Page 24 of Taming the Heiress
"Yes, but do not go in higher than your knees," she said. He nodded and ran off.
"Meg?" Dougal asked. "It suits you—honest and beautiful."
Honest.She felt her cheeks burn. She had always been honest by nature–but life and society had forced her to keep secrets. How she hated lies, hated that she had allowed them to run her life, hated the way they made her feel, hollow and vulnerable and sad. She wanted to tell Stewart the truth. But she had to trust him better first.
Not yet, she thought. She could not risk losing Iain.
"My mother gave me an English name," she said, glad for something to say, for he was watching her curiously, the wind ruffling his rich brown hair, his glance keen. "She was from the mainland, you see, before she lived here on Caransay with my father. My parents died before I was twelve."
"I'm sorry," he murmured. "It is hard to lose both at once."
"Not together. My mother died of a sickness when I was eleven. I think she had a broken heart, for my father had died the year before—out there," she murmured, looking out to sea. "A storm took him."
"On the reef?" he asked.
She nodded. "My mother was lovely. Very kind, with the natural elegance of a lady," she said. "Her father was... he had wealth and status on the mainland, yet his daughter went on holiday in the Hebrides and fell in love with a simple fisherman and married him without her father's consent. He was furious about that." She gave a flat laugh. "He accepted it later—and made amends to the family, I suppose."
"Your father must have been a remarkable man," Dougal remarked quietly.
"He had such goodness in him," she said. "A big heart and such humor, and when he sang it was magic to hear it. Handsome, too," she said, and smiled. "But he died out there, taking in his lobsters. Went out on a bright morning, singing and laughing, and never came back. My mother never recovered from it." She shook her head. "His nephew, my cousin Fergus MacNeill, is very like him."
"And Iain?" he asked.
She turned to stare at him in surprise. "Iain?"
"Fergus's son. Is he like him, too?"
"Iain... is Fergus's foster son, though related to my father. Iain is blond, like... my father was." A breeze fluttered a strand of hair over her eyes. She reached up to sweep the wayward strands back just as Dougal did. Their fingers touched. His hand lingered on hers for a moment.
"Golden in the sunshine, your hair," he murmured.
Oh God,she thought, as her knees went soft and a deep yearning spun in her belly. His quick touch stirred through her. She moved back.
"That is very familiar, sir," she said primly. "We are not on those terms."
"We were once," he said. She turned, stood silently, heart pounding. "Forgive me, Miss MacNeill," he added quietly.
She was not ready to forgive him without some trust first. But she rather liked him, and had not expected that. She did not answer, watching their son splash in the wavelets.
"Well," Stewart said after a moment, "I must go. Please tell Lady Strathlin that I shall call on her soon. We have much to discuss."
"Yes," Meg said.
"Perhaps in a few days I will call at Clachan Mor."
"If she will meet with you," Meg said.
"Would you speak on my behalf, Miss MacNeill?"
"Why should I do that?" she asked sharply, glancing at him.
He smiled, his eyes crinkling. "You do not need to," he said gently.
"Well, then," she said ineffectually, and lifted her chin.
"Tell her that I look forward to meeting her."
"She will not be what you expect, Mr. Stewart."
