He recalled what she had said of her parents. “Even though Lord Strathlin did not approve of her marriage to an islander, a fisherman.”
“He did not, but he did not disown her and welcomed us. After both Mama and Papa were gone, I visited him until his last days. And all those years, I wrote to him. He kept them.”
She lifted a packet of letters, fanning the edges. “I wrote to him about Caransay—the island, the flowers, the shells I found on the beach, the birds and the seals on the sea rocks. I told him about sailing and fishing with Grandfather Norrie and about playing on the beaches and swimming in the sea. I made drawings for him too.” She touched the bundle. “It’s all here.”
Amazed, touched, Dougal realized the importance the letters held for her. “Your journals started with your childhood letters and drawings.”
She nodded. “He would thank me for the letters, though he never wrote back. Just a yearly invitation to come to Edinburgh or Strathlin Castle, wherever he would spend the winter depending on business matters. I was tutored, and often fitted for a wardrobe as I grew. Though I always preferred plain gowns and bare feet.” She laughed a little.
“He must have appreciated the letters to keep all of them. He was very fond of you, to make sure you had a good education and all your needs met.”
“Gruff as he could be, unhappy as he was about my father being a fisherman, he was good to my mother and me. I loved him, and I felt sorry for him, a little. I thought he was lonely. I did not know then how busy he was, building a shipping and banking empire. I scarcely knew about Matheson Bank then.”
She walked around the great mahogany desk, fingers trailing. “He did not show much affection. I thought he just tolerated me, his only grandchild. An obligation.”
“But he left everything to you. That says a great deal.”
“My uncles were gone, and I did not know he had designated me his heir. Then I found this box when Mr. Hamilton and I were looking for something. A deed, I think.”
“He not only loved you, he had faith in your intelligence and judgment, entrusting all this to a young woman.”
She put the bundled letters back in the box and shut it away in the cabinet. “Nearly two million pounds, they told me, when the will was read, along with title and properties and ownership, though not authority, over the bank.”
“That is astonishing,” he murmured.
“At the time, it was incomprehensible. I did not want it. I railed against it, cried, refused at first. I wanted to live on Caransay, for that was my home. But the will was ironclad—either I accepted and took on the responsibilities, or the entire estate would go into the bank’s control. This beautiful Edinburgh house, the castle, the other properties, all of it would be forever locked to Lord Strathlin’s descendants. My descendants.”
“Your son Sean,” he said. “Your late husband’s child, as you let them think. But a fisherman—did your grandfather frown on that also?”
“He never knew. Sean was born after he died. But I already knew the fortune would leave the family, so I had to agree. It is easy enough in Scotland for a female to inherit a title and an estate, no matter the scope of it. So here I am.”
“And doing a remarkable job. It must be a great deal of work.”
“I had much to learn those first couple of years, true. Fortunately, I had friends to help. Mrs. Shaw, whom I met in Edinburgh when we were girls, came with me. So did Mr. Hamilton, who had been Grandfather’s protégé. He was familiar with matters I knew little about. And Mrs. Berry had been my governess when I visited Grandfather.”
“Ah, Berry, who is so fond of swimming,” he drawled.
“I am sorry about that,” she said, and saw him shrug it away. “The bankers and solicitors were well-meaning, if not used to dealing with a young woman. They brought me up to task. Including,” she added, glancing at him, “Sir Roderick.”
Dougal frowned. “You mentioned he was helpful. A cousin?”
“Aye, distant. I wonder if he expected more from Grandfather, his elder cousin. But there was no love lost between them, I gather.” She looked into the candlelight, its warm glow fading into the room around her. She stared, summoned courage. “I doubt Grandfather would have wanted me to marry Roderick, though he thinks otherwise.”
“Aside from Roderick lately, luck has been with you,” he said. “Well, but for the husband you lost. I have not asked, hoping you would tell me when you were ready.”
There it was: the door opened wide to the past and the truth. Meg stepped through.
“My grandmothers on Caransay are convinced the luck of the inheritance came to me through magic,” she said. “Because of the night we spent together on the rock.”
“It was magical,” he said. “But that would hardly lead to a massive inheritance. People would spend the night on sea rocks in wild storms all the time if so.”
She laughed, yet was too distracted, and plunged on. “The legend,” she said. “The legend of the kelpie of Sgeir Caran that comes for his bride on the sea rock. He grants good fortune to his bride and to the islanders if….” She paused, turning to look at him, her eyes wide, beseeching.
“What is it?” He reached out to brush at her hair, loose around her shoulders, wayward curls slipping free. “If you had good luck, then there may be some truth to that legend.”
“More than you know. I came by this good fortune after we spent the night on the great rock, just as the legend claims should be done,” she murmured.
“But the kelpie did not really appear to you, did he,” Dougal murmured.
