Taming the Heiress (39 page)

The crew who craned his platform upward, and Evan's as well, halted the divers' ascent often as a precaution. Feeling the deck stop again, Dougal clung to the ropes and took slow breaths, giving his lungs time to adapt. With a lurch, the platform began to move again.

Another wave cracked the planking against the rock. This time the impact spun him outward, and his boots slid off the wooden deck.

Scrabbling up the rocky slope, breathing as carefully as he could, he snatched the rope of the platform again and tried to step onto the shifting deck. Seeing Evan ascend slowly past him, Dougal gave him a reassuring gesture to show that all was well.

Well enough, he told himself, if he could get back on the platform. Propped precariously against the steep incline of the hillside, with a wealth of water sweeping around it, the deck bucked like a horse. Moments later, Dougal managed to climb on and tug at the rope again, signaling to be lifted upward.

A horrible sound grew to a loud rumble, and the world shuddered all around him. He glanced up to see the trussed granite block break loose from its moorings and begin to slide down the rocky slope. Dougal swung his weight to yank the platform out of the way, but as the stone grazed past, it caught the platform ropes and ripped the deck away from him.

Four tons of granite scraped to a halt, bumping past Dougal's shoulder and knee in a near miss. Silt and debris clouded the water to midnight darkness, and Dougal could feel the barrier of the immense stone just in front of him. The monster had missed him by inches. Breathing a sigh of shaky relief, he pushed upward to float past it.

But he could not move. His lead boot was caught by its thick toe ridge just under the corner of the granite block.

Chapter 23

The wind grew stronger, blowing Meg's cape, flapping the ribbons of her bonnet. The western sky condensed and thickened into a dark, boiling mass.

"That storm will blow over this way before nightfall, I am thinking," Norrie said, standing beside her.

She nodded, unable to shake her deep sense of fear. "Oh, thank God, they're coming up now," she said, seeing the commotion at the rim of the cliffside, where the diving platforms had been lowered. With Norrie, she ran to the iron railing embedded near the edge and looked down.

A diver burst out of the water, clinging to his platform ropes, and the men hauled him upward. The man gestured insistently as Alan and others unscrewed the bolts that secured his helmet to the wide brass collar that covered his shoulders.

Meg saw Evan's head emerge, saw him gasp in a breath. "Dougal," he said. "He's caught! The block broke loose."

"Oh God!" Meg rushed forward. "Is he hurt?"

"I don't know yet," Evan replied, shaking his head.

Alan ran to the speaking tube and set the funnel to his mouth. "Dougal! Are you there!" He pressed it to his ear for a reply, then nodded, waving to the others to show that he heard something. "His foot is caught, he says," Alan told them. "He's not harmed, but he cannot get free."

"What of his hoses?" Evan snapped.

"Open and fine so far, though pressed between the incline and the stone block," Alan replied, after asking.

Mackenzie grabbed his helmet from the man who held it. "I'm going back down."

"If you do that, man, you risk your own life," Alan said. "Your lungs cannot take the up and down of the pressures. Let someone else go down."

"Who else is there to do it?" Evan growled. "No one else is trained to use this equipment but Dougal, me, and you, Alan. And—well, you've got a dread of the water."

Alan frowned. "I'll go doon the deep if it's needed."

"Good man," Evan said. "But I'm suited up." He put the helmet back on, gesturing for the crew men to screw it into place. Within seconds, he was ready and waiting on the platform, which was quickly lowered back into the water.

Alan called orders to those manning the air pumps and hose cranks. "Give Dougal as much slack as you can, and keep the airflow steady," he reminded them. "Aye, that's it." He spoke into the funnel, then listened to Dougal's answer.

Meg paced, watching while the platform surged down into the water. She whirled, skirt billowing, and came face-to-face with Sir Frederick, who grabbed her hard at the elbow.

"What do you want?" she snapped. "Let me go."

"Come away from the edge," he said. "It isn't safe."

"Leave me be!" She broke loose and began pacing again.

"I want to help," he said.

"That seems hard to believe. Just stay back and let them do what must be done."

"I am not so heartless as you think," Frederick said. "I was wrong. I was desperate, loving you. I may have acted poorly—"

"Poorly!" She laughed bitterly.

"Madam, I regret my behavior. I thought ill of Stewart, but now he's in great difficulty. Let me help."

She stared at him in mistrust. Norrie joined them, and stood staring equally at Frederick, who looked uncomfortable.

"If you've had a change of heart," Norrie said, "go help with the cranks and the pulleys—and leave Meg be."

Frederick turned away with a brisk nod, and took off his coat, quickly offering to lend a hand on the crank arm of one of the giant spools that held the hoses and ropes. Norrie turned away to help the men who were guiding the ropes and hoses that spilled over the side of the rock into the water.

Noticing that Alan was still speaking to Dougal through the funnel and hose, Meg ran to him. "Please, let me talk to him," she said, and Alan handed her the funnel.

She held the metal cone to her mouth. "Dougal," she said. "Dougal!" Then she moved the cup to her ear for the reply.

"Meg?" His voice sounded strange, tinny, so far away. The funnel smelled of the rubber hosing.

"Dougal!" she gasped, and Alan set a cautioning hand on her shoulder. She drew a breath and calmed herself. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine. My boot is caught. Evan is here. We will work it free, my love."

"My love," she echoed. "I'm here. I'm waiting." She handed the speaking tube back to Alan and stood by while he spoke with Dougal about what was next to do with the ropes and the great steel crane, which the men were now wheeling into place to help haul the stone away and free Dougal.

The wind tore over the rock, whipping at her skirts and cape. Meg set a hand on her bonnet and braced her other arm over her chest, looking west, seeing where the sky roiled, gray and foreboding. Far out to sea, the breakers rose, white with froth, peaking and rushing toward the reef. Droplets of rain spattered her, cold and stinging.

She remembered, suddenly, vividly, standing on top of this very rock in another lashing storm. Dougal had been with her then, his body and his courage shielding her.

Alan spoke into the funnel again and looked toward the crews who worked furiously on the machinery, ropes, and hoses behind him. "We need more hands on the ropes to help Evan haul that stone off of Dougal!" Men moved around quickly, intensifying the effort above the water.

Meg turned to Alan. "How can they move that stone at all down there? I don't understand. Can we not just lift it up using the ropes and cranes?"

"It's not so easy," he said grimly. "The stone has to be trussed with ropes to lift it. But Evan and Dougal can shift it just enough to free Dougal's foot."

"But it weighs tons!"

"On land," he said. "Down there 'tis different, the weight of things is lighter. The stone can be shifted by two men." He stripped off his coat as he spoke and unbuttoned his vest. "I beg your pardon, Miss MacNeill—er, Lady Strathlin, but I'm going down there to help." He pulled off his boots and tossed them aside, so that he stood in shirtsleeves and stockinged feet. His thick ash-blond hair ruffled in the wind, and his linen shirt blew flat against his broad chest and heavily muscled arms.

"But Alan," she said, "you are... bothered by the water."

"My friend is in danger and I canna stay up here a moment longer," he said firmly, and turned to inform the men that he was diving in to help. "Dougal is but forty or fifty feet down!"

"You have no gear," Meg said.

"A man can go down that far without gear, just holding his breath—but he canna stay down for long. I'll do what I can, then come up for a breath." He handed the funnel to Meg. "Talk to him. Let him hear your voice. And pray for us, lass. It is a grim thing, this, and I will not lie to you." He turned away.

Pausing on the cliff edge, beaten by winds and dappled by the rains, Alan then dove cleanly over the side. Meg watched him cut through the water.

"Dougal," she said into the funnel, "Alan is coming down."

"What the devil!" Dougal replied.

"He says he can help you push the stone," she told him.

"Aye," Dougal replied. Then there was silence.

"Dougal?"

"Meg—air..."

"Dougal!"

Silence. Meg caught her breath, then looked down over the side. Bubbles rose where the various hoses and ropes entered the water, and she saw shadows moving far below. The surface of the water was increasingly agitated. "Dougal?"

She turned, saw Frederick and the other men busy on the cranks and pulleys and hoses, saw Fergus with Iain close at his side, watching from a distance, saw Norrie hurrying toward her.

"He's not answering me," she said. Norrie took the funnel.

"Dougal Stewart!" he called. "Dougal!"

Meg looked down at the greenish, slopping surface of the water, roiling with peaks and waves. He had to live—had to. She could not bear to stand on the rock and wait, listening, watching, hoping, while he was so far below, in trouble.

She could not live without him now.

She wanted to do what Alan had done, tear off her clothing and dive down there too. Dougal had saved Iain and so many others. He had saved her, too, over and over, from the first moment she had met him—saved her, body and soul.

Tearing off her bonnet, she set it aside, hardly caring when it skittered over the edge into the water. She was already working the buttons of her cape and bending to undo the loops and buttons that fastened her ankle boots.

"What are you doing?" Norrie asked. He lifted the funnel again. "Dougal Stewart, answer me!" he called.

Below, Alan burst out of the water, gasping, treading in the waves. "The hoses!" he called. "Dougal's hoses are caught! I need a lever to move the stone!" One of the men climbed downward and extended a long iron rod. Alan snatched it, then dove down againt.

Meg lifted her skirts and reached beneath to undo the tapes of her petticoats. Without a crinoline, four petticoats provided fashionable fullness, and she wished desperately that she had worn the simple garments common to Isleswomen. She tore at the buttons of her blouse.

"What in blazes are you doing?" Frederick called, his hands busy on a cranking handle. "Here, you cannot do that, madam!"

She ignored him, slipping out of her blouse, dropping her skirt to stand in chemise and knickers. "Get this thing off me," she said to Norrie, yanking at the laces of her stays.

"Madam!" Frederick said. Some of the other men protested.

"Turn away," she said over her shoulder as her grandfather gave the corset cords a yank, "though I'm sure you've all seen a lady in her knickers. The men are needed on the equipment. There is no one else to spare. Fergus, keep Iain with you, or he'll fall in," she called, as Fergus ran toward her with Iain chasing behind him.

She had to do this. She could not bear to watch this any longer, knowing that she could help as well as any of the men, and better than some, with her smaller frame and nimble hands and her ability to swim and dive. Not all the men could help, she knew. Fergus, for all his fishing skills, did not swim well.

"Lady Strathlin!" one of the commissioners in black called.

"I'm going in," she insisted, while the men stared at her in dumbfounded shock. She walked to the edge of the cliff.

"Dougal Stewart," Norrie said into the funnel, "your lass is coming down there after you. Go find your kelpie, girl," he added to her.

The wind bit cold and cruel through the thin cotton layers of her garments. She stood in the open, looked down at the water below, bent her knees and poised her hands.