Page 25 of Taming the Heiress
"I am certain." He smiled a little.
She narrowed her eyes. Had he guessed so quickly? How long before he puzzled it all out?
"Please tell Lady Strathlin that she is invited to come out to Sgeir Caran to see the work we are doing there. Perhaps if she visited the site, she would understand the need for the project."
Meg frowned. "I'm sure your invitation is appreciated."
"If you would care to visit the rock, as well," he said, "I would be more than glad of it."
The thought of standing on that rock with Dougal Stewart, even in the company of others, made her breath catch. She did not know if she could face it. "I will consider it," she answered.
"Good." He smiled at her, and the mischievous curve in his upper lip dissolved something deep inside of her, one more barrier of resentment. He had an unconscious magic, this man, a natural ease of humor and intelligence that was intriguing. The slightest touch, the smallest smile cast spells over her.
Quickly she turned away to gather the little bucket and shells. Her notebook lay on the rock and she grabbed at it, but her hands were full and it fell at the engineer's feet. The pages fluttered open, revealing pages covered with sketches and notes.
He stooped to pick it up. "Is this yours?"
"I keep a journal of the flora and fauna on the island. I enjoy drawing a little."
"May I see?" She nodded, and he flipped through the pages, examining her careful drawings, pausing now and then to admire a study of a bird or a shell, or to scan her brief descriptive notes.
"Fascinating," he commented. "You are both scientist and artist, Miss MacNeill. These are very good drawings, and interesting notes. You've labeled each drawing in English, Gaelic, and Latin. This is remarkable work."
"I have been compiling these for years. I like to make the details correct, so I look up the names of the plants and wildlife and so on in dictionaries."
"You must have a thorough library on... Mull, is it?"
"No, my grandfather collected a wonderful library—" She stopped, realizing she had said too much.
He lifted a brow. "Norrie MacNeill has a library?"
"My maternal grandfather had a large library. I inherited... some of his things."
"I see." He turned more pages. "Gannets, gulls, puffins, curlews, shearwaters, storm petrels... ah, and the golden eagles on Sgeir Caran... I had no idea there were so many birds here. And shells, starfish, crabs, and seaweed. Several varieties of kelp are all labeled here too. Interesting." He glanced at her.
"The kelp is essential to this island's wellbeing. It is gathered and dried for potash and then exported to the mainland and elsewhere. It's used in manufacturing glass."
"And gives the islanders a solid income. I have some investments in the kelp industry, and in herring, too—silver darlings make money for islanders as well as investors." He turned pages. "The heather in the hills... and the flowers on the machair. Ah, here we are—yarrow, daisy, buttercup, wild irises," he said. "And more, all here. Quite nicely done."
"Thank you. I have other journals," she said, "all filled with drawings and notations. This volume is nearly finished."
"Every page is impressive. Will you begin another?"
"I may begin a detailed study of some of the birds."
"Ah." He looked at her curiously, eyes narrowing.
"The wildlife and plant life are precious to us here, Mr. Stewart. Caransay is singularly beautiful and idyllic. It is one reason we do not want the lighthouse so close to here."
"Lady Strathlin agrees with you. No doubt she would approve of your wildlife journals."
"No doubt." Meg gave him a sidelong glance, aware he had read her letter, with its fervent plea for the birds on Sgeir Caran.
Looking toward Iain, glad for an excuse to change the subject, she saw him splashing and jumping in the surf. She shaded her eyes with her hand. "Iain! Do not go too far out!"
"He's fine. He's an adventuresome lad, that one."
"Too much so. He is likely to go swimming or climbing without a thought for safety."
