Chapter Eleven #2
“I hope she is not as shrewish as she seems through her lawyers,” Dougal said. He was still staring thoughtfully at Mrs. Berry. “I could swear that Mrs. Berry was Lady Strathlin.”
“You were simply mistaken,” Meg said.
“Apparently. And once again I have not found her even on her own island.” Dougal watched her steadily. “Though they say she is here.”
“Somewhere. She keeps her distance.” She met his gaze. I am your shrewish baroness, Mr. Stewart, she thought. And I need you very much just now, and cannot let you know.
He narrowed his eyes, and she looked away. The risk was too great now that she wanted to reveal all to him, but feared to take that chance.
“She might be here in this room, disguised as a fishwife,” Alan chuckled.
“Fishwife or baroness, I need to talk to her,” Dougal said.
Silent, Meg scowled. Dougal leaned down. “If you can get a word to the lady,” he said, “tell her I sincerely want to meet her.” His voice was dark velvet, soft and comforting.
She pursed her mouth without answer, and he gave her the small, intimate smile she had come to cherish—an impish curve to his lips, a green dazzle in his eyes. Her anxious feeling vanished, replaced by longing.
For happiness with this man, she realized. Grateful as she was for the happiness her son and her family brought her, she yearned for more, something as intimate and kind as that smile. Love, partnership—imagining that with him took her breath away.
By comparison, Sir Roderick Matheson was even more dastardly, a true threat to happiness. But Dougal, if she could sort out her feelings, was an unexpected beacon, beginning to shine in her life.
Watching Sean jumping and laughing as others danced, she remembered Dougal’s sweet playfulness with him, and his tender strength in saving a child he did not even know was his.
Sighing, she brushed her hair back, her fingers shaking. She had hardly slept the last few nights after Roderick’s smooth, sly threat. He wanted an answer—and she faced inevitable surrender unless she found the courage to risk the safety of all she loved to step away from him.
Heart pounding, she clenched her fists, feeling as if her spirit beat its wings on cage bars, desperate to be free to be happy, to feel loved. But Roderick had trapped her. Whether or not she married him, she would live in fear that he could expose her youthful dilemma if she crossed him.
But with each moment, she knew with more clarity that she could not find happiness without Dougal Stewart.
The other day, those mad kisses and breathless apologies had brought revelation.
He had not played her falsely that night.
She had been wrong about him. She could begin to trust him, day by day.
She could let that old hurt go like stale water poured back into the sea, cleansed and carried off.
She had begun to hope for that until Roderick had arrived.
Meg folded her arms tightly, feeling a piercing loneliness, even standing beside Dougal, for the craving and the need weighed on her now. She yearned to tell him all the truth. She yearned to seek the wildness of her soul in his arms.
She knew what she wanted, but did not know what he wanted. Not entirely. Soon she would return to the mainland, to her other world, to Sir Roderick and a life of lies and fear and constant caution. She would have to leave Sean again, and Dougal, and her hopes and dreams.
As the dance ended, she turned to see Dougal tip his head toward her, brow puckered, as if he asked silently if all was well. She tried to smile, looked away.
Another tune began, with dancers separating into two lines, ready for the Seann Triubhas, or Chantreuse, as Lowlanders called the old dance favored in the Isles.
Dougal held out a hand. “Miss MacNeill, if you would?”
“Of course,” she said, relieved, glad for the chance to be near him and feel his touch.
The dancers shifted to offer them the lead positions. Facing Dougal, Meg curtsied and he bowed, and they moved forward, folding into the center, gliding back, turning with the music. Reaching the end of the line, she lifted her hand from his arm as they separated.
When she faced him again across the gap, he smiled in the way she adored, private and quick, eyes twinkling, as if his heart were hers alone. She knew her heart was his now.
Here in this place, she was simply Meg, dancing carefree with handsome Dougal, and dreams were possible. Elsewhere, she was Lady Strathlin, with a desperate secret and a vile enemy—and she knew Dougal despised that lady.
Later, as the dancing slowed, the food was consumed, and kin and neighbors began to take their leave, Fergus walked over to Meg.
“Ach, look at the child,” he said with a smile. “A happy lad, but he cannot keep his eyes open, and should go to his bed. I can carry him—will he sleep here in Norrie’s house, or will you take him up to the Great House?”
Meg smiled too, seeing Sean half asleep on a bench beside a table loaded with empty platters and cups.
“He should sleep here. I do not want to disturb him,” she said.
Time with Sean was precious to her, as she only saw him on Caransay.
She would go back to her house, a short walk, and see Sean in the morning.
Days ago, he had nearly drowned, and now another threat loomed that only she knew about.
“Aye. But I want to ask you something, cousin.” His brown eyes were troubled.
Meg smiled. “What is it?”
“I hear the lad is doing well in his schooling with Mrs. Berry.”
“He’s a bright lad, and she is a fine tutor.”
“I am thinking he needs more than Berry, unless he plans to stay on Caransay and become a fisherman like so many of us here. But I am thinking you do not want that for him.”
“He should do as he likes, fishing or something else. Though I want him to have more education when he is older.”
Fergus rubbed his head. “We love him here. But after we almost lost him, Norrie and I were talking. We were saying he would do well in a mainland school, living with you. Safe, away from danger.”
She blinked, surprised. Fergus had no idea what danger might await both Sean and her on the mainland. “I did not think you wanted him to leave the island.”
“He would visit here, with you.” He kneaded his cap in his hands. “Meg, take him back to Edinburgh to live in your castle and send him to a real school. Let him grow up to be someone important. A doctor. Or an engineer like Mr. Stewart, making lighthouses to keep the seas safe.”
Startled, she reached for something to say. “You support the lighthouse, then.”
“I do. The reef is powerful. It can destroy lives. And Dougal Stewart is a good man.”
She caught her breath. Her cousin did not know the truth about Sean and Dougal, and yet had found the tender spot of the hurt, all unwitting.
“For now, Caransay is the best place for him, Fergus. He would be heartbroken to leave you and all his family behind.”
“We nearly lost him the other day. I just want the lad to be healthy and safe. And happy. We would miss him, but he is smart and needs schooling. The other day, he read a story to small Anna. Read it aloud! She is too tiny to care, but I was proud.”
She smiled, felt tears sting. “He is happy here. I am in no rush to move him.”
“But you are his mother, lass,” he said quietly. “You deserve more time with the lad.”
“I do. But I want what is best for him. Strathlin Castle is cold and lonely, with only servants there and advisers visiting, some friends. Not all of them are fond of wee lads.” She thought of Roderick and suppressed a shudder. “Besides,” she added, “he would not see the water there.”
“Now that would be a sad thing. It is the magic of living on an island, the sea and the wind and being so close to nature and the heavens. And for yourself?” He tipped his head. “Do you miss the sea and sky when you go east to the mainland?”
“Every day.” She gazed at Sean’s golden head. “And I miss my son on those days too. But he needs to be here, where he is—safe,” she murmured.
Her cousin frowned. “Safe away from the hurried life in Edinburgh, I suppose. But someday you will take him. The time is coming.”
“Not yet, Fergus. Not yet.”
Soon, Lady Strathlin might have to marry a heartless banker to protect her beloved son, his future, and that of the island.
Roderick’s threats could go far enough for her to lose Caransay too, if he influenced the bank board against her based on a false picture of her morals and intentions.
The more she looked for ways to avoid marrying him, the more she saw no choice.