Chapter Nine
He had not meant to kiss her, certainly not like this, his fingers sinking into her golden thicket of curls, his heart racing, fervent need flaring in him.
He wanted her, needed her, had for years, and was only realizing the strength of it.
He felt her heart racing too, her breath quickening as she circled her arms around his neck, pressed against him with a little whimper of need.
Now he fought an overwhelming urge—this place, this woman had a hold over him that was a form of irresistible magic.
He had wanted to show her that he was not the heartless, selfish fool she thought. He was not succeeding.
Stop. He pulled back, struggled for breath, sought to find reason again. But she moaned and sank against him, pulling him toward her, seeking his lips. She fitted so perfectly to him, her mouth so willing on his, her fingers tender on his jaw now, and threading through his hair.
One kiss, just one more, yet it became another, a breathless, wild chain of kisses, though he swore to himself this would be the last, that would be the last. She was so willing, so passionate, leaning in his arms like a reeling drunk. He needed to stop this.
But he slipped his hands down her back, shaped her hips, pressed her against him. Hardening like fire and stone, he could not hide his need from her.
The first time they had met on this very rock, she had been his salvation, and he had been hers. Now he wanted to keep her safe—from him in the moment.
He pulled back. Beyond the cave, no storm whipped the sea to wildness this time. There was sunshine and heat, glittering waves, sweet breezes. And friends calling out for them.
That sound was the stinging slap he needed.
“God, Meg,” he said hoarsely, taking her by the shoulders to put space between his body and hers, his breath heaving. Meg stood with eyes closed, chest rising, falling. He could feel her trembling. “You must think me a beast,” he said raggedly.
Her eyes opened, and in that beautiful blue-green, he saw tears shining. She raised a shaking finger to her lips, then touched his lower lip.
“Hush. It was not only you wanting this, then or now. Not just you.”
“Dougal!”
“Meg!”
Then came the crunch of boots over stone. His heart slammed. He had so much to say, wanting to erase the hurt he had done her, wanting to begin again, if such were possible.
“Listen, quickly,” he whispered, framing her face in his hands.
“I am so sorry.” He kissed her lightly, while she gave a breathy sob against his mouth.
“I never meant to hurt you. That night, I had no scheme. I just wanted to survive. If I had known who you were, where to find you, I would have come for you—”
Small kisses as he spoke, for she was magic to him, a lure for his soul, and now that he had found her, he could not risk losing her again. Their names were called again, just outside.
“We must go,” she whispered.
Lifting his hands, he stepped back, more air between them. “I wanted to find you. I tried. But I did not find you, and I did not expect to, because I thought—” He shook his head. It seemed even more ridiculous now.
“What?” Her eyes were glossed in tears, her lips rouged and lush from kisses.
“I thought you were not real. That I dreamed you. My head—I took a knock to the head when my boat went over. I was drunk, out on the water when I should not have been.” The truth out, he shrugged, ashamed to admit.
She stared. Then she laughed. “Drunk! And you thought me not real?” She laughed again, soft and quiet, shaking her head, looking away.
“I thought you were magic. But why were you—” He stopped as Alan and Norrie called again. “There is no time. Can you forgive me?” He smoothed fallen curls from her brow.
“I—I do not know. And I should tell—never mind. No time.” She frowned as if something troubled her. She stepped away.
“Seanair!” she called. “We are just here. Coming!”
*
“Dirty weather on the way,” Norrie said, glancing in the distance, pulling on the oars as he rowed toward shore.
Alan Clarke, wielding a second set of oars, murmured agreement.
Norrie’s large fishing boat was full that afternoon, Meg thought, turning to look at Dougal Stewart, seated across from her beside Evan Mackenzie, while she sat on a short crossbench in the bow between stacked ropes, folded nets at her feet.
To the west over the water, fast-moving dark clouds swallowed the sunlight and promised wind and rain before long. The boat plowed through waters gone rough and opaque, and Meg drew her plaid shawl closer.
Dougal examined the sky too. “As soon as the weather began to turn, I told the crew to leave the rock and cross over now rather than later,” he said. “We never know how large a storm will be by the time it hits that rock.” He sent a grim glance toward Meg, who looked away.
“There’s the crew, just leaving,” Evan said, pointing.
Waves slapped the sides of the boat, and Meg brushed droplets from her skirt. Then she noticed a huge fin thrusting through the water, gliding between their boat and the harbor.
“A basking shark!” She pointed as the men turned to look. Then she noticed other sharks skimming below the surface of the water, three or four in all, their bodies easily as long as the boat.
“Ach, baskers are not much to worry about,” Norrie said. “They have huge maws and tails as tall as my granddaughter, but no teeth to speak of. They eat fish and plankton, not people. Though they are known to carry off a wee man now and then if they’re feeling testy.”
“But they let them go, from what is said,” Meg replied. “They do not usually come this close to the harbor. But oh, they are huge, so magnificent!”
“Ugly beasts, though,” Alan said.
Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, Meg drew out her leather notebook and pencil, opened to a blank page, and began sketching, though the bouncing ride sometimes jerked the pencil’s path.
“She will capture that ugly beast on paper,” Dougal said.
“Look over there,” Mackenzie murmured as the boat bumped over the agitated waves. “That wee lad’s a bit small to be up on the headland on his own.”
“Sean! What the devil is he doing there?” Dougal asked.
“Sean?” Meg whirled to see a small boy standing on the crest of the headland, waving his arms in excitement as he saw their boat sailing toward the harbor.
“He loves to climb up there with the older children. But where are the others? And where is his grandmother? She would never let him go so high. Sean!” she called.
“Get down from there!” But her words were lost in the wind.
“Thora’s on the beach,” Norrie said. “She’s going up there now. No need to fret.”
Meg sighed in relief. But Thora went slowly up the rock, too slowly for comfort as Meg watched. The climb was not difficult, but it was steep, and though Thora was strong, she had years on her. Sean jumped about, waving wildly at the boat, enjoying his freedom while it lasted.
Raising her arms, Meg called again. “Sean! Go back!”
He leaped, skipped, flapped his arms happily. Thora was nearer the top now, beckoning frantically. Sean did not see her, running back and forth on the crusty rock. Gasping, Meg half stood in the boat.
Dougal reached out and took her arm to steady her. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “Thora is nearly there.”
As his grandmother reached the top and hurried toward him, Sean whirled and stumbled. Falling backwards, he plummeted over the edge and down, his small form pale against the massive dark headland.
Meg screamed, stood, and Dougal stood too, as the boat rocked beneath them. Pushing Meg to sit, he tore off his coat and kicked off his boots.
“Stay here,” he growled, and slipped into the water to disappear under the dark waves.
“Dougal!” she called, leaning to the side.
Mackenzie took her arm to balance her. “Careful. He will get the boy. Do you know the lad?”
“My son,” she said hoarsely. Mackenzie murmured something and sat her beside him, putting an arm around her shoulders.
Norrie gave a swift order, and Alan lunged to grab the rudder as they angled the boat toward the headland. Then Mackenzie took the rudder while Alan took up the oars again as the boat went swiftly through the rolling waves.
Ahead, Meg saw Dougal cut through the water with strong, even arm strokes.
Meg leaned to the side and saw Sean’s arms and head bobbing in the water.
She cried out, fearing Dougal might not reach the boy in time, even as the man tore through the water.
Seeing her son’s head disappear under the waves, she stood to grab the boat’s rim, ready to plunge in herself.
Mackenzie tugged her backward. “Stay here! Dougal will get him.”
Hearing shouts, she saw that men had launched a boat into the surf from the harbor beach, while a small crowd gathered on the sand. From the direction of Sgeir Caran, the workmen sailing behind them rowed harder now that the men saw what was happening.
Then Meg saw the shark fins turning to glide toward the splashing commotion of the swimmer and the floundering boy. She screamed out, while Mackenzie kept a steadying arm around her shoulders to prevent her from jumping into the water herself.
Norrie growled a command and Evan bent to grab a coiled rope, standing to position himself to toss it toward Dougal as they drew nearer.
The boy bobbed up again, arms flailing, then went under. Dougal was nearly there now, arrowing forward relentlessly. Pressing her hands to her mouth, Meg whispered a prayer under her breath, repeating it, heart pounding.