Chapter Ten
Days later, seated on the sand, Meg laughed as Sean danced a circle around her to show how he would cavort at the ceilidh, the celebration the islanders were planning in honor of his rescue.
While she laughed, Sean suddenly stopped, staring.
She turned to see a man approach. Dressed for the city in dark suit and top hat, he used a cane to make his way over the sands.
“Sir Roderick!” she said, getting to her feet.
“My dear Lady Strathlin,” he murmured. “How good to find you here, so clearly enjoying your holiday.”
She brushed sand from her skirts, avoiding his outstretched hand. “Whatever are you doing out here? We had no word of it.”
“A sudden decision.” He smiled and bowed, cane in one gloved hand. Tall and solidly built, he was neatly dressed and out of place, yet hardly a speck of sand clung to him. It would not dare, Meg thought. “Mother and I were on Mull, as I informed you earlier.”
She nodded, recalling that. He was striking in appearance, with a proud aristocratic air, a hawk-like nose, long-lidded eyes, oblong features. Two decades older than Meg, he was graying in his side whiskers and jowls padded his jawline.
She never felt entirely at ease when she met his gaze, for his brown eyes were so dark that they seemed oddly unreadable.
His eyes were shrewd, his character sometimes cunning, though she had always believed that only reflected his pragmatic character.
As Lady Strathlin, she had learned to trust him in financial matters, and he had gained her sympathy after the unexpected death of his wife two years earlier, for she saw how genuinely he suffered and seemed to soften.
“Little man,” Sir Roderick told Sean, “go and play.” With a startled look at Meg, Sean ran off.
He turned back to Meg, eyes glinting. “My dear, how quaint you look today. If this is how you dress when you take a holiday here, I wish I had thought to join you before this. Playing the provincial shepherdess! I will play King Cophetua to your beggar maid.”
“Not necessary.” She brushed her hands self-consciously over her plain skirt and dug her bare feet a little into the sand to hide her toes. “What are you doing here, Roderick?”
“Your grandfather brought me out. I saw him in Tobermory, and since I was in the Isles for a few days with Mother, I thought to come over to Caransay at your invitation, my dear.”
Puzzled, she looked down the beach to where a few fishermen worked on nets. A boat was sailing back from Sgeir Caran, she saw then, with several men inside. She wondered if Dougal Stewart might be with them. She noticed Norrie on the beach, watching the sea.
“My invitation?” She realized then he would not have received her reply to his note. Perhaps he had misunderstood silence to be agreement. “Now that you are here, I hope you will enjoy our little island for a few days.”
“A pretty place.” He looked around, gloved hands folded on his cane.
He was stiff and proper, and wholly out of context on that beach.
“I thought you might appreciate some intelligent company here, with little to do but watch the sea and…play in the sand.” He glanced toward Sean, who was digging a hole with a sizeable shell.
“I hope you are taking care of your skin. My mother says fine pale skin is one of a woman’s best assets.
You have some color from the sun, and a few freckles. She will not be pleased.”
Her hat hung down her back on a ribbon. She did not put it on, and thought of the almond cream his mother—a very opinionated woman—had sent. “How kind of your mother to think of my complexion. Will you be staying long?” She hoped not. “I will have my housekeeper make up a room for you.”
“I only came out for the day. Norman MacNeill will arrange for someone to take me back to the Isle of Mull. Mother and I are staying at the resort at Tighnabruaich so she could relax. But I wanted a chance to speak with you.”
“How kind of you to think of me.” She wished he had stayed on Mull.
“Walk with me, my dear.” He offered his arm.
She did not take it, though she walked beside him.
In her bare feet, she soon fell out of step with his stride.
In the past several months, he had gone from helpful cousin and banker to showing an eager interest in her that she found unsettling.
Wanting to bring up the subject of their supposed engagement, she wanted to go about it without hurting his feelings.
He seemed sincere, she would give him that.
Glancing down the beach, she saw the boat draw in, and Dougal Stewart disembarked with the others.
She knew him from a distance, recognized every nuance of the way he moved, with ease and confidence.
His shoulders were broad in a linen shirt and dark vest, his hair gold-streaked in the sunlight.
He shaded his eyes and looked down the beach, then lifted a hand in a brief salute.
Her heart leaped a little at that small, private gesture.
“Did that man just wave at you?” Roderick asked.
“Did he?” She shrugged.
“Forward! How long do you plan to stay on the isle this time, my dear?”
“I am not sure. A week or more. The weather has been mild, and it is so peaceful here that I am not eager to return to Edinburgh.”
“You’ve had some excitement lately, from what Mr. MacNeill said. A child was rescued—quite a daring feat, from what your grandfather said. His own great-grandson.” He tipped a brow at her.
She said nothing. Of course Roderick did not know about Sean. Someday she would have to tell him, but so far had never found enough reason to go into detail.
“Quite a daring rescue,” he went on. “This Mr. Stewart who is determined to build that dreadful lighthouse is something of a daredevil, from what I hear. He made another such rescue last year, apparently. Some men simply must act the hero.” He sighed.
“Another rescue?” she asked.
“He saved some men working on a bridge that collapsed, I think. But I am sure there were plenty of others there to help. Perhaps he just likes having the credit.”
“We are all grateful to Mr. Stewart. If not for his quick action, Sean might have drowned.”
“That little fellow over there?” He looked back at the child playing in the sand. Sean, looking up, picked up a large shell and followed. Since his rescue, he had not wanted to be far from Meg.
“Aye,” she answered. “He is…kin to us here on Caransay.”
“Margaret.” Roderick took her elbow in a tense grip. He stopped, turned to face her.
He was very tall, the black top hat making him tower over her.
His side-whiskers were shaped in the long fashion called Dundrearies.
She did not find such hairy feathering attractive, preferring Dougal Stewart’s simple habit of shaving every few days, so that his dark whiskers evenly shaded the planes of his face in a very becoming way.
“Roderick,” she said, “you did not come out here simply to stroll with me on a beach. What is it? Are there banking matters to discuss?” She hoped it was only that.
“The lady is clever and perceptive,” he said fondly. “Lady Strathlin—Margaret. I came to speak with you about a matter of tremendous importance. It simply could not wait for your return to Edinburgh.”
“I, too, have something I wish to speak to you about.”
He covered her hand with both of his. “Shall I hope?” he whispered. “Shall I allow my heart to beat with the rhythm of adoration and deepest affection?”
Good lord, she nearly said. “You can hardly control the beat of your heart, sir,” she said curtly. When she tried to pull her hand away, his grip tightened and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing knuckles. She wanted to pull away.
“Margaret, you know I lost my darling wife two years ago. My heart broke from loneliness. I was sure I would never find a worthy helpmate again. But there you were, my dear cousin, a lantern shining in my time of darkness, offering me generous friendship and succor. You have come to mean a great deal to me, though we were cousins and friends before.”
“I have been grateful for your guidance, Roderick. When my grandfather left his estate to me, I felt lost, confused, and overwhelmed. I appreciated your advice as a member of the bank’s board, and your wife was kind to bring me into social circles.
That made all the difference when I first inherited.
But—but it was natural between cousins to be friends, though we saw little of each other in our youth. I am—glad to call you a friend.”
“More than friends now. Fair Lady Strathlin, my dear cousin and now—I can hardly express to you how happy I am that you will be my wife.”
She stared up at him. “Sir, I never said so.”
“Do not be coy,” he said, smiling. “I am several years older than you, my dear, so allow me to guide you. I know you are enamored and do not know quite how to say you have accepted. I see it in your eyes. In your invitation here. In your offer to give me a room in your house. Near your own room. Perhaps—I should be so bold—as to take it.”
“Roderick,” she said firmly, pulling back, “I have not consented to marriage.”
“Now we see the temper! So charming. You do enjoy a game. Well, so do I.” His smile and his obstinance gave her chills. “I asked you—twice, I believe—to marry me, and you agreed in a letter.”
“Sir, if you read the letter, I refused you.”
“‘My dear Sir Roderick,’ you wrote, ‘I am honored by your affection and would be equally honored to be your wife.’”
“I said I would be honored to be your wife but—” she ground out. “But, I fear it is not possible. Did you read the entire letter?”
“Come now. You did not mean it. It was coyness. Feminine wiles and charm.”
“I refused you then, and I refuse you now. I am sorry if you are a little blind to that. We are not engaged. And please do not tell others that we are. It is not true.”
“Not true yet,” he said blithely.
“It never will be true.”