“Listen to me. We saved each other that night. And I take full responsibility for what happened between us. You were aninnocent, and I—should have better judgment, then and perhaps now too.”
“I wanted it too, Dougal Stewart,” she said in a small voice. “It was not just you. Something came over me. It just seemed—right. And seemed right again, now.”
“Look at me.” He tilted her chin up to kiss her gently. “Meg, I am asking you to marry me.”
She gasped, felt tears gather in her eyes. “You do not have an obligation to me.”
“I do. But that is not why I asked you. I want to marry you, if you will have me. There is something between us, I agree. I want to be with you, and help take care of you and your family.”
She sat away from him, heart pounding. “I cannot. We cannot. You do not need to do this.”
“Let me in, lass. You are—so guarded. I do not know why, but I hope you will tell me.” He sat straighter, his hand splayed warm on her back. “Life is hard in the Hebrides. I can help you and your family. I have a respectable income.”
“That is not it!” She got to her feet. “I appreciate it, I do. But I cannot marry you.”
He stood, rubbed a hand over his face as if to summon patience. “I wronged you. I have a conscience, woman. I can make it up to you.”
“I beg you, do not pity me or do this out of a sense of duty. I cannot bear it.” She whirled to walk away, down the beach, back home.
“Darling wee fool,” he said, catching her arm, turning her toward him. “I did not ask out of obligation. I am in love with you, Meg MacNeill.”
She stared at him, wordless, filled with anguish and yearning together. He offered what she wanted and needed, and what she wished she could give him—love, desire, forgiveness, and a clearpath to a happy life. But she could not accept him now, nor could she explain.
“I love you,” he repeated. “I want to be with you. I have loved you these seven years and did not know it until now. You were my salvation that night, though I hurt you without realizing it.”
“You saved me, too. I can forgive you the rest of it. But we cannot marry.”
“We can.” His grip was warm, firm. She felt caught by the spell of his presence, easily cast in the starlight and the sweep of the sea. But she could not give in, with so much at stake. “Meg, remember the dream, yours and mine, too.”
“My dreams cannot come true.” The awful finality of that twisted inside her.
“Then neither can mine.” He let go. “Aye, then. We have time to think about this. My offer stands, lass. I do not give up easily, and I am a patient man.”
Again words failed her as she watched him. She felt blessed and cursed, for he was all she wanted and more; yet she could not accept, not now, perhaps never.
Spinning on her heel, she ran, her heart sinking with each step in the sand that took her away from him. Her heart and soul beat against the cage of wealth and secrets that trapped her.
What hurt, suddenly, was that he let her go, gave her the very freedom she wanted. What hurt was that she chose to run, afraid of the truth—who she was, and how much she loved him.
*
Dougal looked upthrough the crystal depth of the water to see a blur of blue sky and clouds far above, and golden shadows rippling in currents over the enormous base of the great rock. A pair of dolphins swam overhead.
If dolphins swam freely here, then sharks were not in the area. Good; he did not relish meeting those beasts again. Awkward in his gear and suit, he moved closer to his companion diver. Evan Mackenzie, looking like another sea beast, his tentacle-like hoses undulating as he tapped a hammer on the side of the rock, testing for cracks or weakness.
Doing the same, Dougal moved with slow, clumsy grace, hearing constant noise through the brass-and-copper helmet. The air he breathed, pumped through the long hose attached to the helmet, whooshed in and out, smelling sharply of stale rubber, valves clicking. Overhead, waves shushed, and the wooden platform suspended nearby knocked against the great rock with the current. The sea surrounding the reef was never still, never quiet, too powerful to be tranquil.
Dougal shoved the hammer in his belt and traced his gauntlets over recesses and protrusions, searching for cracks or any sign of damage from blasts. Below the surface, Sgeir Caran was so broad and massive that he and Evan needed multiple dives to check for damage as construction continued.
“Dougal.” Alan Clarke’s voice was surprisingly clear through the speaking tube.
“Aye,” Dougal responded. “All is well.”
“Good. You two have been down long enough. Time to come up.”
Dougal signaled Evan, who stepped onto the wooden platform and tugged on the ropes, alerting the men above to haul the platform upward. Dougal watched the platform rise in slow increments that would allow Evan’s body to adapt to the changing depth.
Waiting his turn, Dougal brushed a hand over the rock to examine a horizontal niche, loosening a cloud of sand and debris. Something glinted in a soft spill of daylight and floated out. He captured it in clumsy fingers, finding a bit of gold coinencrusted with coral. He slipped it into the canvas bag attached to his belt.
