougal looked around the sleeping room that the entire family shared with some privacy. Three curtained box beds lined the walls, and two small rooms were separated from the larger one by doors.

Meg shut the door, enclosing them in darkness and relative quiet. Being alone with her like this would have been shocking on the mainland. In the Isles, Dougal had seen more encouragement than suspicion when a young couple went off alone.

When Meg held aside a curtain to reveal a box bed, Dougal set Iain carefully inside. He stood back while she removed the boy's boots and knickers and tucked the linen sheets and woolen blankets over him. Sighing, Iain rolled over.

"Does he sleep alone in here?" Dougal asked. "Will he be frightened if he wakes later?" Thinking of the child's recent ordeal and the terrifying spectre of the shark in the water, he also remembered his own terrors and nightmares as a boy, when he would open his eyes in the darkness to realize that his parents were gone forever. Watching Iain, so small in the bed, those long-forgotten nights came rushing back to him. He glanced at Meg. "Should we stay here with him?"

She shook her head. "He will not be alone here. This is my bed at Camus nan Fraoch. I put him here for the night, though he has his own bed in the other room with Fergus, through that door, while Elga sleeps in the box bed over there. Small Anna's cradle stays near the door of the room that Thora and Norrie share, through there, so that we can all hear her if she stirs. Iain will not sleep alone for long."

He nodded, amazed at the close quarters, though he knew this was a common—even spacious—arrangement for Hebridean homes.

While they spoke, a small black terrier padded toward them through the open door between the rooms, a dog that Dougal remembered had dozed near the fireside during the ceilidh. Tail wagging now, it jumped up and leaned its paws on Meg's skirt at the knee. She bent to pet it, then assisted the little dog in jumping onto the boy's bed.

"Iain has a good nursemaid," Meg said affectionately, ruffling the dog's head. "That's fine, then, Falla. Just for tonight you may sleep with him. Thora does not like any of their three dogs to sleep on the beds," Meg added, "but Falla can guard Iain for now." The dog curled beside the sleeping child, and Meg closed the curtain.

Standing in the darkness beside her, Dougal felt overtaken by a lush blend of contentment and passion that rushed from heart to groin, smooth and fiery as whisky and cream. He flexed his hand, wanting to touch her, hold her, more—so much more he dared not think of that. Reaching out in the shadows, he took her elbow and turned her toward him.

"Meg," he murmured, amazed that his heart could pound so hard over touching her arm or saying her name. Fascination and physical excitement built in him, as if each time was the first time he touched her.

The curve of her cheek was a warm glow in the light of the peat fire, her hair a halo of rich, rippled gold. She waited, silent, expectant, watching him.

He sought for something to say, not yet ready to go back into the crowded room when he could be alone here with her. "The ceilidh has been a grand celebration. I am very grateful for it."

"We wanted to celebrate Iain's safety and show our thanks for what you did, Mr. Stewart."

"Dougal," he corrected, and he reached up to brush back her hair where it fell softly along her cheek. She watched him, did not protest. "Any man could have done what I did."

"Iain was in grave danger, and what you did took strength and courage. The people of Caransay will talk of it for generations." She smiled at him in the darkness. "Even now, while you stand here with me, they are in the next room spinning a tale about Dougal and the shark."

"I would rather stand here with you," he murmured.

"I—" Her eyes gleamed as if with quick tears, and she looked away. "I have had no chance to speak to you alone since that day. I wanted to tell you—I need to tell you... how much it meant to me." Her voice quavered.

He shook his head. "No need to thank me again, my lass."

"But if you had not... we might be... holding a wake tonight," she whispered, as her chin began to wobble.

"Come here," he murmured, taking her shoulders, pulling her toward him. Stiff at first, she melted against him and began to weep quietly. Dougal held her, circling his hand over her back, murmuring soothing noises, while she pressed her face into his shoulder in the darkness.

He sensed that she rarely leaned on anyone for support, or else had not done so for a very-long time. Sighing into the fragrant cloud of her hair, he wrapped her close and felt her arms slip around his waist.