When the platform descended again, he climbed on and pulled on the ropes. Going up, he took deep, even breaths to acclimate himself. Overhead, the water swirled blue, and finally he surged through its mass, dripping. Once in the air, he felt the crushing burden of the suit, boots, and gear. Men assisted him to the bench, where he broke out in a hot sweat inside the oppressive suit, still breathing the stale, rubbery air through the hose until the helmet was lifted away.
Cool air burst over him and he sucked it in gratefully while two men removed his cumbersome gear. Thanking them, he stood, clad only in long, damp woolen undergarments, and went to the metal-sided hut to change. Once dressed in dry trousers, shirt, and vest, he walked out again, remembered the little gold piece, and fetched it quickly from the canvas bag.
Examining it in sunlight, he flecked the coral crust away to expose a pretty blue-green pendant, an aquamarine stone framed in filigreed gold. The delicate chain attached to its loop was broken and hopelessly encrusted, but the bijou would be lovely once it was cleaned.
The luminous color reminded him of Meg’s sea-colored eyes. It would be lovely on a new gold chain around her slender neck. But he hesitated, remembering her rejection the other night. Though he felt hurt and disappointed, he was not ready to give up on the dream so quickly. A few days had passed when he had been busy on the rock, hoping she might visit him. But she had not.
Opening his heart had not been easy, but he had managed to crack through old layers for her, only for her. If she did not want him in her life—she had good reasons for that—he would accept it. But he could not rest until he knew what troubled her and ifhe could help. He owed her. And some inner instinct told him to wait and see.
Pocketing the little bijou, he decided to give it to her as a gesture of friendship—or a gesture of love if she wanted it. Once found, love was not something to let go of easily. He would give it time. Besides, he would be here for months with the work to be done on this infernal rock.
Remembering the tasks needing attention, he broke out of his reverie to attend to them.
Chapter Fourteen
“Iapologize forthe late hour,” Dougal said.
Meg, holding the door of Norrie’s house open, smiled faintly, heart pounding. A fine rain sparkled on his bowler hat and broad shoulders as he stood in the doorway. He was so handsome, so strong and earnest and dear to her, she only blinked.
“I came for my mail, just briefly. I heard Norrie brought it in from Tobermory today.”
“He did,” she said. A strong gust of wind blew past, nearly tearing the door from her hold. The sky was blustery, with great gray clouds hovering over the sea. “Come in.”
“Dougal Stewart!” Norrie came toward the door. “I would have brought the letters to you. Come out of the rain. We will have a gale before long, with the look of that dark sky!”
Removing his hat, Dougal stepped past Meg without glancing at her. She stepped back.
“Sit you down, Mr. Stooar.” Thora indicated a bench by the table. “It is a dirty night.”
“It is indeed,” Dougal agreed, still standing. “Thank you, but I do not want to disturb your evening. I was out walking and thought to save Mr. MacNeill the trouble of bringing the mail.”
“Sit you down,” Mother Elga repeated, gesturing.
“I should be on my way,” he answered. Meg, silent, felt he avoided looking her way. Sensing his cool, shuttered mood, she wondered if he kept his distance from her just as she had doneafter the night of the ceilidh that had led to deep kisses, love, a marriage offer—and yet she had fled.
Now, standing close beside him, she felt the pull of him like a lodestone. The regret she felt at turning him down still twisted in her like a knife.
“Ach, Mr. Stooar, it is not good for a body to work all the time,” Thora said. “We see you out there on the great rock day and night it seems.”
“Day and night,” Elga echoed, nodding.
“Sit you down and have a dram. The children are to bed, and we are just sitting here in the nice quiet, the four of us. And you make five,” Thora said.
Dougal acquiesced with a polite murmur and sat on the bench. He thanked Thora for the cup of whisky she handed him. He cleared his throat, looking awkward enough that Meg wanted to reach out to him.
Elga, seated in a wooden chair by the warm hearth, smiled at him. “Mr. Stooar! Do you love the rain?”
“Sometimes,” he said. “A soft rain like this can be peaceful.”
“Ah,” Elga said. “Peaceful like your home in the sea?”
He glanced at Meg then, and she knew he remembered the old woman’s conviction that he was a kelpie come to shore. “Mother Elga, please,” she said.
“A soft rain and a peaceful sea are lovely indeed, Mother Elga,” he said. “Thank you,” he said then, as Meg handed him the bundle of letters that Norrie set on the table. Dougal’s fingers brushed hers as he took the envelopes. Startled, feeling a tug of the heart, she stepped back.
“Sit you down, Margaret,” Elga said. “Ach, not here. Over there, next to Mr. Stooar!”
“Just here,” Thora insisted patting the bench beside Dougal.
