Feeling the gentle, cool evening wind on his skin, he drew her into his arms, her skin warm and delicious against his, and he traced his lips over her breasts, teasing her nipples to pearls, while she arched and breathed out in a cry. He traced his tongue over her breasts, between them, and downward over her abdomen, to where she was sweet, tender, and secret.
As she shivered under him, he teased her, stroked her, until she clutched at him and whimpered out her release. When she subsided, sighing like a wave, he could not control the powerful need much longer, heart slamming, body and soul near to bursting.
But he must not give her a child tonight, not yet, though he wanted that desperately with her—that awareness flowed through him even in that moment. Through a haze, he wantedto be cautious, even as she pleaded with her writhing body and a low, throaty moan that pulsed hot and demanding through him. She moved in the soft sand beneath him, pulling him over her, and he gave a low groan, all fire and blaze and no longer himself. When she arched and urged him into her, as his body slipped into the glove of hers, she became his crucible and he hers, all fire and passion, all wind and sea and pounding hearts. The storm of it tore through him.
But he found the strength to pull back, to spill himself into the warm sea that teased around them. Breathless, he gathered her into his arms and rolled to his side to hold her, trembling. Then he realized she wept silently, her cheek wet against his shoulder.
Chapter Thirteen
Starlight and themoon’s profile on the whispering sea, the surf rinsing her feet, and Dougal’s arms around her. She would carry this night through the rest of her life, Meg thought, to treasure this peaceful night with a stormy one. Her kelpie, strong and beautiful, tender and kind.
Soon she might never see him again, once she went back to her life as a baroness. He would not be her husband, and no matter what she wanted, what her fortune could create for her, she would have to live without him. Drawing in a breath against the pain of that, she ducked her head against his chest.
“My lass, what is it?” Dougal traced his fingers over her hair. They were dressed now, seated on the sand, arms around each other, her head on his shoulder. The sea shushed and the moon sparkled, and the distant joy of Norrie’s fiddle sounded in the distance. Even after the guests had gone, he played into the night.
“Just thoughts,” she said, evading the truth. “Dougal, what did you want to say the other day, when we were in the cave, about how you came to be there?”
“I wonder if we have time for that now. They will look for you.”
“They will not. If they know we left together, my grandmothers will not bother us.”
“Why is that?” He kissed her hair.
She shrugged. “Thora and Elga have wanted to bring us together ever since they met you. They—they think you are the kelpie come to save this island.”
He huffed. “Mother Elga said so, but surely that is a joke on the island.”
“Not a joke, but a superstition.”
“What do you mean?”.
“Tell me your story, Mr. Stewart, and I will tell you some of mine so you will understand.”
He looked askance at her. “Very well. Seven years ago, one evening, I was with friends. We were fair drunk, all of us, after a wake for a fine man whose wife made very good whisky. A man from Tobermory.”
“George MacDonald? We knew him. A good man, and good whisky. Why were you there?”
“I was studying the Caran Reef even back then, measuring the rocks, judging the wave force, and so on. We knew a lighthouse was needed along the reef somewhere, and we were exploring the possibility. We were staying on Mull. That night we were young fools, too much whisky, too much youth, boasting of our courage, challenging each other, taking boats out to race. My opponent fell back, but I kept going, wanting to win. Foolish, as I said, for poor weather rose up. A bad squall came over the reef as I approached, and instead of turning back, I went into the throat of it, hoping to come out the other side. But a wave flipped my boat. I took a blow to the head and nearly drowned. Then I was saved—” He stopped. “It is almost too wild to believe.”
“What happened?”
“I suppose a high wave washed me onto Sgeir Caran. But in my poor state, I thought a beautiful white horse carried me over the water.”
“Each-uisge,” she said. “The sea kelpie. A legend. But you saw it?”
“I imagined it. Then I found myself safe on the rock, and I saw you. My mind was all turned about. The hit to the head, the drink, nearly drowning. The fear of being taken by the sea.”
“Then you were shipwrecked on Sgeir Caran,” she breathed.
“Aye. So you see, no scheme to have some fun with a girl who waited on the rock. That is what you told me. I remember that. ‘I waited for you.’”
“Did I say that? I am sorry that I thought you came there deliberately because I was there. But I saw men fetch you in the morning. They seemed to know where you were.”
“They were fishermen. Evan Mackenze hired them to help search for me after the storm. So he knew a little of what happened that night. No one knows the whole of it but we two.” He pulled her closer. “Besides, I thought—” He paused, half-laughed.
“You thought I was not real,” she said quietly.
“Mad as it sounds, it is the truth. I thought you were a sea fairy or the like. A mermaid in human form. Something otherworldly. Otherwise, how could a beautiful lass be there on that rock in a storm? It was a miracle to find you there in that wild storm. I survived because of you, I am sure of it. What is it?”
