Taming the Heiress (37 page)

He saw the ring made of threads and golden and brown hairs that she had woven that morning and beside it a tiny portrait, a towheaded infant whose sweet face reminded him of her. He thought it must be a picture of herself as a child, perhaps commissioned by her mother.

"Aye," he said, his voice roughened, low. "The ring. I know." He pulled out his pocket watch and opened the hidden compartment in it, a false backing lined with thin glass, then held it out to her. She gasped.

The glass circlet pressed his own woven ring, which she had made for him and slipped on his finger as he slept. "I've carried it with me everywhere," he said. "It was all I had of you, those years... and all the while, I was not sure you existed. I had this, which was real, but I wondered if it could be a bit of fairy thread, woven of magic."

"While I always knew that you
were
real. Too real," she said. "But my grandmothers thought you were the kelpie of the reef. They still believe it. They believe... that we were married that night and that the ring proved it. And..." She paused, looked at him, her eyes lustrous and tormented.

"And what? What other proof could they have of it?" He almost smiled, but for her solemn mood.

"They say the kelpie of the sea rock bestows unusual good fortune if his bride pleases him greatly," she said, fingering the little open locket with its ring and its portrait, "and gives him a child."

He frowned, baffled. "But you—you did not—you are not—"

She gazed up at him. "I did."

He grabbed her by the shoulders. "What do you mean? What are you saying? A child came of that night? Our child?"

She nodded, her eyes swimming in new tears, some of them spilling free down her cheeks.

"For the love of God, woman," he said, nearly shaking her. "Tell me!"

"Iain," she whispered. "He's... Iain."

"My God," he breathed. "How could you not tell me that!" He nearly shouted, stepping away. Shoving a hand through his hair, he turned back to her, stunned. "Iain?"

She nodded, her lower lip wobbly. "I have kept the secret of it for years, and I knew I had to tell you, but I... I could not, until I trusted you and knew you would not try to take him away from me."

He stared hard at her, not certain how he felt—angry, elated, still shocked. "My God. I would never do that."

"I know that now. I did not know it then."

"Fair enough." He rubbed his brow, thinking. "Who knows about this?"

"Very few people. My grandparents on Caransay and Fergus, of course. And Mrs. Shaw and Mr. Hamilton." She paused. "And... and Sir Frederick knows."

Dougal felt a cold chill run through him. "Sir Frederick?"

She nodded. "Somehow he found out from a doctor who tended me in the early months. Frederick told me that he knew and that he would tell everyone that I had an illegitimate child being fostered with a family on Caransay. So I..."

"So you promised to marry him," he finished for her. "That blasted pig," he muttered under his breath.

Meg squeezed her eyes shut against an onslaught of tears, and lowered her head. "Dougal, I am so sorry," she whispered. "I have made a mess of this... from the very... beginning."

"Hush." He crossed to her in two strides and pulled her into his arms. "Hush, my bonny," he murmured. "When I think of you alone with this—bearing a child, not knowing the father, I am angry at myself for allowing it to happen to you. But now that it is out, we can fix it easily enough."

"How—how is that?" she gulped.

"Well, I suppose I ought to marry you," he whispered against the soft crown of her head. "I do not see how it can be avoided."

She laughed, a watery burble. "But what about Frederick?"

He held her for a moment, considering. Then it came to him like a sunburst of pure thought, illuminating, exhilarating. "Why, Mrs. Stewart," he said, drawing back to look down at her, "we've been married for seven years."

Meg gaped at him. "We... Oh! The rings!" She nodded. "My grandmothers do say there is an old custom of self-made marriage in Scotland."

"I've heard of it," he said. "I believe all a couple has to do is declare their love and exchange rings, and they are considered married without benefit of clergy or even witnesses."

"But we did not declare our love."

"Madam, I rather think we did." He dipped down to kiss her. "And Iain is the proof of it."

"You would be willing to tell Frederick this?"

"I would be delighted." He gathered her close. Then he gasped, remembering something. Meg pulled back to look up at him. "The train," he said. "I forgot. I have to get to the train." He let her go, took her hand to pull her toward the door.

"Dougal, surely you can miss the train, after all this," she said. "Take the next one."

"No," he said firmly, tugging her along. "I agreed to be back on Sgeir Caran tomorrow. There is a meeting assembling there of some lighthouse commissioners and a few investors."

"Stay the night," she said. "Take the morning train."

"I have to go." He stopped, looked down at her. "Sir Frederick Matheson is in that party."

"Dear God," she said. "Iain is on Caransay, and Frederick hates you and me just now!"

"Exactly what I was thinking," he muttered grimly as he pulled her with him through the library.

"I'm going with you," she insisted.

"No. Stay here. Let me take care of this."

"I'm going with you. Mr. Hamilton!" she called as they entered the hallway. "Mr. Hamilton! Mrs. Shaw!"

"No, Meg," Dougal said, spinning her to face him. "The fellow could be very dangerous. I will not allow you to go!"

"Allow me?" She stared up at him indignantly.

"I do not want you to go, madam," he amended, speaking through clenched teeth.

Guy Hamilton appeared in the foyer from a side door with Mrs. Shaw just behind him. "Madam, what is it?" he asked.

"I need a ticket for the Edinburgh to Glasgow train," she said. "And Angela, if you please, I need a satchel of clothing and a traveling cape and some things for a train journey. Oh, do hurry!" Mrs. Shaw nodded and grabbed her skirts, rushing up the steps, and Guy went at a half run into the library.

"Buy the ticket when we get to Waverley Station," Dougal grumbled. "And wear whatever your grandmother can lend you. We have no time—we must go."

"I do not handle the cash. Mr. Hamilton handles the cash."

"I will pay for the blasted ticket myself," Dougal said.

"And he makes all my travel arrangements. We'll need a carriage brought round, too," Meg called over her shoulder as Dougal pulled her toward the door.

"We can take your carriage from here, but I have already hired a carriage from Glasgow to Oban, and all the rest. You'll have to travel with me—as my wife, I suppose," he said.

"I suppose that would be fine." She glanced up at him.

"Good. Here comes Mrs. Shaw," he said, as the young woman ran down the steps with a tapestry satchel in one hand, something cotton and lacy spilling from it. Dougal rushed over, grabbed it from her while thanking her, and ran back to the door where Meg waited.

The butler appeared from the shadows to open the door for them, and Guy rushed out of the library with a wallet in his hand, which he pressed into Meg's hands. "I think this will be sufficient for the trip, madam," he said. "If you need more—"

"I will take care of her expenses," Dougal said. "Thank you, and good day."

Meg embraced Mrs. Shaw, who then draped a black half cape on Meg's shoulders and helped her fasten a little black bonnet on her head and pull on gray kid gloves.

"Madam, you will need an escort," Mrs. Shaw said. "I'll gather my things."

"I have an escort. Mr. Stewart... is my husband."

"He's what?" Hamilton and Mrs. Shaw stared at her. "When?"

"We're married," Meg said, her cheeks flushed, "and we've been so for a very long time." She looked up at Dougal, who smiled. "It was a well-kept secret."

"Very well kept," Hamilton said, frowning.

"We'll renew our vows with a ceremony," Dougal added, "just as soon as we return from the Isles."

"Farewell," Meg said, and Dougal pulled her out the front door while her assistants and her butler gaped after them.

As they hastened through the yard toward the stables, Dougal took her arm. "I'm glad you're going with me after all."

"I want to be there when you confront Sir Frederick about the evil rumors he plans to spread."

"I'm referring to the hours of travel time we have ahead of us, when you will tell me all about the past seven years," he answered as they rushed along. "I want to know about Iain's birth. I want to hear everything—what he was like as an infant and as a smaller boy. What he said, what he did. I want to know what I've missed as our son was growing."

Meg slipped her arm around his waist, and he encircled her shoulders and hugged her to him.

"Now let's hurry," he said as the driver brought the carriage out of the coach house, "and find our son."

Chapter 22

"Out to the hard place, you say," Norrie said, "and you just coming in from Tobermory the now?" He worked the rudder as he spoke, with full sail unfurled on his fishing boat while a fast streaming wind moved them toward the Caran Reef.

"Aye, Norrie MacNeill, out to the hard place straightaway," Dougal answered. "I need to go to the sea rock immediately, but I want you to take Meg back to Caransay with you."

"I am going with you," Meg protested. She leaned toward him as she insisted, clutching her half cape at its buttoned collar. The journey to the Western Isles by train and carriage had taken so long that the day had grown dark, and she and Dougal had spent the night at the resort hotel in Tighnabruaich—as Mr. and Mrs. Stewart—and while the sweet joy of those hours with him lingered in her body and her heart, the urgency of traveling to the Isles as quickly as possible had not changed.

"You are not coming with me," Dougal said.

Norrie lifted a brow. "I am thinking that everyone is wanting to go out to the hard place today," he muttered.

Meg exchanged glances with Dougal. "Everyone?"

"Who else went out there?" Dougal asked sharply.

"A steamer came to Mull yesterday," he said, "with a group of men dressed all in black. They were wearing tall hats—like ravens, they looked, and ready to feast on your lighthouse, I am thinking."

"Quite possibly," Dougal said.

"They stayed the night in Tobermory and sailed out to the rock this morning. I saw them when I was there. The fellow who owns Guga was with them, the one who has come to see you, Margaret."

"Sir Frederick," Meg said quickly.

"He's the one. He said he saw you both on the mainland and that Dougal Stewart would know that he and the other gentlemen were going out to inspect the rock today. He said you might be along later, Mr. Stewart. A good thing I was still in Tobermory, fetching the mail from the mainland steamer, so that you did not have to hire a fisherman to take you over to the hard place," Norrie added pragmatically.

"I'll go with you out to the rock," Meg told Dougal firmly.

"You will not, Meg," he answered.

"Meg, is it?" Norrie asked mildly, hand resting on the rudder. He smiled a little. "If you're calling her Meg, you are now good friends, I am thinking." His blue eyes glinted.

"More than good friends, sir," Dougal said. "And she's not going out to the rock."

"I am," she said. "I must."

"Well, everyone wants to go to the rock. Wee Iain was a happy lad because Sir Frederick let him sail with them—"

Meg gasped. "Iain is with them?"

"What the devil!" Dougal growled.

"Ach,
the young one came with me to Tobermory this morning, and he wanted to ride the steamer ship back again, since all the men were on it, so he and Fergus went with them. Sir Frederick said it would be all right and that we could all trust him with the care of the lad."

"Thank God Fergus is with him, at least," Dougal murmured.

"I am going out to the rock with you," Meg said, and she looked at Dougal. "And no doubt of it."