Page 43 of Taming the Heiress
"How can you deny me, my sweet Margaret," he murmured against her cheek, "when my heart beats only for you and my thoughts are only of you?" He took her hard by the shoulders, for he was a large, strong man, and kissed her soundly on the mouth. His lips were too soft, slightly sticky, his breath heavy.
Meg broke free. "I need time—to think."
"Of course. Until the soiree, then," he said, caressing her cheek with his gloved finger. "That night I will have my answer."
Leaning away from his touch, she whirled in silence to leave him standing in the sand. He did not follow, and she knew he would be leaving soon with Fergus, smug in his cruel victory. Trembling, she felt as if her whole world stirred beneath her feet, ready to collapse.
She could not bring herself to look back and see if Dougal Stewart still watched. Somehow she sensed him there, steady as sunshine on her shoulders and sharp as a crack of lightning.
Chapter 11
"Good to see you enjoying yourself, Mr. Stewart," Angus MacLeod said, raising his voice above the sound of Norrie MacNeill's fiddle. "After all, our ceilidh is to honor your brave deed in pulling wee Iain out of the waves."
Dougal nodded as the song drew to a rousing close amid wild clapping and shouts for more. "Thank you, Angus. The lobsters were excellent, by the way—our cook made a fine meal for all of us." The crofter fisherman, an old friend of Norrie's, had brought a bucket of lobsters to Dougal at the barracks two nights after Iain's rescue to express his personal thanks and admiration.
"There's more lobsters and fish from my catch for you and your crew, anytime." Called for by an acquaintance, he excused himself and turned away, leaving Dougal content to stand in the midst of the crowded main room of Norrie MacNeill's house.
Anywhere he turned, he was shoulder to shoulder with the inhabitants of Caransay and most of his work crew, as well. Seated in a chair beside the hearth, Norrie wielded the bow over a burnished fiddle, filling the room with his skilled music. For more than an hour.
Norrie's songs had varied from joyful rhythms that set the dancers spinning, to exquisitely evocative songs that captured the emotions and raised more than a few tears.
Norrie was accompanied by others, including Angus's son Callum MacLeod, who tapped out cadences on a worn bodhran, and Fergus MacNeill, who played fiddle with less deftness than Norrie but great verve. Fergus also sang, and Dougal remembered Meg's fond remark that Fergus reminded her of her deceased father.
As the evening grew later and the whisky flowed as freely as the music, Dougal had been surprised to see Evan Mackenzie take the lead in singing, his voice so rich and sure that people grew quiet when he sang. Evan seemed familiar with many old Gaelic songs, and when he sang a ballad in broad Scots, the islanders joined him in the refrain. Meg lifted her voice along with the others, and Dougal listened, closing his eyes to let the magic of her sweet voice flow through him.
The walls fairly shook with dancing and stomping feet. Voices rose in natural harmonies, and the house sepmed to glow with laughter and chatter. Content to listen and watch much of the time, Dougal leaned a shoulder against the wall as Meg swirled past him in Alan's arms, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling.
He was more than glad to see the delight in her face. Her mood had seemed somber despite the light hearts that surrounded them. He thought something troubled her.
Remembering the gentleman who had walked with her on the beach the other day, he frowned to himself. A quiet question to Norrie that day on the beach had revealed that the man was Sir Frederick Matheson, the owner of the Isle of Guga, who had come out for the day to visit Miss MacNeill.
Not surprised that the landowner might be enamored of a girl from Caransay, Dougal had noticed the evidence of her returned interest—her arm in Sir Frederick's as they strolled the sands and the fact that she had allowed the man to kiss her within sight of others. That sight, proof of a serious courting relationship, had struck him hard as a blow.
Dougal had gone back to the sea rock and his work, returning to Caransay to find Matheson gone, though he had expected Guga's owner to inspect the quarrying site and meet with him.
Just as well, he thought, that he had not met the man.
Now the dancers changed partners, and Meg whirled through some complex steps with Iain, their effort so comical that Dougal, watching, laughed outright. Meg caught his glance and smiled, and he felt a flood of affection tinged with longing.
Kissing her, hidden within their little cave, he had believed that she was attracted to him, that she cared—he was certain of it, damn it, he thought. If she already had a relationship with Matheson, he could not expect that his arrival after a seven year absence would make much difference outside of an impulse. He sighed, smile fading, and folded his arms.
Angus's daughter, Peigi, a handsome, buxom young woman with neatly braided brown hair, came toward him and gave him a cup of whisky brose, a strong, creamy blend of whisky, oats, honey, and spices. Although he had downed three already, he took the cup out of politeness. Peigi spoke in rapid Gaelic, and though he ventured a few words in reply, he ended with an apologetic shrug. She laughed, pointed toward the hearth where Norrie now tuned his fiddle, and shoved Dougal forward.
Anticipating another round of songs, he stood ready to listen as Norrie began a slow, poignant song. Meg came up to him then and tapped at his shoulder.
"Go on," she said. "Grandfather Norrie wants to see you."
"Unless you like caterwauling, do not expect me to sing a tune with him," he drawled. He noticed that Iain stood with her. "Having a fine time, lad?"
"Oh, aye! I know all the dances. Do you want to see?"
"I saw you dancing with Meg MacNeill," Dougal answered. "It was very fine indeed." He looked at her, smiling a little, and saw a burst of pink in her cheeks. She glanced away quickly.
He watched her thoughtfully. Just speaking with her, just standing near her, felt so good. He wanted only to enjoy the evening in her company, but the memory of seeing her kiss another man hovered between them like a shadow.
"It's very late," she told Iain. "You should be going to bed soon. Where is Fergus MacNeill?" She turned.
"He's gone off with Peigi," Iain said, "and he does not care when I go to bed. Even small Anna is still awake. I want to stay up with the rest."
