“By M. MacNeill,” she breathed, reading the letter. “I do not know what to say.”
“At the time, I was…unaware of your circumstances.” He shrugged. “I hoped you would be pleased.” He twisted his hat like an embarrassed schoolboy and straightened his shoulders.
This girl tossed his heart and his head about like no one he had ever met. But he needed that, he suddenly thought. Finding his balance with her somehow broke through his reserve, cracked the shell he had not even known he had created. She helped him find his balance altogether, though she had no idea of that.
“I am—how very nice. Thank you,” she murmured, and he saw the shine of tears in her eyes and she set the book on the gleaming surface of a nearby table and placed the bank draft beside it. She sniffled, laughed a little, shrugged.
“If you are not interested, I understand. I can convey your apologies to Logan.”
She gave a little watery sob. “I am! I am—thrilled.” The last word wobbled. “I thought my journals were nice, and I dreamed that one day—but I did not think it was really possible.”
“Very possible,” he said. “It is a wonderful thing, if you want it.”
“Oh, but more wonderful is that you—you did this for me. You believed in my work. In me,” she added. “You cared about it.”
“Of course I care about it,” he said. God, he wished she would not sob—it made him want to pull her into his arms and hold her. But he could not allow himself to step outside the boundary he had set for now, to protect him, protect her. “No need to cry. I know it is a silly wee sum.”
Her face crumpled at that, tears streaming fresh. She touched the cheque with slim fingers. Dougal bunched the brim of his hat in one hand and stayed still.
“It is the first silly wee sum I have ever earned myself.” She gulped tears, laughed a little.
“Good Lord, all this—” he said, waving his hat.
“Was inherited,” she said. “I never planned on it, or wanted it. All this was meant for my cousins, but they were gone, and I was left. I left my home and my family for this. It has hardly even felt like a home all this time.”
“It must feel like a great responsibility.”
“It does.” She pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve, dabbed at her eyes, her nose. “But I have advisers, bankers, accountants, and a large household staff at each of my homes. I feel some responsibility—and too pampered, not sure why I should be. It is not—who I am,” she finished.
Who are you,he wanted to ask. “How many homes do you have?”
“This house, as well as Strathlin Castle, the manse on Caransay, and another small castle near Inverness. My bankers urge me to buy other properties, but I see no need.”
He watched her without answering. Taking it all in, deciding what best to say, to ask.
She flipped through the journal. “That silly wee sum for this wee book is most welcome. I am honored. And I thank you for it.”
“Not me. Mr. Logan,” he said stiffly. “Well. If there is naught else, I am on the afternoon train for Glasgow.”
Her eyes went wide. “You’re leaving Edinburgh?”
“I must return to Sgeir Caran. I’ve been gone too long. The men have continued in my absence, but some matters cannot proceed until I am there.”
“There were repairs needed after the last storm. Have you heard from Mr. Clarke and Mr. Mackenzie?”
Safer ground in some ways to talk about the work—treacherous in other ways. “They are overseeing things while I’ve been gone. The work goes forward, despite efforts to stop it.”
“The funding,” she said.
“That, and the sheer persistence of Dundas and Grant.” He blew out a breath. “But I must thank you.”
“Thank me? I thought you took great issue with what I—may have done.”
“Some of it,” he replied curtly. “But I do thank you for your remarks at the soiree. As it happened, attitudes turned around regarding the project. I have new offers of support, and I even had an apology from your solicitors.”
“I am glad of that. They owe you that. I want you to know I was not always party to their actions.” She twisted a handkerchief in her hands.
“Some of their actions,” he replied in a dry tone. “Some efforts came from you, I gather.”
