Chapter 21 #2
Dougal felt a sense of amazement, realizing the importance of that for her. "Your journals started with these letters," he said, "when you were a child."
She nodded. "He never wrote back to me. Except for a yearly invitation to come to Strathlin Castle for tutoring and for the fitting of a new wardrobe, he never wrote, never even mentioned the letters I sent. But I sent them, one after the other."
"He must have appreciated your loyalty," Dougal said. "He must have been glad to know you were fond of him."
She nodded. "Gruff as he was, I loved him. And I felt sorry for him," she added. "I thought he was lonely here. I did not realize how busy he was, building a shipping and banking empire. I was a child, and I scarcely knew about Matheson Bank then."
She walked around the great mahogany desk, fingers trailing.
"He would sit here working, ignoring me when I stayed at the castle.
When I was small, my mother would bring me in to talk to him, and I would tell him about our puppies on Caransay or show him my drawings.
He would write or read, and I would chatter on. And then he would tell me to go."
She shrugged. "I thought he did not love me, that he tolerated me as an obligation, especially after my mother's death."
"But then he left everything to you. His sons were gone. There were no others in line for it?"
She shook her head. "Only cousins after us. And he designated me his heir—I did not even know about it. But when I came here to live, after his death, I discovered this box."
Dougal nodded. "He kept your letters."
"Every one I ever wrote. Every drawing I sent."
"He loved you very much. Perhaps he simply did not know how to express it at the time, and so he left you all he had."
She nodded as she put the letters back in the box and shut it away in the cabinet. "Nearly two million pounds, they told me, when the will was first read out, along with title and properties and ownership, though not authority, over the bank."
"Astonishing," he murmured.
"Incomprehensible to me. I did not want it.
I railed against it, cried, refused at first. I wanted to stay on Caransay, for that was my home.
But the will was ironclad. I had no choice, or the estate would go into the bank's control, and this beautiful house, all the others, would be locked to Lord Strathlin's descendants.
I was to inherit it all, the title as well, which could be done easily enough in Scotland.
I had so much to learn in the first years after the inheritance.
Fortunately, Mrs. Shaw became my tutor and companion, as did Mrs. Berry, who had been my governess whenever I stayed here at Strathlin. "
"Ah, Mrs. Berry. The lady who is fond of swimming." He grinned a little.
"And the bankers and solicitors were good men, well intentioned if not accustomed to dealing with young women outside their own families.
They honored Lord Strathlin's wishes and brought me up to the task, holding my hands like a child that must learn to walk.
Including," she added, looking up at him, "Sir Frederick. "
Dougal nodded, frowning. "You mentioned that he has been helpful to you."
She nodded, faced the window, where clear afternoon light showed her deeply creased brow. "My grandmothers on Caransay believe that the inheritance came to me through... magic," she said. "From that night we spent together on the rock."
"Aye, magical indeed," he murmured. Then he realized that something greatly disquieted her, for her posture was taut and her eyes had darkened to a stormy blue-green.
"The legend," she said, "of the kelpie of Sgeir Caran who comes for his bride on the sea rock. He grants good fortune on his bride and on Caransay...." She paused, turning to look at him, her eyes wide with that look of haunted emotion that he had seen when something troubled her greatly.
"What is it, love?" He reached out his hand to brush at her hair, which was loosely caught up in a black net after their lovemaking; a few wayward curling strands had slipped free. "It seems almost as if there is some truth to that legend."
She nodded. "I came by much good fortune after I spent the night on the sea rock, just as the legend says," she murmured.
"Even though the kelpie did not really appear to you," he said with a soft chuckle.
She did not smile, remaining so somber that it puzzled him. "My grandmothers believe it. And they... they have their reasons. Dougal, I need to show you something."
She slipped a finger under the high neck of her plaid bodice and drew out her small golden chain with its dangling locket. Wordlessly, she flipped the tiny catch and opened the twin oval frames.
He saw the ring made of threads and golden and brown hairs that she had woven that morning and beside it a tiny portrait, a towheaded infant whose sweet face reminded him of her. He thought it must be a picture of herself as a child, perhaps commissioned by her mother.
"Aye," he said, his voice roughened, low. "The ring. I know." He pulled out his pocket watch and opened the hidden compartment in it, a false backing lined with thin glass, then held it out to her. She gasped.
The glass circlet pressed his own woven ring, which she had made for him and slipped on his finger as he slept.
"I've carried it with me everywhere," he said.
"It was all I had of you, those years...
and all the while, I was not sure you existed.
I had this, which was real, but I wondered if it could be a bit of fairy thread, woven of magic. "
"While I always knew that you were real. Too real," she said. "But my grandmothers thought you were the kelpie of the reef. They still believe it. They believe... that we were married that night and that the ring proved it. And..." She paused, looked at him, her eyes lustrous and tormented.
"And what? What other proof could they have of it?" He almost smiled, but for her solemn mood.
"They say the kelpie of the sea rock bestows unusual good fortune if his bride pleases him greatly," she said, fingering the little open locket with its ring and its portrait, "and gives him a child."
He frowned, baffled. "But you—you did not—you are not—"
She gazed up at him. "I did."
He grabbed her by the shoulders. "What do you mean? What are you saying? A child came of that night? Our child?"
She nodded, her eyes swimming in new tears, some of them spilling free down her cheeks.
"For the love of God, woman," he said, nearly shaking her. "Tell me!"
"Iain," she whispered. "He's... Iain."
"My God," he breathed. "How could you not tell me that!" He nearly shouted, stepping away. Shoving a hand through his hair, he turned back to her, stunned. "Iain?"
She nodded, her lower lip wobbly. "I have kept the secret of it for years, and I knew I had to tell you, but I... I could not, until I trusted you and knew you would not try to take him away from me."
He stared hard at her, not certain how he felt—angry, elated, still shocked. "My God. I would never do that."
"I know that now. I did not know it then."
"Fair enough." He rubbed his brow, thinking. "Who knows about this?"
"Very few people. My grandparents on Caransay and Fergus, of course. And Mrs. Shaw and Mr. Hamilton." She paused. "And... and Sir Frederick knows."
Dougal felt a cold chill run through him. "Sir Frederick?"
She nodded. "Somehow he found out from a doctor who tended me in the early months. Frederick told me that he knew and that he would tell everyone that I had an illegitimate child being fostered with a family on Caransay. So I..."
"So you promised to marry him," he finished for her. "That blasted pig," he muttered under his breath.
Meg squeezed her eyes shut against an onslaught of tears, and lowered her head. "Dougal, I am so sorry," she whispered. "I have made a mess of this... from the very... beginning."
"Hush." He crossed to her in two strides and pulled her into his arms. "Hush, my bonny," he murmured. "When I think of you alone with this—bearing a child, not knowing the father, I am angry at myself for allowing it to happen to you. But now that it is out, we can fix it easily enough."
"How—how is that?" she gulped.
"Well, I suppose I ought to marry you," he whispered against the soft crown of her head. "I do not see how it can be avoided."
She laughed, a watery burble. "But what about Frederick?"
He held her for a moment, considering. Then it came to him like a sunburst of pure thought, illuminating, exhilarating. "Why, Mrs. Stewart," he said, drawing back to look down at her, "we've been married for seven years."
Meg gaped at him. "We... Oh! The rings!" She nodded. "My grandmothers do say there is an old custom of self-made marriage in Scotland."
"I've heard of it," he said. "I believe all a couple has to do is declare their love and exchange rings, and they are considered married without benefit of clergy or even witnesses."
"But we did not declare our love."
"Madam, I rather think we did." He dipped down to kiss her. "And Iain is the proof of it."
"You would be willing to tell Frederick this?"
"I would be delighted." He gathered her close. Then he gasped, remembering something. Meg pulled back to look up at him. "The train," he said. "I forgot. I have to get to the train." He let her go, took her hand to pull her toward the door.
"Dougal, surely you can miss the train, after all this," she said. "Take the next one."
"No," he said firmly, tugging her along. "I agreed to be back on Sgeir Caran tomorrow. There is a meeting assembling there of some lighthouse commissioners and a few investors."
"Stay the night," she said. "Take the morning train."
"I have to go." He stopped, looked down at her. "Sir Frederick Matheson is in that party."
"Dear God," she said. "Iain is on Caransay, and Frederick hates you and me just now!"
"Exactly what I was thinking," he muttered grimly as he pulled her with him through the library.
"I'm going with you," she insisted.
"No. Stay here. Let me take care of this."
"I'm going with you. Mr. Hamilton!" she called as they entered the hallway. "Mr. Hamilton! Mrs. Shaw!"
"No, Meg," Dougal said, spinning her to face him. "The fellow could be very dangerous. I will not allow you to go!"
"Allow me?" She stared up at him indignantly.
"I do not want you to go, madam," he amended, speaking through clenched teeth.
Guy Hamilton appeared in the foyer from a side door with Mrs. Shaw just behind him. "Madam, what is it?" he asked.
"I need a ticket for the Edinburgh to Glasgow train," she said.
"And Angela, if you please, I need a satchel of clothing and a traveling cape and some things for a train journey.
Oh, do hurry!" Mrs. Shaw nodded and grabbed her skirts, rushing up the steps, and Guy went at a half run into the library.
"Buy the ticket when we get to Waverley Station," Dougal grumbled. "And wear whatever your grandmother can lend you. We have no time—we must go."
"I do not handle the cash. Mr. Hamilton handles the cash."
"I will pay for the blasted ticket myself," Dougal said.
"And he makes all my travel arrangements. We'll need a carriage brought round, too," Meg called over her shoulder as Dougal pulled her toward the door.
"We can take your carriage from here, but I have already hired a carriage from Glasgow to Oban, and all the rest. You'll have to travel with me—as my wife, I suppose," he said.
"I suppose that would be fine." She glanced up at him.
"Good. Here comes Mrs. Shaw," he said, as the young woman ran down the steps with a tapestry satchel in one hand, something cotton and lacy spilling from it. Dougal rushed over, grabbed it from her while thanking her, and ran back to the door where Meg waited.
The butler appeared from the shadows to open the door for them, and Guy rushed out of the library with a wallet in his hand, which he pressed into Meg's hands. "I think this will be sufficient for the trip, madam," he said. "If you need more—"
"I will take care of her expenses," Dougal said. "Thank you, and good day."
Meg embraced Mrs. Shaw, who then draped a black half cape on Meg's shoulders and helped her fasten a little black bonnet on her head and pull on gray kid gloves.
"Madam, you will need an escort," Mrs. Shaw said. "I'll gather my things."
"I have an escort. Mr. Stewart... is my husband."
"He's what?" Hamilton and Mrs. Shaw stared at her. "When?"
"We're married," Meg said, her cheeks flushed, "and we've been so for a very long time." She looked up at Dougal, who smiled. "It was a well-kept secret."
"Very well kept," Hamilton said, frowning.
"We'll renew our vows with a ceremony," Dougal added, "just as soon as we return from the Isles."
"Farewell," Meg said, and Dougal pulled her out the front door while her assistants and her butler gaped after them.
As they hastened through the yard toward the stables, Dougal took her arm. "I'm glad you're going with me after all."
"I want to be there when you confront Sir Frederick about the evil rumors he plans to spread."
"I'm referring to the hours of travel time we have ahead of us, when you will tell me all about the past seven years," he answered as they rushed along.
"I want to know about Iain's birth. I want to hear everything—what he was like as an infant and as a smaller boy.
What he said, what he did. I want to know what I've missed as our son was growing. "
Meg slipped her arm around his waist, and he encircled her shoulders and hugged her to him.
"Now let's hurry," he said as the driver brought the carriage out of the coach house, "and find our son."