Page 56 of Taming the Heiress
She peeled away the paper—he had used a small notebook page for the wrapping—and gasped to see the small pendant, its pale aquamarine polished and glittering in the golden setting. He had cleaned it and suspended it on thick black thread, having no suitable chain to replace the broken one.
"Oh! It's lovely," she said. "Where did you—why—"
"I found it in the sea, on the base of Sgeir Caran," he explained. "Evan Mackenzie and I went down in the deep the other day, and I found this caught in a crevice in the rock. We found some coins, too, Spanish by the look of them, and a silver spoon. They must have drifted on the tides and currents from the site of an old shipwreck and they became wedged in the rock. This, and the coins, were encrusted with coral, so they have been down there a long time. When I saw that it was a bonny wee thing, I... well, I thought of you. I apologize for the black thread. I had nothing else for it."
"It's beautiful," she said. "And I like it strung on simple black thread. I shall treasure it." She smiled and glanced up at him, and he saw tears glistening in her eyes. "The woman who owned this may have lost her life out there on the reef."
He nodded. "A very long time ago. It looks to be very old—perhaps it went down in a Spanish galleon out there. Though it is an old-fashioned thing, it might have some value. I thought you might like to have it." He shrugged, as if it meant little to him, when in fact, the dazzle of happiness in her eyes meant everything to him.
"Thank you, Mr. Stewart," she whispered. "I will... remember you always, when I wear this."
That hurt more than he could have imagined. He gave no reaction, but kept his hand on the door, very near to hers. "Show it to Lady Strathlin," he said. "Remind her how many lives have been lost on the reef. Perhaps she ought to wear it herself, to keep the true meaning of that lighthouse clear in her mind."
Her eyes were wide and anxious, almost tortured, as she looked up at him. She did not answer, but reached up to tie the black thread behind her neck, suspending the pendant at her throat, over the simple neckline of her blouse. A small golden oval hung there, too, just below the pulse in her throat.
"I see you already have a necklace," he said.
"I wear this always," she said, her slim fingers graceful as they popped the tiny catch. Inside the two halves, he saw a miniature painted portrait of someone with golden curls perhaps herself as a child. She closed the locket quickly, but not before he glimpsed what was framed under glass in the other oval.
She carried a tiny braided circlet of red thread and human hair, golden and brown. The thread had been plucked from a plaid blanket. The sight struck him to the core.
He carried its twin, a plaited circlet inside the hidden compartment of his pocket watch. Instinctively he touched his watch pocket, tempted to show it to her and explain that he had carried it with him for seven years, ever since the dawn hour when she had placed it on his finger.
But he said nothing. Though he was determined not to give up on his love for her, he would not make a maudlin fool of himself by begging for her love. Enough, for now, to know that she still kept the ring, as he had.
"Well," he said, stepping back, giving her a cool smile, "I am glad you like the little jewel. Good night."
Thora rose to glance out the door. "You'd best stay here, Mr. Stooar. On such a night as this, the storm will blow up so fast that soon you will not be able to stand up in it."
"I'll do. Good night." Dougal tapped his bowler on his head and stepped out into the battering force of the wind. Holding the hat's brim, he fought his way across the sandy, reedy yard toward the slope that led up to the machair.
"Mr. Stewart!" He heard Meg cry out. "Dougal, wait!"
He turned and saw her running out of the house, and stopped. The wind pushed at his back, nearly whipped the hat from his head. Rain slanted over his shoulders.
"Please—come back to the house and stay with us," she said, coming closer and stopping within arm's length. The reedy grass blew all around them, and the surf pounded loudly on the beach. "Norrie sent me. He said to tell you that it is looking more fierce. A man could get washed out to sea just walking home."
"I'll be fine," he said. "It's a wee storm. Go back inside. Go on, now. You'll be soaked."
She did not turn away. "You can be so obstinate, sir."
"And you, Miss MacNeill," he said bitterly, bowing. The next gust of wind beat at her skirts and blew her hair over her eyes. She brushed it back, held it while she watched him.
"I... wanted to thank you for the gift," she said.
"You did thank me." He wanted to pull her into his arms, kiss her wild in the rain. Instead he stood a safe distance away, water drizzling off the brim of his hat, his heart twisting for love of her.
"I wanted to give you something in return, to remember me by." She pulled a cloth-wrapped packet from her skirt pocket. "Please take it. But do not open it out here in the wet and the wind. Wait until later."
He accepted it, fitted its bulk safely into his pocket, and tipped his hat. "Thank you, Miss MacNeill," he said. "I will be... glad to have something to remember you by." He kept his tone cool and neutral. "Are you leaving Caransay soon?"
"I am," she said. "In a few."
"Well, then. Perhaps our paths will cross someday."
She nodded, hands clasped in front of her, the rain slicking down her curls, wind billowing her skirt.
He felt a powerful urge to pull her into his arms and claim both her and her stubborn little heart. As he opened his mouth to tell her that whatever troubled her, no matter its nature, they would solve it together, she turned and ran.
