Meg saw a muscle bounce subtly in his cheek. Breaching the gap without thinking, she touched his forearm, caring only about the hurt he carried in him. He let her hand linger.
“Mr. Stooar,” Thora said, “I am sorry. We did not know.”
“Of course not. But thank you.”
“A hard thing,” Norrie said. “We all know that, here in this room. Our son, our Margaret’s father, was taken on the reef too.”
Though he did not look at Meg, Dougal turned his arm so that her hand fell into his, and he folded his fingers over hers for a moment. That quick gesture gave her bright hope. She desperately needed to know he cared for her.
But as Norrie had just said, it broke the heart; she could not act on the love she had begun to feel deeply, keenly, certainly.
“So that is why you are determined to build a lighthouse out there,” Norrie said.
“Aye, sir. The Caran light is important to me, and to your family too.”
So many revelations lately, Meg thought. Listening, she realized again how wrong she had been about him over the years. The man had true integrity and compassion, some of it simply born to him, some stemming from private suffering. Tragedy had fueled his work and his persistence.
And she had acted selfishly, making assumptions, allowing solicitors to speak for her as the baroness. From the start, she should have taken the time to learn why Dougal Stewart was so adamant about the lighthouse on Sgeir Caran.
The contents of the letter under his hand might destroy what he had dedicated himself to create. Frowning, head lowered, she felt a heavy remorse and knew she must stop her solicitors from progressing.
“Though a lighthouse would not have saved our son,” Norrie was saying. “He knew that reef well. It was the strength of the storm that he could not fight. Margaret,” he said, looking hard at Meg, “we will tell Lady Strathlin of the noble reasons for putting a light there and urge her to give Dougal Stewart her help and support. Urge her, do you hear?”
“I hear,Seanair,” she whispered.
“I doubt the lady would care, from what I have seen,” Dougal said.
Tears stung her eyes. Resolve washed through her—finally she must be done with holding back, done with the hurt and the ruse. Hiding the truth had not protected her or her family, but had only caused more difficulties.
No matter what she had thought years ago, she had been wrong about the obstinate, odious Mr. Stewart. She had hurt him when he only wanted to heal the hurt he had brought her.
Simple enough to tell him who she was, she thought. Far harder to tell him about Sean. But she had to try—or even more hurt was inevitable, and all of it her doing.
“Mr. Stewart, there is something—” she began.
Norrie tapped the table. “Not now, girl,” he said in rapid Gaelic. “This is not the time.” He must have sensed she was tempted to draw back the curtain on her life.
“Not the time,” Thora echoed in Gaelic.
“Theeach-uisgeloves the girl,” Elga said in the same language. “Can you not see it?”
Dougal looked from one to the other, clearly bewildered, politely waiting.
Meg subsided, knowing they were right. This was not the time. But once he knew the truth, he might despise her for it. Once he knew about his son, he might take him from her, all within his rights as the father.
But too much truth was a risk for Dougal, too. If Roderick Matheson discovered that the lighthouse engineer was the father of her child, he could take steps to ruin not just Meg, but Dougal and his career. The commission that funded the lighthouse would judge their principal engineer’s morals poorly, and society would do the same. Though Meg could hide on Caransay all her life, Dougal could lose all he had worked toward.
“Miss MacNeill?” He had seen that she had nearly spoken.
She bit her lip, shook her head. First, she must resolve the problem of Roderick and his hold over her. Then she could reveal the truth. Though she feared what Dougal might think of her once he knew, she could feel free at last, and learn to move on without him.
This tangle was of her own making, and the time had come to unravel it.
*
“Thank you fortelling me about thePrimrose,Mr. MacNeill. I appreciate it more than I can say.” Dougal set his empty glass down. “And thank you for the hospitality, Mrs. MacNeill. I must go before the weather gets worse.”
He stood, refusing while the elderly MacNeills protested with genuine warmth that he should stay. Smiling, he shook his head, and Meg went forward to open the door.
