Chapter Twenty-One #2
“Aye, distant. I wonder if he expected more from Grandfather, his elder cousin. But there was no love lost between them, I gather.” She looked into the candlelight, its warm glow fading into the room around her.
She stared, summoned courage. “I doubt Grandfather would have wanted me to marry Roderick, though he thinks otherwise.”
“Aside from Roderick lately, luck has been with you,” he said. “Well, but for the husband you lost. I have not asked, hoping you would tell me when you were ready.”
There it was: the door opened wide to the past and the truth. Meg stepped through.
“My grandmothers on Caransay are convinced the luck of the inheritance came to me through magic,” she said. “Because of the night we spent together on the rock.”
“It was magical,” he said. “But that would hardly lead to a massive inheritance. People would spend the night on sea rocks in wild storms all the time if so.”
She laughed, yet was too distracted, and plunged on. “The legend,” she said. “The legend of the kelpie of Sgeir Caran that comes for his bride on the sea rock. He grants good fortune to his bride and to the islanders if….” She paused, turning to look at him, her eyes wide, beseeching.
“What is it?” He reached out to brush at her hair, loose around her shoulders, wayward curls slipping free. “If you had good luck, then there may be some truth to that legend.”
“More than you know. I came by this good fortune after we spent the night on the great rock, just as the legend claims should be done,” she murmured.
“But the kelpie did not really appear to you, did he,” Dougal murmured.
She shook her head. “But my grandmothers believe it.”
“They had no proof, but that we met. Not even that, if we were not seen together.”
“They had another sort of proof.” She slipped a finger under the high neck of her plaid bodice and drew out the fine gold chain and locket she so often wore.
Silently, she flipped the tiny catch to open its twin oval frames.
One side held the little ring made of threads and the golden and brown hairs she had woven together on the rock.
The other side held a tiny portrait, a towheaded infant with a sweet face.
“I remember the ring,” he said, his voice rough, low. He plucked his pocket watch from his vest and popped it open to show its hidden compartment. She gasped. Beneath a glass circlet was the ring she had woven for him.
“You kept it,” she breathed.
“I carry it with me everywhere. It was all I had of you. I was not even sure you existed, but if you did, I had to find you. To me, this little ring was magical. Though sometimes I thought you were just a dream, or even a sea fairy after all. But I had this. It was real.”
“I was pretty certain you were real. Too real,” she said. “My grandmothers thought you were the kelpie of Sgeir Caran. They still believe…well, they think we were married that night and this wee ring proved it to them. So did—oh dear God,” she half sobbed, half turning away.
He tipped his head. “So did what?”
“Legend says the kelpie of the sea rock bestows great good fortune if his bride pleases him,” she said, tucking the little locket back under her collar. “If she gives him a child.”
He frowned. “But you did not—”
She nodded slowly. “I did.”
He gasped, leaned forward. “What are you saying? A child came of that night?”
She nodded, silent, eyes swimming in tears that began to spill.
“For the love of God, woman,” he breathed, “Sean? Is it Sean?”
“Sean,” she sobbed, nodding.
“My God, I thought—he was your husband’s child—the husband you lost—” He stopped. Stepped back, shoved a hand through his hair, turned back. He looked stunned. “The husband you lost—that was me?”
“You,” she whispered. “The father of my child, lost at sea.”
“Jesus, Meg,” he whispered. “Why would you keep this from me?”
“I did not know who you were, or how to find you. Or if I wanted to tell you, considering—what I thought that night.” Her chin wobbled. “I kept the secret close. I had to. But when you arrived, I knew I must tell you, and I tried to, but—”
“But you waited.” He frowned as if wrestling with the great truth of it. “Waited on this too.”
She took his wrists. He stood frozen, did not take her hands, though skin met skin. “I had to trust you first! I had to know—that you would not take him away from me.” Sobs broke the words. “My son. Your son.”
He stared, still, silent. Then he exhaled hard. “I would never do that. A son! Our son. I would never take a child from its mother. But dear God, Meg—I needed to know!”
“I wanted you to know. But I feared you might take him. Seeing you was such a shock. I never thought to see you again. And I did not—really know you. I do now. I do now,” she insisted.
“Fair enough.” He broke her hold, rubbed his brow, still looking stunned. “God, Meg. That beautiful child. Mine.” His voice broke. “Ours,”
“He is so much like you,” she whispered. “Our lad.”
“I am stunned,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Who knows about this?”
“My grandparents know that I met a man—the kelpie, they believed—that night on the rock, and now they know you were the one. Of course, many on the island know I have a child, but they believe he is the son of a secret marriage—to a man who was not from Caransay. And Mrs. Shaw, Mrs. Berry, and Mr. Hamilton know about Sean, and that you are his father.” She drew a shaky breath. “Roderick knows too.”
Dougal fisted his hands. “Roderick! How?”
“I did not tell him. He met the doctor who tended me and bribed him for information. He threatened to spread the news about my illegitimate child, implying I have low morals, saying he will ruin me—and you too, for he suspects you—could be the father. So he—he—”
“Blackmailed you into marrying him. I see.”
She nodded, miserable. “I was afraid to tell you, afraid you would confront Roderick, who could ruin you further and do even more damage than I have done. I am s-so sorry,” she gasped.
He stood still, cool, out of reach, absorbing all this, just when she desperately needed his arms around her, needed his reassurance.
“That blasted pig,” he muttered under his breath.
Taking a step, he pulled her into his arms. “Hush,” he murmured.
“I cannot apologize enough for leaving you. All this time, you bore this alone—an unmarried mother, not even sure who the father was. I am not upset with you. I am angry at myself for letting this happen.”
“But you tried to find me,” She tipped her head up. “You did not just let it happen.”
“I came to the island more than once, but you must have been on the mainland, and I knew nothing of the baroness then. I could hardly go about asking who that beautiful girl was out on the rock one stormy night. Then, when the chance came to build a lighthouse on Sgeir Caran, I came back. Something kept pulling me back there,” he said low.
“I should have told you sooner, but at the time, I only wanted to throw something at you.”
He chuckled, kissed her hair, her brow, and released her. “You were not happy with me, but now I see why.”
“What should we do now? What do you want to do?”
“I would never take him away from you. Know that. And I think we can fix this easily.”
“How?” She stared up at him.
“Well, I ought to marry you,” he whispered, tipping her chin up with his fingers. “As soon as possible.”
She laughed, a watery burble, sheer relief once the truth was out. “What about Roderick?”
He gathered her into his arms again, silent, thoughtful. Then he drew back. “Why, Mrs. Stewart,” he said, “I believe we were married seven years ago.”
Meg gaped at him. “Oh! The rings!”
“The rings and all the rest. There is an old tradition of self-declared marriage in Scotland.”
“I know of it. A couple only needs to declare their love, exchange rings, and consummate their relationship.” She felt a blush heat her cheeks. “And they are considered married without benefit of clergy or witnesses. But we did not declare our love then.”
“I rather think we did.” He dipped down to kiss her. “Sean is the proof.”
“And we have declared it since,” she pointed out.
“An old married couple already,” he agreed with a soft laugh.
“Then I will tell Roderick the truth—I cannot marry him because I am already wed.”
“Aye, secretly married years ago to Mr. Stewart, and so we have a son. We had a rift, you see. A separation. Very secret, and lately resolved. There.” He brushed her hair back. “In fact, let me be the one to tell him.”
“You would do that?”
“I would be delighted.” He gathered her close.
Eyes closed, she lingered in his arms, close and warm, loved and vastly relieved.
The future was good now. The future glowed with hope and resolution.
With love and happiness too, all she had ever dared dream.
Resting her head against his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, she rocked with him for a few moments.
“As for what we will do now,” he whispered, his lips close to her ear, “is that door locked?”
She broke away, hurried to the narrow door to click the latch, and turned. “It is now.”
*
“You discarded some of these things in the library,” he murmured, his hands sliding down her ribs to her waist. “What about the rest of it?”
Freedom. She longed for it, feeling caged as the baroness.
Her fingers flew to the neck of her gown, loosening the prim collar, working the long line of buttons down the front.
Dougal began to help, fingers slowly working the buttons, his knuckles grazing over her skin, now over the swell of her breast.