That did not bother her as much as what might happen if Dougal Stewart learned the whole truth. He would have enough fuel for real fire—he could demand his son. She could not trust him.
Her stomach twisted, for she knew that one day she might have to tell him before the truth emerged, as truths would do.
She went to the window of her study to look through the window. The Great House was set on a high rise overlooking part of the island and a beautiful, calm, private bay. The expansive view included rocky beaches nudging sandy crescents and lacy waves; in another direction lay steep heathery hills and the wildflower machair sandwiched between the endless sky and ocean. Eastward lay the coast of Scotland; westward, Sgeir Caran was a glossy black wedge on an ocean that stretched on and on.
Sighing, she leaned her head in her hands, wondering what to do. Stewart could ruin the peace of this place, her life, her son’s life.
“Mama!”
She turned, smiling as the door of the drawing room burst open and Sean ran toward her, a happy, excited boy. His thick blond hair, shaped by a bowl cut that needed a trim, fell over his eyes. Meg smiled, brushing back the golden locks to see his gray-green eyes. His father’s eyes.
Her heart bounded, turned deep each time she saw him. Her love for this child overtook her again. She smiled, giving no hint of an almost desperate emotion. He deserved only her best and warmest, with no hint of her own fears.
“Berry says we can go to the beach!” Sean said, speaking Gaelic.
“English, dear,” Meg reminded him.
He nodded. “I did my lessons and read in English to Berry, who says I did good—well.”
“That is excellent, Sean,” Meg said, and looked up as Mrs. Berry, buxom and bustling, entered the room. “It is a lovely day for a walk on the beach. Grandmother Thora and Mother Elga will meet us there with small Anna, and you can play together.”
“Small Anna is too small. She does not like to play with me.”
“She does. She just does not know as much as you do,” Meg replied. “You can teach her.”
“Master Sean did very well today in his lessons,” Mrs. Berry said. “He’s speaking nicely and reading well. His maths need work, and his handwriting too, but that will come. He made a fine drawing of a sea monster. So fantastic, it frightened me out of me shoes!” Mrs. Berry folded her hands over her black gown, brown eyes crinkling in a fond smile. Sean giggled.
“I like sea monsters!” Sean said.
“Och, I am so scared!” Elspeth Berry laughed. As a girl, Meg had stayed in her grandfather’s castle sometimes, and had spent long winter weeks there too. Mrs. Berry, part of that household, had been kind and amusing, and Meg grew to love her. Now she felt a tug of gratitude. Wealth, family, friends, motherhood, and her full life were boons. But a dark secret had bruised her heart.
“My laddie,” Meg told Sean, “bring a bucket to the beach so you can collect winkles and shells. If you find some, we can make drawings of them. And I will add drawings to the little journal I like to keep. And Berry would like to splash in the water, too. The day is perfect for a bathing costume if you would like to fetch yours, Berry.”
“Och, I’d like that! And you, my dear, must remember to bring a bonnet and almond cream. You canna return to Edinburgh looking like the nut-brown maiden of the song! Your soiree is only weeks away.”
“Of course. Sean, will you fetch your bucket and ask Mrs. Hendry if she has packed some things for the beach? She mentioned a luncheon basket.” As she spoke, he bolted for the door.
“Walk, Master Sean!” Mrs. Berry said.
He slowed. “I hope she made cheese sand-witches. Come, Berry. Hurry!”
Alone again, Meg sighed.
Years ago, Mrs. Berry and young Mrs. Shaw knew that their new mistress, Lady Strathlin, had a child on the island. But they never asked much about the father, believing him to have been lost at sea in some tragedy. Nor did they question leaving Sean on Caransay. They understood that Meg wanted her son to have that freedom. Too soon schooling and social expectations would take some of that freedom and adventure away from the boy. Meg trusted them completely as part of her small circle of kin and friends.
But she felt her world crumbling around her. What if Dougal Robertson Stewart realized he was the lad’s father? He might claim his child and expose their night on the rock. Few would doubt his paternity. Meg had been startled to see the strong resemblance between the man and his son.
One day theeach-uisgewill return to Caransay for his bride and his son,Elga had told her, and take them to live with him deep in the sea.
The sea kelpie, Meg thought, was less a threat than the lighthouse engineer just now.
*
Dougal left SgeirCaran to sail back to the island at midmorning, while Alan Clarke and two others laid a black powder charge in preparation for clearing the foundation pit. Intending to fetch some plans from his hut, Dougal intended to return before the fuses were lit.
He had promised the baroness and her lawyers in writing that the construction would not significantly alter the landscape, and he meant to keep his word. The beauty of the Caran Reef meant more to him than they could guess. He hoped to dedicate the lighthouse to all those whose lives had been taken by the reef, and he looked forward to the day when rays of light swept the waters to protect those who sailed past the reef.
He had one more errand on the island before he sailed back to the rock. Walking across the machair, he looked for the Great House, the baroness’s home at Clachan Mor. The island was not large, seven miles long and just three wide at its broadest point. The manor house, he had discovered, was just two miles from the harbor that faced the rock. Following the previous night’s rain, the sky was summer-blue and filled with puffy white cloudscarried by brisk winds. As he walked, he heard the soothing rush of the waves and the constant call of seabirds.
