“No doubt.” Meg gave him a sidelong glance. He was too close to guessing. She would have to tell him, but could not bear it now. “You said you had to go. I assume you have work to do.”
“I should go, aye. That lad is too far out,” he said suddenly.
Looking toward Sean, still splashing and jumping in the water, she shaded her eyes with her hand. “Sean! Come back toward the shore!”
“He’s an adventurous lad, that one.”
“Too much so. Too likely to go swimming or climbing without a thought for safety.”
He smiled. “He is young yet. But you keep close watch over him. Does he live on the island, or with you? I saw him with your grandparents—before you arrived, I think.”
She felt struck to the heart. “He likes it here. I want him to have—family, at least while he is so young.” Stepping away, she walked through a thin wash of water. Stewart went with her, his boots sinking hard prints beside her bare feet.
Seagulls dipped and fluttered overhead, and the long flow and pull of the waves was soothing. Even though she should be wary, she felt relaxed in his company. She could have strolled along the beach forever, surrounded by peace, with him.
“I was a daredevil child, like Sean,” he mused, watching the boy splash in the shallows. “My parents did their best to keep me from getting hurt.” He chuckled.
“You are still a daredevil to put up lighthouses in dangerous locations.”
“There is that,” he admitted. He laughed again, a deep, easy rumble.
“Your parents would have been proud of you,” she ventured. “It is dangerous work.”
A frown puckered his brow. “They never knew what I came to do. They would have worried about the risks, but I think they would be pleased that I do satisfying work.”
“Satisfying?”
“What I do helps people. And that helps me, in its way. As for danger, that comes with it.” A breeze fingered through his thick, wavy hair. “Including taking on dangerous baronesses.”
“You are notorious on Caransay for that, sir.”
“So I gather. I know you would like to see me leave, Miss MacNeill, for several reasons. But I will not be dissuaded from this. I have one quality that is both a virtue and a curse.”
“What is that?” She stopped.
He stopped too, gazing down at her. “I never give up.” His green eyes turned hard as Venetian glass. “I suggest you explain that to your baroness. And think on it yourself.”
“Me?” Her voice wavered.
He leaned down. “Shall we discuss it here and now, or shall we wait for privacy?”
Heart slamming, his nearness sending a wave of longing and wariness through her, she held his gaze. “We will wait.”
“Very well.” He looked at the leather journal in her hands. “That is admirable work, Miss MacNeill. You could consider publishing your drawings one day. A guide to the beauty of the isles.”
“I doubt anyone would be interested.”
“On the contrary, Scotland is very popular with tourists. People are curious to know more about every part of it.”
“This is just a hobby.” She sighed, wanting to be honest with him in something. She had dreamed of publishing her journals someday, but she did not think them worthy enough. “Well,”she said, “I did think they might make a handsome set of books someday.” She shrugged.
“‘A Hebridean Journal,by M. MacNeill,’” he suggested.
“A silly dream.”
He touched her arm. A gentle thrill slipped through her. “Do not give up on that dream.”
She took the journal, her fingers brushing his. “Thank you.”
