Page 35 of Taming the Heiress
She flickered a glance at him. "Puffins nest here, too, though at the other end of the rock, where there is more consistent sunshine. This end lies in the shade of the stack rock. Seals sun themselves on the lowest slopes of the Sgeir Caran, there"—she pointed—"where the rock slopes toward the water. There is a little sandy beach they love." She gestured out toward the sea. "If we waited here long enough, we would see dolphins, perhaps a whale or some basking sharks. The dolphins and the sharks will not appear together—where there is one, you will not see the other. But either is quite a sight, a reward for the patient observer."
"Obviously you've spent a good deal of time observing here."
"I come here fairly often. Over the last few years, I have filled my journals with drawings and notations about the wildlife and the sea and birdlife on Caransay and Sgeir Caran." She faced the water, the wind fresh on her cheeks, ruffling her hair. "I come to study, but I love the peacefulness here, too."
"Miss MacNeill, I know the rock is a naturalist's paradise and a worthy habitat for many creatures. I can appreciate that, too, though you think I do not."
She slanted a sideways glance at him and waited.
"I assure you that we will not disturb any seabird or wildlife colonies. When we put up lighthouses elsewhere, the wildlife did not seem to be effected except during actual construction, when they shy away from the site. Does that suit you? Take that message back to Lady Strathlin, if you will, though I suspect neither of you will believe me or trust that I am sincere. Too many people have died on this reef. I cannot forget that."
"Nor can I, Mr. Stewart," she said stiffly. "But the construction will frighten away many of these creatures. Look up there," she said, indicating the stack rock. "We call that Creig nan Iolair."
"Creig nanyoolur," he repeated softly. He tipped back his head. "What does it mean?"
"Eagle Rock," she said.
"Aye, someone told me that eagles nest here."
She had told him, in a letter to which he had not yet replied. "They build aeries up there and have done so for many generations. We see golden eagles soaring around the rock sometimes, and for a few years, a pair of sea eagles has nested up there—the white-tailediolair mhar,the rarest of the eagles in Scotland."
"And you are concerned that the lighthouse will keep the eagles away."
"Yes, the sea eagles in particular. Eagles are over-hunted, and every year there seem to be fewer of them—not only here in the Isles, but in the Highlands, too, so I hear. But they have always been safe on Sgeir Caran, and so they come back."
"They will continue to be safe," he said firmly. "We would never disturb their aeries or the nesting places of any seabirds here on Sgeir Caran."
"But you can do nothing about the noise and activity, the men, the boats going back and forth. Sgeir Caran has always been a peaceful sanctuary for the birds. It must stay that way."
"The construction is temporary. Once the lighthouse is up, the sea rock will be quiet again. There will be one or two keepers here with their families and some coming and going of boats, but no more than usual. Peace will return, I promise you."
"If they cannot nest here next season, they will not come back the year after that. Another improvement"—she uttered the word with contempt—"that is set to destroy a cherished tradition in these Isles."
Dougal shook his head. "Let me assure you—"
"You cannot!" she burst out. Her breath tightened as she glared at him. All thoughts of birds and lighthouses, the frustration of months of unpleasant letters, suddenly fell away as deep-set anger and the hurt and grieving of years overwhelmed her. "You cannot assure me of anything!"
She turned, meaning to stomp off, but his hand lashed out. He grabbed her arm and pulled her back. "Meg," he said gruffly, turning her swiftly, so that she came close to him, felt his heat, felt the subtle tug between his body and hers and the answering whirl in her belly.
She raised her hands to push him away. "Leave me be!"
His hands closed tight around her wrists. "Come here," he growled, yanking her toward him, holding her bent and resistant arms against his chest. He lowered his face toward hers, imprisoning her hands in his.
She half closed her eyes, tipping her head, expecting him to kiss her at any moment. Feeling the throb of need in her body, she wanted to be kissed just as much as she wanted to flee.
Instead he rested his brow on hers. "Meg MacNeill, hold now, and hear me out." His voice was a tender rumble. He leaned his cheek against her head and kept her hands pressed between them. Her krifees went weak beneath her, and she closed her eyes, still expecting to fight, to struggle in defense of all the hurt, all the years of wondering, resenting, and longing.
"Let go," she gasped, a desperate half sob. "I do not want to talk to you any longer. You have nothing to say that I want to hear, and you cannot hold me against my will." She twisted her hands in his.
"It's only a precaution, should you feel tempted to slap me again," he said.
"Why? Are you going to kiss me?"
"If you want," he murmured, his face pressed to hers, his breath upon her lips. She longed for it, and did not want to, for his mouth hovered close to hers. His lips brushed the edge of her lip and traced over her cheek, an enticement rather than a kiss. Her legs felt so weak that she was glad for his support.
He drew back. "I only want to talk to you."
"We have nothing to say."
