Now Norrie was examining the helmet. “The air comes in here?”
“Aye, through the hoses,” Dougal said. “Clean air flows in here, and exhalations escape here.” He pointed to the valves. “The other is a speaking tube.”
“It takes a team for one man to go doon safely,” Alan said.
“The men on the pumps are essential,” Evan said. “Our lives are literally in their hands.” He stood. “Dougal, I’ll be in the office. I need to draw what we saw down there so we can assess the condition of the rock.”
“Good. I will show our guests around the site.” He took Meg’s elbow to guide her with him, speaking to Norrie and Alan Clarke. The subtle thrill of his touch made her catch her breath as she went with him.
“Evan Mackenzie of Glencarron?” she asked Dougal. “Isn’t that region held by the Earl of Kildonan?”
“Aye. He is the earl’s heir and a viscount himself, though he does not generally use his title, not in the work he does as an engineer.”
“I have heard of his father—the man is notorious. Much despised in the northern Highlands with a wretched reputation for cruelty in clearing his people from his lands to allow for more sheep.”
“You are aware of that?”
“I remember my grandfather, my mother’s father, speaking of it. He strongly disapproved.”
Dougal nodded. “Evan wants nothing to do with his father. But lately the earl has been quite ill. When he is gone, Evan will be earl—though he does not want a single stick or a coin from his father. He feels it would be tainted. But he cares about the estate and the people of Kildonan and will do his best. Still, he prefers his work designing bridges and docks. A brilliant engineer and the last to admit it. We attended university together, along with my cousin, Aedan MacBride.”
She nodded, having heard of MacBride’s work in engineering along the byways of Scotland. Having financed some of that work herself, Meg knew more about bridge and road projects than Dougal Stewart could imagine.
“Mackenzie is an expert in the new science of geology. I asked him to advise on the state of the foundation rock here.”
“Both of them are master divers,” Alan Clarke said, walking beside them. “But there is none so skilled at Dougal Stewart. Born to the sea, he was. We can hardly keep the lad out of the water, though he has had his share of trouble in it.”
“Trouble?” Meg asked.
Dougal shrugged. “Shipwrecked once or twice. If you will excuse me, Miss MacNeill, I should change into dry clothing. If you will wait, I can show you more of what we are doing here.”
“Mr. Clarke showed us quite a bit. You may need to rest. Go on,” she said. “We are fine. We know Sgeir Caran too.”
He gave her a curious glance at that, then walked across the roof of the rock toward the strange iron barracks where Mackenzie had gone.
Shipwrecked.Meg narrowed her eyes. That was part of the reason he was so adamant about his lighthouse. He had mentioned his parents losing their lives in the sea. Had he been involved in a shipwreck too?
He had promised they would talk, though she dreaded it. Now she was impatient for the chance to learn more about him. So far, he had surprised her at every turn.
Even so, she could not forgive him so easily for the past.
Chapter Eight
Dougal noticed therelieved glance Meg gave him upon his return, as if she hoped for a rescue from Alan, who was going on about the mathematics of lighthouse design. Apparently, she had heard enough about the calculated strength of the tower’s height and mass, factored to the pounds-per-square-inch impact of a gale-force wave.
“Here is Mr. Stewart,” Clarke said. “He can answer some questions for you as well.”
“I can. Alan, you are needed over by the platform.” As Clarke left, Dougal stood near Margaret MacNeill. He had heard others call her Meg, which suited the honesty of her approach—and her earthy beauty—very well.
With a wry glint in her aqua-blue eyes, she regarded him. “I wonder what it is truly like on the bottom of the sea.”
“Rather magical. It is a different realm—peaceful, beautiful, fantastical. When the light comes clear through the water, the coral formations and waving fields of kelp are brightly colored. And the variety of fish and sea creatures is astonishing. But it is exceedingly cold, so we must wear several layers under the suits. It’s noisier than you might imagine down there,” he added, smiling, “with the sound of the waves and the scrape of coral in the current and so on knocking about.”
“It sounds fascinating and so challenging.”
“Nearly anyone could try it with the right equipment and instruction, and a good crew up top to see to things. It’s quite enjoyable. If the Otherworld exists,” he added, “it could hardly be more incredible than the depths of the sea.”
“There is a legendary place called Land-Under-Waves, said to be very beautiful.Tir fo Thuinn,”she translated. “It is said to lie somewhere in the deepest waters of the Hebrides. Its inhabitants walk among us in human form, they say, so they will not be recognized as sea fairies, selkies, kelpies, and the like.”
