He searched his pockets. Cards were not required for setting powder charges or quarrying stone. In fact, he was lucky to have a decent coat and hat among his things. He found a crumpled card and presented it to her:Dougal Robertson Stewart, Kinnaird Castle, Strathclyde, currently of Innish Bay, Caransay.
She took it as if it was a rodent’s tail. “Lady Strathlin will be informed that you called.”
“I appreciate it. May I ask your name?”
“Mrs. Hendry, the housekeeper. I shall report that you were here.”
“I am in your debt, Mrs. Hendry.”
“Hmph. Good day, sir.” The door closed with a solid click.
He stood on the step in the drizzling rain. Lady Strathlin would probably consider a crumpled card the height of bad manners and dismiss his visit. Looking up, he saw a curtain flutter and close in a window on the same level as the entrance.
Lady, come out,he wanted to say.I am no threat.Sighing in frustration, he walked away.
*
Birds fluttered awayfrom the sea rock like ashes on the wind. Seated in a fishing boat watching the rock from a good distance away, Meg saw a flare of fire, a loud bellow, and a plume of smoke. Debris erupted from the massive rock, and chunks of stone flew and fell, churning the water below. Ripples spread out to bounce a dozen boats.
Cheers and applause rose from those gathered in several fishing boats. Norrie, hollering with the rest, lifted a hand in salute. In the next boat, Thora, Mother Elga, and Sean sat with Fergus at the oars; they all clapped and laughed too.
Not amused in the least, Meg sat silent in the bobbing bow. She had spent time and funds and sleepless nights hoping to prevent this very thing from happening. Sgeir Caran would never be the same. The blasts would forever alter the rock and mar its ancient soul.
She frowned, watching birds flee the rock in smoke-like spirals of dark and gray and white.
Another sky-high eruption brought more yelling and clapping from witnesses in boats scattered over the waves. Neglecting their lobster pots, nets, and chores, men, women, and children were thrilled to see the gigantic plumes of smoke and fire flaring into the bright sky.
Earlier, Dougal Stewart had come out in a rowboat with a few men, standing to shout out a request for the spectators to either leave the area or keep their boats well back for safety. The people had complied, but none had left. Most agreed the sight was a marvelous thing to behold.
Meg had witnessed pyrotechnics in Edinburgh, London, and Paris, and she had always enjoyed the sight too. But here and now, she felt only sadness. The beauty of the great rock of Sgeir Caran was a far finer sight than fireworks and explosions and falling chunks of rock.
A lull, then another flare and an enormous plume of smoke. Wild cheers rose from the audience. Meg scowled, wishing the rock could stay unchanged forever, asanctum sanctorumfor birds, and a monument to ancient legends. Sgeir Caran was a place of mystery and power, and she wanted it to stay that way.
But few things in life remained the same, she told herself. Wonderful dreams and ideals could flee with the dawn, that fast, and gone. She had learned that lesson too well.
*
Later, while otherboats left, Norrie rowed closer to Sgeir Caran. As they rounded the base of the rock, Meg saw a quay cut by some earlier blast to create a broad ledge of raw stone. Looking up at the towering height, she saw that a ramp and steps had been cut into the side of a slope to form a pathway.
Alan Clarke, the foreman, waited for them on the quay. He caught the rope that Meg tossed, looped it through an iron ring, and assisted her out of the boat, his grip strong and sure. He reminded her of a golden bull, broad and heavily muscled, his blue eyes vivid under a shock of blond hair. Glancing around, she did not see Dougal Stewart among the men standing higher on the rock.
“Miss MacNeill, welcome,” Alan Clarke said. “And Norrie! Stewart said if you came in closer, we should show you the progress up here.” He led them toward the steps. “After the explosions, it’s a bit of a mess on the roof, I’m afraid. Step carefully.” Walking on the outer side of the rough steps, he ushered them carefully upward.
Reaching the high, flat plateau, Meg glanced around in dismay. Chaos had transformed the ancient sea rock. A huge crater dominated the center area, and broken rock and dressed stones were stacked around its edges while men clustered about working with hand tools and heavy equipment. Workbenches, tarpaulins, ropes, kegs, crates, and stone slabs were stacked or leaning wherever she looked. Two smiths worked at an outdoor forge, hammering iron rods bright with heat.
Crane arms attached to a steam engine projected over the edge of the rock, with ropes and a platform dangling down into the water. Workmen turned the cranks of two enormous spools, reeling heavy ropes and hoses down to men who were perched on an outcrop of rock on the cliff below, while others operated a gigantic bellows. At the edge, two men peered over the side and called back orders. The cacophony of shouts, hammering, and machinery was loud and incessant, overpowering the familiar shush and slap of waves and the cries of birds overhead.
Meg looked about, overwhelmed, not sure what to say. The wind whipped at her skirts, and she drew her plaid shawl around her shoulders. Despite the warm summer day, the damp, salty winds blowing over the top of the rock always seemed to cut cool and fast.
“We built a quay to be able to bring barges and boats close to the rock,” Alan Clarke said, explaining what Meg and Norrie saw. “We can load equipment and materials more easily. The foundation pit for the structure is almost ready, and we’ve been transporting stones quarried on Guga, while hoping to quarry more stone from Caransay.”
Meg watched masons work with sledges and chisels to refine the huge stones for a snug fit at the base of the tower to come. Several stones had been placed and were being slathered with mortar. The pit in the plateau looked huge to her. She frowned, silent.
“We use the cranes to haul stones and materials up here,” Clarke said. “Most of the stones weigh a ton or more. We cannot bring oxen out here, of course, so we rely on cranes, pulleys, and roller bars. It took weeks just to get the equipment and supplies moved and secured in place. See there? We finally finished a wee shelter to house things, and for men to eat and sleep as needed.”
The “wee shelter” was a tall structure set at the far end of the rock. Walls and roof of metal sheeting were set on pylons drilled into the rock.
“We built it to survive the weather,” Clarke went on. “There is room for hammocks and a cookstove and such, should the weather turn bad.”
