“He would visit here, with you.” He kneaded his cap in his hands. “Meg, take him back to Edinburgh to live in your castle and send him to a real school. Let him grow up to be someone important. A doctor. Or an engineer like Mr. Stewart, making lighthouses to keep the seas safe.”
Startled, she reached for something to say. “You support the lighthouse, then.”
“I do. The reef is powerful. It can destroy lives. And Dougal Stewart is a good man.”
She caught her breath. Her cousin did not know the truth about Sean and Dougal, and yet had found the tender spot of the hurt, all unwitting.
“For now, Caransay is the best place for him, Fergus. He would be heartbroken to leave you and all his family behind.”
“We nearly lost him the other day. I just want the lad to be healthy and safe. And happy. We would miss him, but he is smart and needs schooling. The other day, he read a story to small Anna. Read it aloud! She is too tiny to care, but I was proud.”
She smiled, felt tears sting. “He is happy here. I am in no rush to move him.”
“But you are his mother, lass,” he said quietly. “You deserve more time with the lad.”
“I do. But I want what is best for him. Strathlin Castle is cold and lonely, with only servants there and advisers visiting, some friends. Not all of them are fond of wee lads.” She thought of Roderick and suppressed a shudder. “Besides,” she added, “he would not see the water there.”
“Now that would be a sad thing. It is the magic of living on an island, the sea and the wind and being so close to nature and the heavens. And for yourself?” He tipped his head. “Do you miss the sea and sky when you go east to the mainland?”
“Every day.” She gazed at Sean’s golden head. “And I miss my son on those days too. But he needs to be here, where he is—safe,” she murmured.
Her cousin frowned. “Safe away from the hurried life in Edinburgh, I suppose. But someday you will take him. The time is coming.”
“Not yet, Fergus. Not yet.”
Soon, Lady Strathlin might have to marry a heartless banker to protect her beloved son, his future, and that of the island. Roderick’s threats could go far enough for her to lose Caransay too, if he influenced the bank board against her based on a false picture of her morals and intentions. The more she looked for ways to avoid marrying him, the more she saw no choice.
Chapter Twelve
About to takehis leave, having thanked Norrie and Thora, Dougal looked around, wanting to say goodnight to Meg. Seeing her with Fergus, the two in a quiet conversation while she frowned and shook her head, he wondered again if something troubled her. Despite the evening’s revelry, she had seemed preoccupied. Moments later, she stepped away to rouse a sleepy Sean, leading him through a connecting door. Rather than leave as he had planned, Dougal waited.
When she emerged, he came forward. “I did not want to leave without saying goodnight,” he said. “Sean looked very tired, poor lad.”
“He is already asleep, and will have good dreams after all this, I think.” She smiled.
“It was a lovely ceilidh,” he said.
“Lovely, aye. Thank you for coming.” The fold of a frown, a depth in her blue eyes, told him she wanted to say something else. Her trembling smile confirmed it.
“What is it?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “Just tired. I—I need some air. It is stuffy in here with the lamps and candles, and the heat and noise of so many. But they are leaving now, and I should help Thora clear the things away.”
“We could go outside for just a bit,” he offered.
As he spoke, a small black dog padded toward them and scratched at the door that Meg had just closed. Dougal recognized the little terrier that had dozed blithely by the fireside during the noisy ceilidh. Tail wagging now, she jumped up at the door as Meg opened it.
“Go on, then, Falla. You want to sleep near Seanie. You are such a good nursemaid,” she said, rubbing the little head. The dog scampered into the room and Meg closed the door.
“She is older and a bit deaf,” Meg said. “She can sleep through the music and dancing, but if Sean leaves the room, she knows it. Shall we go outside?”
She led him to a side door, crossing the large room away from the entrance where guests were taking their leave, while some of the women remained to help Thora. Originally, Camus nan Fraoch had been a small croft, Dougal noted, though two additions had been built to either side under one long thatched roof that covered the main area, kitchen, and sleeping rooms. With low ceiling beams and thick whitewashed walls, a stone hearth where a peat fire crackled, and fitted with sturdy, simple furnishings, the enlarged house was cozy yet roomy.
“This way.” She opened the door and Dougal slipped out after her, closing the latch. Under the purple glow of a summer midnight, Meg hurried through a small kitchen garden and toward the dunes, where the sea glittered and stars sparkled overhead.
A warm blend of contentment and desire rushed through him, smooth and fiery, as reviving as a good whisky and cream. He wanted to pull her into his arms, but knew she needed time. Walking beside her, boots sinking in sand, he took her hand to pull her with him toward the shush of waves in the darkness. Silently, swiftly, she went with him. Her fingers curled, pressed, fervent in his hold. At the water’s edge, he paused as the water foamed toward them in lacy ripples.
She looked up at him, silent, expectant somehow. The curve of her cheek was a cool blue crescent, her hair haloed in starlight.
