Page 39 of Taming the Heiress
She turned her attention back to Dougal and Iain and saw the shark fins sliding toward the commotion made by the swimmer and the floundering boy.
"Oh, God—Iain!" Meg screamed. She stood again, unable to merely sit and watch. Mackenzie kept a steadying hand on her arm, keeping her from throwing herself into the water, as she might have done without his detaining hand.
Dimly she heard her grandfather growl an order to Alan. The foreman grabbed a coiled rope from the bottom of the boat, and as they drew nearer, he positioned himself to toss it toward Dougal.
The boy bobbed on the surface again, arms flailing, and went under within moments. Meg gasped, seeing that Dougal was nearly there, arrowing forward relentlessly. She pressed a fisted hand to her mouth and intoned a prayer under her breath.
The basking sharks were there, too, a circling menace. One sliced through the water between Dougal and Iain, its fin creating a wake. Dougal plunged on, passing over the animal's tail, probably brushed by it. Struggling, Iain managed to stay afloat, arms thrashing.
As Nome's boat drew closer, Mackenzie slipped out of his own coat, ready to dive into the water himself if need be. They were within yards of the swimmers now, and through high, slopping waves, Meg saw that Dougal was only strokes away from Iain.
One of the sharks turned, opening its gigantic mouth, a monster streaming steadily toward the swimmers. Dougal rolled onto his back and shoved at it with his foot. The basking shark flipped its tail, raised a deep wake, and dove downward.
Dougal lunged forward and caught Iain to him. Seeing the small arms close around the man's neck, Meg sobbed out, slumping against Mackenzie in relief. Alan snaked the rope outward and Dougal snatched it with one hand.
Their boat cut a swath between the remaining sharks, and the fins turned toward the sea, sinking and disappearing. Cheers sounded from the other boats and from the shore.
Treading water, Dougal and Iain held the rope while Alan hauled them closer, faces pressed cheek to cheek. Behind them, Meg turned to see the boat carrying Dougal's crew approaching rapidly, while someone shouted from the other fishing boat that had rushed toward them from Innish Harbor. Lifting a hand, Mackenzie signaled that all was well.
Once Dougal hooked his arm over the rim of the boat, Alan lifted the dripping boy into the safety of his arms and Meg surged toward them, reaching out to gather Iain into her embrace.
The boat rocked with the effort as Dougal clambered aboard with Mackenzie's help.
Saturated and smelling of brine, Iain threw his arms around Meg, shivering. She wrapped him in her plaid, then simply held him, closing her eyes, feeling his sturdy weight in her arms, kissing his soft, wet curls. Turning, she looked at Dougal.
He sat on the crossbench, Mackenzie's coat tossed over his shoulders. Sinking down beside him, cradling Iain, Meg began to rub the boy's back and limbs to bring warmth to him. She looked at Dougal, close enough that her shoulder pressed his.
"Thank you," she said, her voice breaking, tears starting in her eyes. He nodded, shivering with cold himself, and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair. Then he placed his arm around Meg's shoulders as naturally as if he always had done it. She leaned against him, feeling warmth spring between them. With his other hand, Dougal massaged Iain's legs, talking quietly to him.
Norrie left the oars, found a plaid blanket in a basket, and draped it over Dougal's shoulders. He tucked the rest across Meg and Iain, then stooped to murmur to his great-grandson in Gaelic. He patted the boy's cheek and looked up, his eyes vivid blue.
"Dougal Stewart," Norrie said, "we are in your debt forever. I've seen brave deeds many times in my life, but never anything like that." He stepped away to take the oars and pull for home.
Under the plaid, Meg leaned upon Dougal. With his arm snug around her, they were wrapped together with Iain in a warm cocoon.
No one knew, she thought, what that close circle meant to her—father, mother, and child huddled together in a moment of gratitude and love.
"Dougal," she whispered, and he bent his head a little to hear her. "Thank you. I can never thank you enough—" Tears threatened, and she dipped her head to Iain's, her throat tightening, her heart too full for words.
"No need for thanks, Miss MacNeill," he said, while he rubbed Iain's legs. "And you, what a brave lad you were!"
As father and son regarded each other, neither knowing the other, Meg saw how alike their green eyes were, how similar their beautiful profiles. The sight felt like a lightning strike through her heart, a hole that brimmed with joy and sadness both.
Unable to hold back tears, she let them stream and leaned impulsively to kiss Dougal's cheek. His beard was raspy under her lips, his skin damp, tasting of salt. She closed her eyes, savoring her gratitude and his closeness.
Eyes crinkling in a smile, he looked at her. Secret and rare, that smile, more in eyes than on lips, thrilling her deeply. Reaching up, he brushed at her tears.
"Hey, lass," he murmured. "Don't cry. He's safe."
Gazing at him, she suddenly knew that she loved him, deeply, profoundly. No matter who he was, what he had done in the past, what conflict she might have with him otherwise, she loved him in that perfect moment and in the secret spaces of her heart. The peace of that filled her, overflowed. She wept again, sniffling, filled with happiness as well as a keen, private despair.
Dougal pulled the blanket higher on her shoulders. "You're shivering, and so is Iain. We must get you both home."
She nodded and hugged Iain again. Glancing up, she saw Mackenzie watching them. He had given up his coat to Dougal, whose coat was trampled somewhere underfoot, and now sat in shirtsleeves and vest while he operated the rudder to help Norrie guide the boat toward the harbor beach.
"I owe you thanks, too, Mr. Mackenzie," she said.
"It's Evan."
