She shook her head. “But my grandmothers believe it.”
“They had no proof, but that we met. Not even that, if we were not seen together.”
“They had another sort of proof.” She slipped a finger under the high neck of her plaid bodice and drew out the fine gold chain and locket she so often wore. Silently, she flipped the tiny catch to open its twin oval frames. One side held the little ring made of threads and the golden and brown hairs she had woven together on the rock. The other side held a tiny portrait, a towheaded infant with a sweet face.
“I remember the ring,” he said, his voice rough, low. He plucked his pocket watch from his vest and popped it open to show its hidden compartment. She gasped. Beneath a glass circlet was the ring she had woven for him.
“You kept it,” she breathed.
“I carry it with me everywhere. It was all I had of you. I was not even sure you existed, but if you did, I had to find you. To me, this little ring was magical. Though sometimes I thought you were just a dream, or even a sea fairy after all. But I had this. It was real.”
“I was pretty certain you were real. Too real,” she said. “My grandmothers thought you were the kelpie of Sgeir Caran. They still believe…well, they think we were married that night and this wee ring proved it to them. So did—oh dear God,” she half sobbed, half turning away.
He tipped his head. “So did what?”
“Legend says the kelpie of the sea rock bestows great good fortune if his bride pleases him,” she said, tucking the little locket back under her collar. “If she gives him a child.”
He frowned. “But you did not—”
She nodded slowly. “I did.”
He gasped, leaned forward. “What are you saying? A child came of that night?”
She nodded, silent, eyes swimming in tears that began to spill.
“For the love of God, woman,” he breathed, “Sean? Is it Sean?”
“Sean,” she sobbed, nodding.
“My God, I thought—he was your husband’s child—the husband you lost—” He stopped. Stepped back, shoved a hand through his hair, turned back. He looked stunned. “The husband you lost—that was me?”
“You,” she whispered. “The father of my child, lost at sea.”
“Jesus, Meg,” he whispered. “Why would you keep this from me?”
“I did not know who you were, or how to find you. Or if I wanted to tell you, considering—what I thought that night.” Her chin wobbled. “I kept the secret close. I had to. But when you arrived, I knew I must tell you, and I tried to, but—”
“But you waited.” He frowned as if wrestling with the great truth of it. “Waited on this too.”
She took his wrists. He stood frozen, did not take her hands, though skin met skin. “I had to trust you first! I had to know—that you would not take him away from me.” Sobs broke the words. “My son. Your son.”
He stared, still, silent. Then he exhaled hard. “I would never do that. A son! Our son. I would never take a child from its mother. But dear God, Meg—I needed to know!”
“I wanted you to know. But I feared you might take him. Seeing you was such a shock. I never thought to see you again. And I did not—really know you. I do now. I do now,” she insisted.
“Fair enough.” He broke her hold, rubbed his brow, still looking stunned. “God, Meg. That beautiful child. Mine.” His voice broke. “Ours,”
“He is so much like you,” she whispered. “Our lad.”
“I am stunned,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Who knows about this?”
“My grandparents know that I met a man—the kelpie, they believed—that night on the rock, and now they know you were the one. Of course, many on the island know I have a child, but they believe he is the son of a secret marriage—to a man who was not from Caransay. And Mrs. Shaw, Mrs. Berry, and Mr. Hamilton know about Sean, and that you are his father.” She drew a shaky breath. “Roderick knows too.”
Dougal fisted his hands. “Roderick! How?”
“I did not tell him. He met the doctor who tended me and bribed him for information. He threatened to spread the news about my illegitimate child, implying I have low morals, saying he will ruin me—and you too, for he suspects you—could be the father. So he—he—”
“Blackmailed you into marrying him. I see.”
