God, he loved her. He stepped closer. “What else do you want?”
“You.” She met his gaze. “I want you.”
He smiled slowly, but kept still, arms, body, aching for her. “And I want you. So much. Do you want to shed any other burden—besides all this pretty frippery?”
“I do.” She drew a deep breath. Her lip quivered. “You will not like it, though.”
“More about Matheson?” He folded his arms.
“He is an odious bully. But I am not afraid of him any longer.Youare not afraid of him.”
He huffed agreement. “True.”
“I can break free of him.” She lifted her chin. “I owe him loyalty for helping me in the past. But lately he has proven not very pleasant.”
“Indeed. Is that all, then?” He moved closer, careful not to crush silks and laces.
“There is. But it might present a—challenge.”
“I love a challenge. You, my lass, are a challenge of the best sort. It is easier to sail into a storm than keep pace with all your surprises.”
“You said you needed Meg MacNeill. Here she is. I know you do not care for the baroness.”
“Meg.” He sighed. “I care aboutyou. And you are the baroness—a fascinating creature who equally has my heart. I see that now. I was wrong to doubt it.”
She nodded, brows tucked over eyes that were uncertain blue pools. Something sincerely troubled her, he saw, more than castles, costly things, and a small island where she could be free.
“What is it?” He moved close, reached out to tip up her chin, dabbing a thumb over a tear. “We need to be honest with each other. We both know that now.”
“True.” She drew a breath. She reached for him, cupping her hands on his forearms, fingers gripping. “Dougal—” But she stopped.
“Whatever it is, I love you, aye?” He bent close, touched her cheek. Doubts and reserve and resentments dissolved in the magic of her winsomeness. No matter what she had to say, nothing was insurmountable with trust and faith returning full force. He lowered his head and kissed her, felt her curve against him, whimper, surrender to the kiss. “And I am sorry.”
“You are not the one who needs to apologize.” She broke away. “Dougal, that night—on Sgeir Caran, I must tell you what happened.”
*
“I am listening.”He drew her in for another kiss. Meg felt herself melting into it, felt the next one turn to flame as his fingers gentled over her jaw, her throat, down until his hand was a warm cradle for the upper swell of her breast. Her knees went buttery, and she sank against him.
He leaned back. “Will you tell me? It cannot be so bad. Say it.”
Heart slamming, she did not want to be blunt, wanted to ease the news to him. But not here, where someone might interrupt. She tugged at his arm and pulled him toward a narrow door in the corner of the library. Taking up a candle burning in a glass lamp, she opened the door.
“Come in here.”
They entered a narrow room shaped like a tower, wrapped in dark, gleaming wood paneling, with a spiral stair to one sidethat accessed a platform leading to the upper shelves of the library. It was fitted with a small but handsome desk, two leather armchairs, with a red patterned carpet. The candle in its glass glowed, and the room had a little warmth from its close shape. Its dark masculine elegance brought back memories. She loved this place dearly.
“A secret room?” Dougal’s voice echoed gently in the tower-like space.
“This was my grandfather’s private study,” she said. “He would come here to read and work on journals. Seeing that, I wanted to do the same. He did not seem to mind a little girl underfoot if I was quiet. I would sit over there and draw.”
She went to a small japanned cabinet of black and gold and opened a little door to take out a box of inlaid wood. The exotic smell of sandalwood and memories wafted from it as she set it on the desk and opened it to remove two bundles of letters tied with white ribbon.
“When I first inherited and came to live here,” she said, “Mr. Hamilton and I came in here to search for some of Grandfather’s private papers.”
“If he stored them there, they must have been written by someone special.”
“They are all from me,” she said, “to him. I wrote to him for years. I visited him every winter for several weeks, and he even hired tutors for me—Mrs. Berry and others. He was a widower, and his sons were grown but without children. My mother, his only daughter, brought me here often.”
