“Uncle Edward asked me to tell you there may be a way to halt the government funding Stewart’s funding to delay or even prevent construction. Stewart requires thirty thousand pounds to complete the work, funded from the government and private sponsors.”
“But nothing from me.” Meg frowned, reading Stewart’s letter. His neat script gave her the sense of a strong, confident man with a bit of edge to his character. “His pleas on behalf of his men are stirring, but he would force the issue.”
“Those rocks are dangerous. Perhaps there should be a lighthouse there to protect ships.”
“Guy, do not be a traitor,” Meg said. Again, a strange, hot current surged through her. Memories of Sgeir Caran stirred emotions that she must ignore, but for the moment could not, until she noticed something in the letter.
“The arrogance of the man!” She shook the page. “He means to start work on Caransay!”
“So it seems. My uncle wanted you to know. Since you will be there on holiday soon, you could finally meet with the man and explain yourself clearly.”
“That would ruin my holiday.”
“You can hardly avoid him on an island just a few miles long.”
“I can and will,” she said. “And somehow I will end this project on my island. When I purchased the island’s lease, I promised my kin and tenants that Caransay would remain free from threats and outsiders. I must keep my word. The thought of a lighthouse on that ancient rock is unbearable.” She glanced away. “Please tell Sir Edward that his law firm may deal with Mr.Stewart as seems fit. I will include a personal note in the next letter they send him. It is time I voiced my opinion directly to him.”
“Excellent thought. When you are on Caransay you can at least see what Mr. Stewart is like from a distance. Be a spy. See what you want to do from there.”
“If he looks thoroughly wicked, I shall withdraw his invitation to the soiree.”
Guy chuckled. “While you are away, I will assist Mrs. Shaw with arrangements for the event.”
“Thank you.” Still holding Dougal Stewart’s letter, Meg considered it again. Plain stationery and unadorned black script gave the impression of a practical, wholly masculine man who preferred simplicity and directness. Apparently, Stewart was handsome, well-educated, and courageous. Those were attractive qualities in a man. She wished suddenly she could like him.
But he was the most stubborn man she could imagine, and currently he threatened the island she wanted desperately to protect. His lighthouse could change the peace and safety she had ensured for the residents of Caransay. Its presence could destroy the island’s privacy and erode the mystery and traditions of Sgeir Caran.
“Mr. Stewart will just have to build his lighthouse somewhere else,” she said. “And he can go to Hades for all I care, so long as he leaves Sgeir Caran and Caransay alone.”
“Strong words, Lady Strathlin.”
“Strongly felt.” She raised her chin.
Sgeir Caran.A sudden vivid memory came to her—that dark, glossy rock lashed by a wild sea, and a strong, beautiful man standing in the eerie light of a storm. As a hot blush infused her cheeks, she crammed Stewart’s letter back into its envelope. Theman on that rock had left her, betrayed her. That dream was empty.
“Mr. Stewart cannot be allowed to destroy the sanctity of the great rock,” she said.
Chapter Two
The golden-haired girlcaught Dougal Stewart’s attention, distracting him as he stood on a Hebridean beach talking with his first foreman. Pausing midsentence, he glanced at her. Among the other islanders walking over the sands, she shone like a candle flame.
“Ah, er, the Ordnance Survey map,” he resumed, looking at Alan Clarke. “Have you gone over it yet?”
“I did,” Clarke replied. “And last evening I walked over the hills at the center of the island. There is good granite to be quarried there. Mackenzie will know best when he has a chance to examine it.”
Dougal nodded, watching the blond woman crossing the beach. The amber sunset light diffused over her as if she were made of magic dust. For a moment he thought of the girl who still haunted his dreams—he would never know if she had been human, a dream, or a sea fairy, if such creatures existed. But he had not forgotten her.
Simply, the young woman he watched was fetching, and his proximity to that rocky islet reminded him of the past. Nothing more than that.
“Who’s that, then?” Alan asked, looking in the same direction. “A bonny sight.”
“Aye.” Dougal agreed.
Golden-haired and reed slim, she stopped to shade her brow with a hand, then turned toward the women and children helping the fishermen who were coming in from a day’s work. Laughing, calling out to each other, they worked together to pull the boats onto the sand and then drag nets bulging with fish and creels full of lobsters out of reach of the waves. A few children stopped to speak with the girl; she nodded, smiled, waved as they ran past.
An elderly man, white haired and holding a pipe, strolled over to join her. Dougal recognized Norrie MacNeill, a crofter fisherman who regularly sailed to the Isle of Mull to fetch mail and supplies for the people of Caransay. The girl wrapped her arm in Norrie’s, and he patted her hand as they chatted.
She must be Norrie’s kinswoman, Dougal thought. Other islanders seemed to know her, waving and calling out. She was dressed like the other women, her clothing plain and practical; a brisk sea breeze whipped at her dark skirt, hinting at her slender form and revealing bare feet and shapely calves. Her thick, curly honey-gold hair was partly tamed by a black ribbon, and draped over her shoulders was the long plaid arisaid shawl common to Highland women. A lovely young woman with a simplicity that was beauty in itself.
