Chapter Thirteen
Starlight and the moon’s profile on the whispering sea, the surf rinsing her feet, and Dougal’s arms around her. She would carry this night through the rest of her life, Meg thought, to treasure this peaceful night with a stormy one. Her kelpie, strong and beautiful, tender and kind.
Soon she might never see him again, once she went back to her life as a baroness.
He would not be her husband, and no matter what she wanted, what her fortune could create for her, she would have to live without him.
Drawing in a breath against the pain of that, she ducked her head against his chest.
“My lass, what is it?” Dougal traced his fingers over her hair.
They were dressed now, seated on the sand, arms around each other, her head on his shoulder.
The sea shushed and the moon sparkled, and the distant joy of Norrie’s fiddle sounded in the distance.
Even after the guests had gone, he played into the night.
“Just thoughts,” she said, evading the truth. “Dougal, what did you want to say the other day, when we were in the cave, about how you came to be there?”
“I wonder if we have time for that now. They will look for you.”
“They will not. If they know we left together, my grandmothers will not bother us.”
“Why is that?” He kissed her hair.
She shrugged. “Thora and Elga have wanted to bring us together ever since they met you. They—they think you are the kelpie come to save this island.”
He huffed. “Mother Elga said so, but surely that is a joke on the island.”
“Not a joke, but a superstition.”
“What do you mean?”.
“Tell me your story, Mr. Stewart, and I will tell you some of mine so you will understand.”
He looked askance at her. “Very well. Seven years ago, one evening, I was with friends. We were fair drunk, all of us, after a wake for a fine man whose wife made very good whisky. A man from Tobermory.”
“George MacDonald? We knew him. A good man, and good whisky. Why were you there?”
“I was studying the Caran Reef even back then, measuring the rocks, judging the wave force, and so on. We knew a lighthouse was needed along the reef somewhere, and we were exploring the possibility. We were staying on Mull. That night we were young fools, too much whisky, too much youth, boasting of our courage, challenging each other, taking boats out to race. My opponent fell back, but I kept going, wanting to win. Foolish, as I said, for poor weather rose up. A bad squall came over the reef as I approached, and instead of turning back, I went into the throat of it, hoping to come out the other side. But a wave flipped my boat. I took a blow to the head and nearly drowned. Then I was saved—” He stopped. “It is almost too wild to believe.”
“What happened?”
“I suppose a high wave washed me onto Sgeir Caran. But in my poor state, I thought a beautiful white horse carried me over the water.”
“Each-uisge,” she said. “The sea kelpie. A legend. But you saw it?”
“I imagined it. Then I found myself safe on the rock, and I saw you. My mind was all turned about. The hit to the head, the drink, nearly drowning. The fear of being taken by the sea.”
“Then you were shipwrecked on Sgeir Caran,” she breathed.
“Aye. So you see, no scheme to have some fun with a girl who waited on the rock. That is what you told me. I remember that. ‘I waited for you.’”
“Did I say that? I am sorry that I thought you came there deliberately because I was there. But I saw men fetch you in the morning. They seemed to know where you were.”
“They were fishermen. Evan Mackenze hired them to help search for me after the storm. So he knew a little of what happened that night. No one knows the whole of it but we two.” He pulled her closer. “Besides, I thought—” He paused, half-laughed.
“You thought I was not real,” she said quietly.
“Mad as it sounds, it is the truth. I thought you were a sea fairy or the like. A mermaid in human form. Something otherworldly. Otherwise, how could a beautiful lass be there on that rock in a storm? It was a miracle to find you there in that wild storm. I survived because of you, I am sure of it. What is it?”
Meg laughed from sheer relief and joy. “You thought I was a sea fairy—and I thought you were the each-uisge of Sgeir Caran.”
He blinked. “You thought that, not just your grandmothers?”
“I was not sure. But they were convinced that the kelpie came to Sgeir Caran that night.”
Dougal tipped his head in bewilderment. “Truly?”
“You have more than proven it lately.”
“How so?”
“You rose out of the sea the day we visited the rock. You were only diving, but Elga was certain. And she was alarmed one day on the beach when you wanted to take the children from her. You only wanted to help, but she thought you would steal them away. Stop laughing,” she said, smacking his arm lightly.
“And then you rescued Sean and the shark did your bidding and went away.”
“My bidding! I wish I had that power.” He chuckled.
“And my grandmothers think—” She paused.
“Tell me. It could not be any less ridiculous than I have told you.”
“Because we spent the night on that rock…they think you are the kelpie and you became my husband,” she blurted.
He stilled. “Best explain that, my lass.”
“Mother Elga and Grandmother Thora sent me out to the rock that night,” she explained.
“Norrie rowed me over at their insistence, though he was not keen on it. An old tradition says a maiden of Caransay must spend a night on the rock every hundred years, and wait for the great kelpie to arrive. If he is pleased, he will make her his bride. They told me to submit to his will, and gave me a potion to ease my fears. I said he would not appear. But he did.”
“Good lord,” he said.
“If the kelpie claims his bride, he will bestow good fortune on her and the people of Caransay. We needed good fortune then. We were growing desperate. The island leaseholder was planning to evict most everyone and bring in sheep farmers and English flocks. So I agreed to go out to the rock. I never thought anything would happen. But there you were,” she added simply.
“No kelpie, but a fortunate man to survive drowning—and lucky to be mistaken for a kelpie,” he drawled. She shoved at him, and he captured her hand and kissed it.
“I was fortunate too, in a way.” She spoke too soon, not ready to tell him about the child.
“Why was that?”
“I—I was in a haze from the herbal potion I took. I thought you were magical. You did not look like a shipwrecked sailor—you had almost no clothing. You were—magnificent, like a kelpie turned to a man. It was easy to believe.” She laid a hand on his chest.
“I wore a shirt, I think. My clothing was wet and heavy, pulling me down in the water, so I shook some things off. I’d rather wash up naked on a beach than die clothed and decent.”
“And I was glad to meet a half-naked man than a slimy, wretched sea monster.”
He chuckled. “We helped each other survive that night,” he said, and kissed her brow. “So, did the kelpie keep his word and bestow good fortune on you afterward?”
She grew quiet, trembling inside. The truth hovered on her lips, but there was too much to say, here and now. Wanting desperately to tell him, she chose to wait, and not spoil the magic that surrounded them now, and had surrounded them then.
She shrugged. “We were not evicted, as it turned out.”
“Lady Strathlin bought the island’s lease, I think. That was luck indeed. You had the blessing of the kelpie after all.”
Gulping, she could only nod.
He sighed. “My girl,” he murmured, “you are so good, so pure and honest in your character. I am very sorry you believed I was a wretched monster, whether it was to scheme you or frighten you. I would never do that.” He kissed the top of her head.
“You are strong and beautiful. And I have been very lucky too.”
She felt torn by guilt. “I am not what you think.”
“Do not feel ashamed of what happened that night, or what happened just now, aye? Promise me.”
She nodded, unable to meet his eyes just then.
“Listen to me. We saved each other that night. And I take full responsibility for what happened between us. You were an innocent, and I—should have better judgment, then and perhaps now too.”
“I wanted it too, Dougal Stewart,” she said in a small voice. “It was not just you. Something came over me. It just seemed—right. And seemed right again, now.”
“Look at me.” He tilted her chin up to kiss her gently. “Meg, I am asking you to marry me.”
She gasped, felt tears gather in her eyes. “You do not have an obligation to me.”
“I do. But that is not why I asked you. I want to marry you, if you will have me. There is something between us, I agree. I want to be with you, and help take care of you and your family.”
She sat away from him, heart pounding. “I cannot. We cannot. You do not need to do this.”
“Let me in, lass. You are—so guarded. I do not know why, but I hope you will tell me.” He sat straighter, his hand splayed warm on her back. “Life is hard in the Hebrides. I can help you and your family. I have a respectable income.”
“That is not it!” She got to her feet. “I appreciate it, I do. But I cannot marry you.”
He stood, rubbed a hand over his face as if to summon patience. “I wronged you. I have a conscience, woman. I can make it up to you.”
“I beg you, do not pity me or do this out of a sense of duty. I cannot bear it.” She whirled to walk away, down the beach, back home.
“Darling wee fool,” he said, catching her arm, turning her toward him. “I did not ask out of obligation. I am in love with you, Meg MacNeill.”
She stared at him, wordless, filled with anguish and yearning together. He offered what she wanted and needed, and what she wished she could give him—love, desire, forgiveness, and a clear path to a happy life. But she could not accept him now, nor could she explain.