Small kisses as he spoke, for she was magic to him, a lure for his soul, and now that he had found her, he could not risk losing her again. Their names were called again, just outside.
“We must go,” she whispered.
Lifting his hands, he stepped back, more air between them. “I wanted to find you. I tried. But I did not find you, and I didnot expect to, because I thought—” He shook his head. It seemed even more ridiculous now.
“What?” Her eyes were glossed in tears, her lips rouged and lush from kisses.
“I thought you were not real. That I dreamed you. My head—I took a knock to the head when my boat went over. I was drunk, out on the water when I should not have been.” The truth out, he shrugged, ashamed to admit.
She stared. Then she laughed. “Drunk! And you thought me not real?” She laughed again, soft and quiet, shaking her head, looking away.
“I thought you were magic. But why were you—” He stopped as Alan and Norrie called again. “There is no time. Can you forgive me?” He smoothed fallen curls from her brow.
“I—I do not know. And I should tell—never mind. No time.” She frowned as if something troubled her. She stepped away.
“Seanair!” she called. “We are just here. Coming!”
*
“Dirty weather onthe way,” Norrie said, glancing in the distance, pulling on the oars as he rowed toward shore. Alan Clarke, wielding a second set of oars, murmured agreement. Norrie’s large fishing boat was full that afternoon, Meg thought, turning to look at Dougal Stewart, seated across from her beside Evan Mackenzie, while she sat on a short crossbench in the bow between stacked ropes, folded nets at her feet.
To the west over the water, fast-moving dark clouds swallowed the sunlight and promised wind and rain before long. The boat plowed through waters gone rough and opaque, and Meg drew her plaid shawl closer.
Dougal examined the sky too. “As soon as the weather began to turn, I told the crew to leave the rock and cross over nowrather than later,” he said. “We never know how large a storm will be by the time it hits that rock.” He sent a grim glance toward Meg, who looked away.
“There’s the crew, just leaving,” Evan said, pointing.
Waves slapped the sides of the boat, and Meg brushed droplets from her skirt. Then she noticed a huge fin thrusting through the water, gliding between their boat and the harbor.
“A basking shark!” She pointed as the men turned to look. Then she noticed other sharks skimming below the surface of the water, three or four in all, their bodies easily as long as the boat.
“Ach,baskers are not much to worry about,” Norrie said. “They have huge maws and tails as tall as my granddaughter, but no teeth to speak of. They eat fish and plankton, not people. Though they are known to carry off a wee man now and then if they’re feeling testy.”
“But they let them go, from what is said,” Meg replied. “They do not usually come this close to the harbor. But oh, they are huge, so magnificent!”
“Ugly beasts, though,” Alan said.
Reaching into the pocket of her skirt, Meg drew out her leather notebook and pencil, opened to a blank page, and began sketching, though the bouncing ride sometimes jerked the pencil’s path.
“She will capture that ugly beast on paper,” Dougal said.
“Look over there,” Mackenzie murmured as the boat bumped over the agitated waves. “That wee lad’s a bit small to be up on the headland on his own.”
“Sean! What the devil is he doing there?” Dougal asked.
“Sean?” Meg whirled to see a small boy standing on the crest of the headland, waving his arms in excitement as he saw their boat sailing toward the harbor. “He loves to climb up there with the older children. But where are the others? And where is hisgrandmother? She would never let him go so high. Sean!” she called. “Get down from there!” But her words were lost in the wind.
“Thora’s on the beach,” Norrie said. “She’s going up there now. No need to fret.”
Meg sighed in relief. But Thora went slowly up the rock, too slowly for comfort as Meg watched. The climb was not difficult, but it was steep, and though Thora was strong, she had years on her. Sean jumped about, waving wildly at the boat, enjoying his freedom while it lasted.
Raising her arms, Meg called again. “Sean! Go back!”
He leaped, skipped, flapped his arms happily. Thora was nearer the top now, beckoning frantically. Sean did not see her, running back and forth on the crusty rock. Gasping, Meg half stood in the boat.
Dougal reached out and took her arm to steady her. “He’ll be fine,” he said. “Thora is nearly there.”
As his grandmother reached the top and hurried toward him, Sean whirled and stumbled. Falling backwards, he plummeted over the edge and down, his small form pale against the massive dark headland.
