Page 40 of Taming the Heiress
"Evan," she acknowledged. "Meg. And thank you."
"You owe me nothing, Meg. I only kept you from hurtling into the water. The lass would have gone in after you, Dougal," he said. "She was determined to rescue both of you herself."
"I could have used help with that shark," Dougal drawled.
Iain looked up from his nest of blankets. "Mr. Stooar punched the shark! He made it go away! I thought it would eat me."
"You're too tough for a shark to bother with you," Dougal said. "And actually, I kicked it."
"Incredible," Alan said. Norrie nodded agreement.
"Not so incredible," Dougal said. "Baskers are placid, after all, as Norrie said. I simply gave it a shove with my foot, and it decided it wanted nothing to do with me."
"He's theeach-uisge,"Iain said. "Mother Elga said so. That's why he could punch the shark and make it go away!"
"I'm the what?" Dougal looked at Meg, puzzled.
She shook her head briefly and touched Iain's head. "Look, dear—I think everyone on the island is there to welcome you!"
The prow entered the shallows, and cheers rose up from the fishermen and their families waiting on the beach. Thora splashed into the surf and ran toward them, tears streaming down her cheeks.
Chapter 10
Sitting on the sand, Meg laughed while Iain danced a circle around her, shuffling sand as he showed her how he would cavort at the ceilidh, the celebration to be held later in the week in honor of his rescue three days ago. Amid their chiming laughter, she did not hear the man approach. She turned as Iain stopped, and the visitor spoke.
"My dear Lady Strathlin," he murmured, "how pleasant to find you here, and so obviously enjoying your holiday!"
She whirled, getting to her feet as he stretched out a long, black-clad arm to assist her. "Sir Frederick! Whatever are you doing here?"
He smiled and bowed, a cane in one gloved hand, his top hat secure on his head. Tall and solidly built, Sir Frederick was neatly dressed in a black frock coat and matching waistcoat, a blue neckcloth, checked trousers, and well-made boots. Hardly a speck of sand clung to him—and would not dare, Meg thought.
He was a striking man, not handsome but bold and proud in appearance, with a long hawk-like nose and refined features. Nearly three decades older than Meg, he was graying in the whiskers and throughout his dark, oil-slicked hair.
Rarely did she feel at ease gazing into his eyes, for their brown was so dark and flat that they were oddly unreadable to her. Shrewd eyes, observant and sometimes cunning, but more likely that was only a reflection of his pragmatic sense, she thought. She had learned to trust him in financial and social matters, and he had gained her deepest sympathy after the unexpected death of his wife a year earlier, when his suffering had been genuine.
"Little man," Sir Frederick addressed Iain sternly, "go and play." With a startled look at Meg, Iain ran off.
The man turned back to Meg, his eyes glinting with interest as he took in her appearance. "My dear Margaret, how very quaint you look today. If this is how you dress when you are on holiday, I wish I had thought to join you before this. Playing the provincial shepherdess, are you? Allow me to be King Cophetua to your beggar maid." He bowed, tipping his hat.
She brushed her hands self-consciously over her plain skirt and dug her bare feet a little into the sand to hide them. "What are you doing here on Caransay, Sir Frederick?"
"Mr. MacNeill brought me over from Tobermory," he answered. She glanced down the quiet beach toward the harbor, where some fishermen worked on boats and nets, their wives helping them. A boat approached from Sgeir Caran, she saw, with a few men inside, perhaps returning during their luncheon break. Norrie stood on the beach, watching the sea. She turned back to Frederick.
"I did not know you were in the Isles," she said.
"I came at your invitation and your insistence, my dear."
"My invitation? But I asked you not to—" She realized that he would not yet have received her reply.
Perhaps he had taken the silence as acquiescence. "Well," she went on, "now that you are here, I am sure you will enjoy our little island."
He looked around, gloved hands folded on his cane. He was stiff and proper, and wholly out of context standing on the beach. "A pretty place, and I'm sure it is very relaxing. I thought you would appreciate some intelligent company here, with so little to do but watch the sea and... play in the sand." He glanced toward Iain, who was digging a hole with a sizeable shell. "I do hope you are taking care of your skin, my dear. My mother always says that fine, pale skin is a woman's best asset. You are a little golden from the sun, and I do not think it suits you."
She remembered her hat, which hung behind her on a ribbon, and she put it on. "Mrs. Berry has been ensuring that I wear the almond cream your mother sent to me. It was very kind of her to send it along. Will you... be staying?" She hoped not. Sir Frederick belonged in Edinburgh's intellectual salons, not on a Hebridean beach. "I will ask the housekeeper at Clachan Mor to make up a room for you."
"Oh, no," he said. "I came out only for the day. Mr. MacNeill assures me that his nephew will take me back to the Isle of Mull soon. I wanted a chance to speak with you. My mother is waiting for me to return, you see. I left her at the resort at Tighnabruaich. The spa is not far from Oban and the crossover point to the Isles, so I thought to take the day to visit you while she spent the day relaxing."
"How kind of you to think of me." She wished he had stayed on the mainland, sipping tea with his mother, an opinionated harridan who enjoyed gossiping.
