Chapter Eight #2
“Not yet. He is having a fine time. But if you want to leave, I am sure you could convince him.”
“Soon. He really is interested and enjoying the visit.”
“And you?” He tipped his head.
“Very interesting,” she said. “I did not expect some of it. The monster from the deep, for one thing.”
He chuckled softly, nodded. She wondered if he caught the reference to their own meeting. “Well then. I see you found more birds to draw in your journal. They have not all left.”
“Not yet,” she said, closing the journal and getting to her feet. Dougal offered his hand in assistance. Hesitating, she accepted it, feeling again that thrill of comfort in his touch. Suddenly, she withdrew her hand and quickly stood. She’d made a decision.
“Mr. Stewart, let me show you something. This way.”
Runnels of water over ages had worn an inclined pathway in the stone, and Meg took the slope upward, Dougal following, both stepping carefully on the damp rock.
To one side was the entrance of their little cave. She saw him glance there, then at her. She ignored that and turned to face the sea, pointing outward.
“Look there.” On innumerable ledges and protrusions in the rock, hundreds of birds clustered, most of them white with black markings.
“Gannets. They come here every year to nest. Thousands of them, raising their young where they can find shelter—” From storms, she nearly said, too aware of how close they stood to the cave that had sheltered them.
“Shelter from storms, aye,” he said quietly.
She drew a breath and went on. “Shearwaters nest on the rock too, and others. Over there, under that outcrop—do you see the little dark bird on its nest?” Its feathering gleamed in the sunlight. “A shy little petrel. They are pretty little birds that skim close to the water.”
“They make their nests beneath overhanging rocks where they cannot be seen,” he said.
He all but quoted from Lady Strathlin’s indignant letter about the birds.
“Puffins nest here too,” she went on quickly.
“They prefer the other end of the rock, where there is more consistent sunlight. And seals gather to sun themselves there”—she pointed downward—“where there is a stretch of pebbly sand.”
“Do you see whales and the like here?” He was watching the shimmering, moving sea.
“Sometimes. We also see dolphins and occasionally sharks. The dolphins flee if the sharks come around, though they are usually basking sharks, and not harmful.”
“You must have come here often to know so much about this rock.” There was so much unsaid in his words that she caught her breath, looked away.
“Most of my life,” she said quietly. “Now I come out here as often as I can.” She lifted her face to the wind that was fresh on her cheeks and ruffled her hair. “A peaceful place in its way. And a worthy habitat for many creatures.
“I do appreciate that, though you think I do not.”
She slanted a sideways glance at him. If he realized she shared Lady Strathlin’s opinions, he was too close to guessing the connection.
“I promise we will not disturb the bird colonies or the seals or anything else here. We will just make room for the lighthouse and be on our way.”
“How long might that take?” Still, she did not look his way.
“Longer than you’d like, I suspect. It will take time. I have supervised putting up lighthouses elsewhere, and I must say the wildlife did not seem bothered except during construction. Later they came back, even with an enormous lighthouse standing there. Does that reassure you?”
“Some,” she admitted.
“Take that message to Lady Strathlin, though I suspect she will never trust me. But I tell you, Meg MacNeill—I am sincere in this. People have died on this reef. I cannot forget that.”
“Nor can I, Mr. Stewart,” she said stiffly. “Another thing about this place you should know. Look up there.” She indicated the tall stack rock thrusting out of the water, not far from the cliff edge where they stood. “That is Creig nan Iolair.”
“Craig nan yoolur,” he repeated. “What does it mean?”
“Eagle Rock.”
“Ah. I heard that eagles sometimes nest around here.”
She had included that in the letter too. “They have built aeries up there for generations. Golden eagles go soaring around this rock, and sea eagles nest up there too. The white-tailed iolair mhar, the rarest of eagles in Scotland.”
“So you worry that the lighthouse will keep the eagles away as well.”
“The eagles know they are safe here.”
“And I promise you they will always be safe,” he said firmly.
“But all the noise and activity in this peaceful sanctuary could disturb them.”
“Once the lighthouse is done, the rock will be quiet again, with just one or two keepers in residence. And boats have always gone back and forth. Peace will reign again. I promise—”
“You cannot promise!” she burst out. Thoughts of birds and lighthouses fell away as the hurt of years overtook her. “You cannot promise me anything, Dougal Stewart!”
She turned to walk away, but his hand lashed out to take her arm and pull her back. “Meg,” he said gruffly. He turned her swiftly, brought her close, so that she felt his heat, felt the subtle tug between his body and hers, and the answering whirl in her belly.
She pushed at him, aware that they were out of sight of others here. “Leave me be!”
His hands closed around her wrist and he held her arm against his chest. He lowered his face toward hers as if he would kiss her. Wanting to resist, she also craved his touch, craved something different, something better and stronger between them.
He only rested his brow on hers. “Meg MacNeill, be still and hear me out.”
“What,” she said petulantly, not giving in, though she felt herself soften. Her knees went soft beneath her, and she closed her eyes—but she was still ready to fight in defense of all the hurt, all the years of wondering, resenting, and longing.
“Let go,” she gasped. “I do not want to talk to you.”
“Just listen,” he growled, keeping her in place.
“You have nothing to say that I want to hear, and you cannot hold me against my will.”
“I thought to prevent you from slapping me again.”
“Why, are you going to kiss me?”
“If you like,” he murmured, his brow pressed to hers, his breath upon her cheek. She both longed for and resisted a kiss from him. His lips brushed her cheek. Her legs felt so weak that she needed his support.
He drew back. “I just want to talk.”
“We have nothing to say.”
“I owe you an apology.”
“Too late for that.”
“Allow me to apologize for the kiss when we were on the machair. It was not the time.”
“It was not.” She crabbed her fingers on his shirt, grabbing, wanting to push him, run, never look back. Yet even more, she wanted to stay, listen, know more about that night. His fingers were strong on her wrist, and he slipped his free hand to the small of her back.
“Let me speak before you claw me to bits.”
She tightened her fingers, pressed skin through cloth. “Seven years,” she hissed. “You come back here after seven years and want to apologize!”
“Seven years, I searched for you, lass. I did not think I could find you. And now you reject me soundly. Fair enough. I understand.” His tone was as wry as it was gentle.
“Did you expect a happy reunion?” She wished she had a hand free to slap him again—even though part of her wanted him to pull her into his arms, kiss away the hurt, help dissolve the bitterness. She wanted to be free of resentment. But she did not know how to express that.
“Once I saw you and realized who you were, I wanted to make up for what I had done. I thought you did not remember me. So I hoped a kiss would remind you. I suppose it was ill done.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Let me go. I am not going to slap you.”
He dropped his hands away, though he still stood close. “As for that night, I do not know why you were there, or quite what happened. My memory of it is very dim.”
“I remember it,” she said frostily. Truthfully, she had felt foggy that night too, having taken the potion Mother Elga had prepared.
He pursed his mouth, nodded. “That was a fearsome storm, and in the dark and the rain, I was not sure—I thought—” He paused. “You will think me mad if I tell you.”
“I thought you were a brutal cad.” She stepped back. “You should leave this rock and the island. And me.”
“I will stay until the work is done. But I will leave you be, if that is what you want. First, please hear me out.” He pulled her back gently but firmly. “This is not pleasant thing to revisit, I know, but best we get through it and be done. What, exactly, did I do?”
“You do not know?”
“I have an idea.” He watched her steadily. “It is not clear.”
Her recollection had never been all that clear either. But she knew one thing for certain. “You had your way with me and left me in a boorish manner.” She leaned toward him, anger rising again, fueled by years.
“Left you! My dear lass, you are the one left me. I awoke to find you gone.”
“I was still there. I saw the boat that you took. I saw men come to fetch you, no doubt the men who left you there to have your fun. You had a scheme.”
His brow puckered. “Scheme! Just what have you believed all this time?”
Meg saw true bewilderment in his eyes. He held her wrist, and she did not fight that.
“I know what I saw. Men came to get you. So they must have left you on the rock the night before, guessing I might be there. The storm stranded us, and we stayed. And you left at dawn. I was in the boat with Seanair. He had come to fetch me.”
“I had no idea that I would end up on that rock. I swear to you. Those were fishermen who saw me standing there. I thought you had gone.”
“I watched you and saw that I had been used. Betrayed.”
He swore softly, shook his head. “Not the case. But—why were you there?”
“My grandmothers sent me there for the night. And you know exactly why. It is the reason you came there.”
He shook his head. “You are wrong.”
“You expect me to believe your tale of fishermen?”
“More than that. A tale of shipwreck.”
She huffed in disbelief and shook her head. Hearing voices calling out, she turned to see Alan Clarke and Norrie standing on another rise in the rock.
He looked up too. “They will find us. Come here.” Tugging on her wrist, he led her into the shadows and down a bit, where the sea swirled in little pools and eddies near the dark arch of the narrow cave. He ducked inside with her, though she held back at first—then went with him.
“Remember this place?” he asked.
“I do. I thought you could not recall anything.”
“Some things from that night, aye. Other moments are gone.” Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her swiftly, pressing her back against the rock wall, his hands resting on her shoulders.
Warily, she watched him, her heart pounding hard now that they stood inside this place. Beyond the entrance, rather than a raging storm, she heard the cadence of the waves, and heard men’s voices. Then the crunch of stones as Alan and Norrie came looking for them.
“We must go,” she insisted. “They will think we fell into the sea—”
“Wait a moment.” He bent close, his breath touching her lips. Resistance fell away from her like a lead weight and she grabbed his hard-muscled arms, seeking support even as she tilted her head to meet him as his lips gently covered hers.
Allowing that kiss, she felt a shift, as if her innermost heart opened, wanting to let him into her life, go where this could lead.
One kiss and the next, tender and slow, began to fill the well heart that had been empty for too long.
She caught back a sob, desperately wishing time could slip back to change their very first meeting, remake it, redesign it for happiness.
Then she thought of her son, born of passion in a wild storm.
He was the joy of her life, and she would protect him.
And Dougal Stewart must not discover the truth about the boy.
In that moment, his kisses transformed, deep and urgent as he pulled her hard into his embrace.
Doubt cautioned her to pull back, but she paid no heed, for as his kisses built, an intense and willing need rose in her.
His touch, his very presence—he was here and words could wait.
Just a man, she knew that now, but he had an irresistible magic, like a sea wave carrying her along.