Taming the Heiress (38 page)

"Aye, then," Dougal agreed, frowning, while Norrie grunted in amusement. Meg realized with relief that her grandfather did not suspect Frederick might scheme to harm anyone.

She reached over to clasp Dougal's hand, his answering grip strong on her gloved fingers. They rode in silence, the waves splashing against the sides of the boat as Norrie shifted the rudder to speed them through the currents.

She drew a deep and anxious breath. Ahead loomed the long, distinctive shape of Sgeir Caran. As they drew closer, she saw the dark shapes of men moving about on top of the rock, although she could not identify anyone from this distance.

Soon Norrie took up the oars to guide the boat slowly and carefully through the treacherous path of the reef as they approached Sgeir Caran from a southerly direction. He concentrated on his task, and no one spoke. Meg watched the powerful surges and eddies as the water sliced and swirled through the maze of upthrusting and submerged rocks, and she glanced anxiously at Dougal. He smiled, quick and somber, and squeezed her hand.

* * *

The black bulk of the rock soon loomed over them, blocking much of the daylight in its shadow. Norrie drew in beside the quay, boat rising and falling with the slop of the waves. Two men came down the steps to assist them, one of them Alan Clarke.

"Hullo!" Alan said heartily as he assisted them onto the stone quay. "It's good to see you, Miss MacNeill! What a pleasant surprise." He turned to Dougal. "You're back just in time, sir."

"I know," Dougal said as they climbed the steps cut into the rock. Norrie came with them, as well, refusing mildly to turn back to Caransay; Meg realized that her grandfather's acute perception and natural curiosity had alerted him to the tension that she and Dougal felt. "I hear we have visitors."

"Oh, them," Alan said. "They want only to look at what we're doing. Thinking of contributing to the funds for this lighthouse and future projects, so it's a verra good thing."

"Indeed?" Dougal turned to look at Meg, who frowned.

"Though it's an inconvenience to have them here at such a time," Alan continued.

"Such a time?" Dougal asked. "I assume you've been working on the repairs following that gale just before I left."

"Aye, we've cleaned up a good bit o' the damage and repaired what we could. We've retrieved all but one of the stones that were swept into the water, and that one is roped and ready to bring up. But there is a problem with the rock beneath the water, sir," Alan said. "Evan Mackenzie went doon the deep to check the rock after our repairs—we were bringing up those dressed stones that fell, too—and he discovered a crack in the foundation stone."

"What!"

"Aye, sir. A sizeable fissure, from what he says. He'll be glad to see you're back, as will the rest of the men. Evan has been anxious to go doon to have a better look at it and to begin measures to shore it up. I hope you recovered some funding. We'll need it. Evan thinks we're going to need to build a sea wall."

Dougal swore and began to ask Alan further questions. As they reached the topmost surface of the rock, Meg felt the wind push over the plateau, whipping her cloak and skirt.

Evan Mackenzie called a greeting and hastened toward them, and Dougal ran to speak with him while Norrie, Alan, and other members of the work crew gathered around.

Meg turned and saw that a group of men in dark suits and hats, some with canes, all of them looking out of place on the sea rock, were strolling around the foundation cavity. Sir Frederick Matheson stood in the midst of the visitors. His gloved hand clasped Iain's as the boy walked beside him.

"Iain!" she called, running forward, skirts billowing. Seeing her, the boy broke free and ran to her. She caught him in her arms, dropping to her knees to embrace him, her heart pounding. Straightening, she looked up at the man who approached.

"Sir Frederick," she said coolly.

"Why, Lady Strathlin, what a fetching picture. And rather surprising to see you out here in such a wild place."

She touched Iain's shoulder. "Might I ask why you are here, sir?"

"I am interested in contributing funds to the lighthouse," he said. "I came out with some members of the Northern Lighthouse Commission, who wanted to see the progress on this rock."

"But, Sir Frederick," she said pointedly, "to my knowledge, you have no funds to contribute. You've been borrowing from me for the last three years. I must wonder why you are making promises to the lighthouse fund. Have you some other source of wealth?"

"Well, to be honest, madam, I expect to be married soon to a very wealthy baroness. Please don't tell me that you have changed your mind, Margaret. That would be so... unpleasant." As he smiled, he reached out to touch Iain's golden head.

She pulled the boy away from him, hiding Iain partly behind the fullness of her skirt and petticoats. "I have most definitely changed my mind," she said. "I will not marry you, Frederick. In fact, I cannot marry you, ever. It would be impossible."

He glowered down at her. "You gave me your promise."

"The lady is already married," Dougal said, striding toward them. "Good day, Sir Frederick." He tipped his hat.

"She's what?" Frederick barked out. "What a preposterous thing to say. And what would you know about it?"

"I am her husband," Dougal said, shifting his arm so that Meg could slip her hand in the crook of his elbow, a natural gesture of familiarity. She tilted her head prettily.

"And I am his wife," she said.

"That's impossible," Frederick muttered. "I left you only a few days ago! You scarcely know each other."

"We were married years ago," Dougal said, glancing down at Meg, "in a simple Hebridean ceremony. We were... estranged for a while. But we have happily resolved our differences."

"I refuse to believe that. If you think to save the lady from the embarrassment she has earned, sir, it will not suffice. I suppose you know whose child that is."

"Aye, we all know whose child that is," Norrie said, walking up to them. "Come here, lad," he said to Iain. "Fergus is over there looking for you. Run and see what he wants." Iain took off.

"Walk," Meg called without thinking. "He did not mean run!"

"That lad," Norrie said, looking at Frederick, "is the child of my granddaughter and her husband, this fine fellow, Mr. Stewart, who was a visitor to our reef and our island several years ago. They were wed then, as they told you. I am thinking all of Caransay's residents will be ready to swear to that."

Meg looked at her grandfather, smiling through sudden tears. "Yes," she said, turning back. "All of them will swear it."

"Though we are waiting for another ceremony to renew those vows," Norrie said, looking hard at Meg and Dougal.

"Preposterous," Frederick said. He turned to the crowd gathering around them, made up of lighthouse commissioners and workmen, including Alan and Evan. "This is absurd!"

"It's true," Meg said. "I have known my husband for a long time. We met years ago on this very spot." Meg smiled at Dougal, her hand snugged in his arm.

"We could not tell anyone before this," Dougal said. "We kept it secret, for it was an awkward situation until we decided that we could carry on with our marriage."

"Congratulations, Lady Strathlin," Evan Mackenzie said.

"Lady Strathlin!" Alan Clarke exclaimed. Dougal leaned forward to murmur a fast explanation while Alan gaped at her.

Evan bowed to Meg, and she offered her hand. "Your husband is a fine man, and a lucky one, too," he said.

"Ah, thank you, Lord Glencarron," she said, as Evan kissed her gloved knuckles. "How very nice to see you again."

"And you, madam," he murmured. "Meg, I've known you from the first," he whispered, smiling, his lips close to her glove. "I saw you at a concert last year in Edinburgh, and I never forgot bonny Lady Strathlin."

"Thank you for keeping it to yourself," she said.

Evan released her hand. "Would I ruin my lady's holiday?" He smiled and turned to Dougal. "Whenever your marriage took place, sir, I can honestly say I am delighted. And the news of a secret marriage—and a secret child, am I to believe?—will simply delight everyone who hears it. I will certainly add my hearty approval of such a romantic circumstance to any who might care to hear my opinion." He fixed Matheson with a stare.

"Thank you," Meg breathed. "Thank you."

Evan then glanced at the black-clad, somber men who stood nearby. Most of them nodded, smiled, or murmured congratulations.

"Lord Glencarron?" Frederick demanded. "The son and heir of the Earl of Kildonan?"

"The very one, sir," Evan said. "And you are—?" Matheson sputtered while Meg introduced him. "You seem to be disappointed in the lady's marriage, Sir Frederick, though I have no doubt you are the sort of gentleman who can be gracious about it."

Matheson mumbled something, then turned on his heel and stalked off, accompanied by a few of the commissioners.

Evan turned to Dougal. "Are you ready, sir?"

"Aye," Dougal said, and he turned to Meg. "We're going down to look at the flaw in the rock."

"Now?" she said. "But the waves are picking up."

"Just for a few minutes," Dougal said. "I need to see it for myself, so that we can best decide what to do about it, if anything. I'll be right back, love," he said. "We can safely stay down for only ten minutes or so. You know that. Iain might find our diving venture quite interesting. If you'll send him along, we'll show him the gear as we're getting ready."

She nodded and watched him walk away with Evan. Frowning, she felt a heavy sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

All seemed resolved with Frederick, who could not threaten her again. His objections and arguments had been laid to rest.

There was nothing to worry about, she told herself.

As the wind whipped at her skirts, she looked out to sea and saw how choppy and opaque the waves had become. Far to the west, the sky was gray and heavy.

And then she knew the source of her unease.

* * *

Gauntleted hands careful on the curving slope of the rock, Dougal followed its contours. The water was neither as clear nor as still as he liked for the task, but he could see well enough to judge the dimension of the flaw.

Evan pointed to a particular area, and Dougal made his way there, his steps clumsy, a strange slow dance to the click and cadence of the air that rushed in and out of his helmet valves.

Nearby, the two platforms that had lowered the divers banged rhythmically against the side of the rocky underwater hill. Higher on the incline, the single dressed stone that had tumbled into the sea was trussed with heavy ropes, ready to be craned back to the surface. Seeing that, Dougal realized and appreciated how much work his crew had done in his absence.

Turning back to check the rock face, he soon saw the long black fissure. It split the rock from well above his head to the ocean floor, which varied in depth here, rolling like the hilly land above the water.

He walked up the slope with Evan, so that he stood not far beneath the surface. He could easily see the dark mass of the rock rising above the water, could see a boat or two on the surface while waves rushed overhead. The water was flowing much faster, he noticed. They could not stay down long.

From the canvas bag at his belt, he removed a measuring tape made of oiled cloth and stretched it over the crevice. Floating there, tugged by the underwater currents even in his heavy weighted suit, he managed to estimate the length of the crack, moving hand over hand along the rock. Reaching his arm deep into the fissure, he realized it was nearly as long as his arm. A few small fish drifted out of the crevice, and he waved them away.

Making his way toward Evan, he caught his attention with gestures. Floating, sinking, Mackenzie measured the rock with Dougal, then signaled that they should go up to the surface.

Dougal returned a wave. He had seen what he needed to see down here. The split in the rock was large enough to be of some concern, particularly considering the weight of the gigantic tower that would be erected on its surface.

"Dougal." Alan Clarke's voice came through the speaking tube, surprisingly clear through yards of tubing.

"Aye," Dougal answered. "All is well down here. Up there?"

"A storm is brewing in the west. It will not reach us for an hour or more, Norrie says, but the wind and waves are strong. Come up. We are preparing to return to Caransay."

In the few minutes that he and Evan had been underwater, the water had grown murky as light faded above the surface, and the water currents had become strong and noticeably colder.

"Aye, Alan," he answered. "We'll come up."

Dougal pointed upward, and Mackenzie motioned that he understood. They walked slowly toward the wooden platforms suspended on ropes and hovering nearby. Dougal stepped onto the wooden deck, tugged three times on one of the ropes to indicate his readiness, and held on.

Within a minute or so, he felt the platform being drawn upward through the water. Holding on to the ropes, he glanced down to see Evan stepping onto the second platform.

A strong wave washed through like a train, smashing Dougal's platform against the broad side of the sea rock, knocking so hard that he was nearly thrown from the wooden planks. He held on, bending his knees to keep his balance. Reaching out with one foot, he shoved the platform away from the rock, where it had wedged and slowly felt it rise again.