They stood on a rise above the croft house and its little bay, where the machair dropped away into a sandy bank that led to the shore. Dougal saw that the house had two wings added to the main house, its thatch roof held down by ropes and stones. It was a pretty picture with the sparkling bay and pink dawn billowing up from the far horizon of the sea.
“Is that what they call the Great House?”
She laughed. “That is my grandparents’ croft. We call it Camus nan Fraoch—Heather Bay.”
“Though you do not live on Caransay now, but elsewhere with your husband?”
“Husband? I am not married. I have a house on Mull and another on the mainland.”
“Is it so? Some prosperity in hard times, then?”
“Just—an inheritance.”
“Like Lady Strathlin?”
She laughed. “No one has a fortune like Lady Strathlin, so I am told.”
“Aye. Well, forgive me. I saw you earlier with a man and a boy and assumed they were your family.”
“That was my cousin Fergus and…small Sean.”
Not married. He felt relieved. “I see. Where is Clachan Mor, the baroness’s great house?”
“That way.” She pointed. “At the foot of those hills.”
Narrowing his eyes, he could just see a stone manor house in the distance, a boxy shape with a flat facade and several windows nestled in the protection of a dark hill. Fronting the house, a grassy sward and a sandy peninsula stretched in a crescent to form another quiet bay.
“Do you know when the baroness might come here again? Are you privy to her plans?”
She tilted her head. “You ask a great many questions.”
“For good reason.” He sensed she knew more than she would say.
“The lady values her privacy and avoids conducting business when she is here. Caransay is a place of rest and joy for her. She does not want that spoiled.”
“I understand. But I have been unable to see her to explain myself and my goals. She refuses all meetings.”
“That may come from her lawyers.”
“Possibly. Well, if she will not see me here, perhaps you will convey a message to her. Though I wager Lady Strathlin is tired of messages from me,” he drawled.
She was looking up. The soft light caught the curve of her cheek, and her eyes grew wide. “Look!” she cried, pointing out to sea. Dougal turned.
A pale-green arc bloomed on the horizon and expanded, exploding in sudden swaths of light and color. Pink and green swirled overhead like silken veils. Dougal watched, entranced. Without thinking, he took her elbow again, a gentlemanly gesture to lead her closer to the beach. He wanted to be closer to her as they watched the dancing flares in the sky.
“So beautiful,” she breathed.
“Aye. The aurora borealis—it is always a thrill to see them.”
“The Merry Men, we call the northern lights here.”
He smiled. “In the old days, I hear, the lights were believed to be gigantic supernatural warriors—especially when the sky flowed red as if from blood.” He had read it somewhere.
“When I was a child, I thought they were angels dancing in heaven.”
“They do look like that. I have seen them before, but never as lovely as this.”
She smiled up at him for an instant. The sky’s lambent colors gave her a graceful glow. Dougal felt an urge to touch her creamy skin, her silken curls. She was a stranger, cool and distant, and yet to him she seemed familiar and dear.
