Page 54 of Taming the Heiress
Reluctantly, Meg sat. The bench barely held two, so her skirts fell over Dougal's long, muscular thigh, warm beside hers, and her arm brushed his. The fresh, mingled scents of rain and wind and a hint of the flowery machair still clung to him. He seemed to radiate tangible strength and warmth, and her breath came faster, though she sat very still and silent.
While he chatted politely with her grandparents, she glanced at the letters he held in one hand. The topmost envelope, she saw immediately, was from her solicitors, Hamilton and Shaw. He slipped the letters into his pocket unread.
Dread plunged through her, for she knew that her advocates were attempting to stall, even completely disrupt, the work on the lighthouse, as she had asked them to do weeks earlier. Although the latest batch of mail held no new reports for her in that regard, she realized that her solicitor, Sir Edward Hamilton, had notified Dougal of the next move—whatever it might be.
"Ach.Now I am thinking that we need a lighthouse out there," Norrie was saying.
Meg straightened, looked at him. "But, Grandfather, you have always been against the lighthouse," she pointed out.
"In the beginning, I agreed with Lady Strathlin, who wants the isle kept private and the rock kept sacred," Norrie admitted. He pulled on his pipe and looked at Meg for a moment. Then he pointed toward the window and the bay beyond. "But now I am thinking the light would be a help out there and not much bother to us here on the island, but for the months it is being made. That wicked reef needs a light, and no question."
"The lighthouse could be placed anywhere along that reef," Meg said defensively. "It could be set farther south, where the treacherous rocks begin. Best to warn the ships at that point rather than here, two-thirds of the way along the reef."
"The light on Sgeir Caran would illuminate the whole length of the reef, Miss MacNeill. And the southernmost rocks are partially submerged in high tides," Dougal said quietly. "While lighthouses have been constructed under such conditions, it is not my preference."
"It is not his preference," Elga repeated precisely.
"Sgeir Caran is by far the best location," Dougal said.
"And that's the most important," Norrie said. "Besides, we are happy to have the resident engineer staying on Caransay." Meg could have sworn her grandfather winked. She scowled at him.
"Mr. Stooar is always welcome on Caransay," Elga said. "And so we like his lighthouse now, and him. Mr. Stooar rescued our wee Iain." Dougal nodded his thanks.
"A great many ships have gone down on that reef," Norrie said. "There is a tidal flow between some of those rocks that can spin a ship around and take it down in a few minutes' time. I've seen too many wrecks to ask you to set your light elsewhere."
"We do not want to see any more wrecks," Thora said.
"You've witnessed some yourself?" Dougal asked. The elderly people all nodded.
"We've all watched them," Norrie said. "And God save us, it is an awful thing to see. We tried to help the poor souls when we could, but there is little that men can do against the power of a great storm. We've saved too few souls over the years."
"You have rescued people from shipwrecks?" Dougal sat forward, looking at the old man sharply.
"Ach,myself and my brothers and my father before me. We did what we could whenever a ship foundered on the reef. My grandfather and great-grandfather and so on before them were wreckers, I am ashamed to say. They and their ilk wanted ships to break apart on the rocks, and would save no one."
"Wreckers still do their work in the Isles," Dougal said.
"Not on Caransay," Meg said. "It is not done here."
"Not anymore," Norrie agreed. "But it was done here long ago. Many relied on wreckage to bring goods into their homes and money into their pockets. Some even lured ships this way with lamps and fire signals. The wood that made that table and that cupboard there, came from ship timbers in my greatgrandfather's time," he said. "But my father never wrecked, and neither did his sons. We could not bear to hear the screams. The noise is terrible when a ship goes down—the wailing, the prayers shouted up to God. It is an awful thing to hear, and so we try to help."
"I'm sure you did your best to save others," Dougal said.
"We sent out mortar lines when there were survivors to grab on to the ropes, and sometimes we rowed out as far as we dared, though the waves could have taken us as well. A few ships a year go down out there, sometimes more. We did what we could."
"Do you recall," Dougal said slowly, "a wreck from about eighteen years ago? A ship called thePrimrosewent down on the Caran Reef."
"Primrose."Norrie frowned and sent a small puff of smoke out of his pipe. "I do recall that one. Many people were lost that night, though we rowed out. We heard from the inspectors who came to the island afterwards, that the ship was called thePrimrose.It came from Glasgow and was sailing up to Skye with people on holiday."
"Aye," Dougal murmured. "That's the one."
"It was a sad thing, those people only sailing a little distance on holiday. A black storm blew out of the west that evening and took them down within minutes." He shook his head. "We did our best."
"I'm glad to hear it, Mr. MacNeill," Dougal said.
"Have you a particular interest in it, then?" Norrie asked. "Do you recall stories about it?"
"I was thirteen years old then, sir," Dougal said, and paused. "My parents were on that ship."
