Taming the Heiress by Susan King Read Free Book Online

Dougal, it would be a monument to those who had died among those rocks. Nothing must prevent that silent memorial from going up.
    He hardened his mouth, fighting a quick memory of his parents' faces, their smiles. He could not think too long about them—or he would feel the loss keenly, dreadfully, again.
    But growing up, he had honed self-control and daring as a way to fight his feelings. Death was no matter to him. He had faced it often, did not fear it. He had been shipwrecked himself, had endured storms, dived deep, climbed high on scaffolds, hd risked his life too many times to count in putting up these lighthouses. He felt a thrill in the daring, and a thrill in the courage. Above all, he felt the rightness of what he did—no matter the risk to him and his crew, the lighthouses had to go up.
    Of all the lights he had constructed, this one was by far the most important to him.
    He was known for daring—and stubbornness. And he would never give up this fight, despite Lady Strathlin. Aside from his personal reasons, the physics and logic of the matter dictated Sgeir Caran as the best site. And he already had the support of the Northern Lighthouse Commission and the Stevenson firm, who had worked on the design with him and had sent him out to this forsaken place to execute it.
    He would do it. Somehow, he would do this. He owed it to all the souls who had been lost under those waves, and to his father, strong and kind, his mother, bookish and so pretty.
    He sucked in the sea air like it was medicine for pain.
    "Mr. Stewart." The voice behind him was sweet and soft.
    He whirled. The girl stood a few feet behind him, surrounded by moonlit flowers and grasses. Wind rippled through her hair, shifted her skirt.
    She was magic after all, to appear like that, just when he needed her—needed someone to ease his lonely, dark moments here. He felt a sudden urge to take her into his arms, find comfort, apologize, begin again. He tilted his head, only that.
    She walked closer, the hem of her skirt swinging through the flowers. She seemed vulnerable, brittle with tension.
    "Miss MacNeill," he said. "I am surprised to find anyone else out here at this hour."
    "I love to walk out at dawn when I am here on Caransay," she said. "The chance of seeing the northern lights is worth losing a bit of sleep. Did you come out here to look for them, too?"
    "I took a walk to puzzle over some engineering problems." And to shake himself free of a dream, yet the dream stood beside him now. He kept his gaze on the sky to keep from staring at her like a cow-eyed fool.
    "The dawn is coming, " she said, looking up. "We will not see the northern lights. Well, good night, Mr. Stewart."
    He turned with her. "I will walk you back to your house, if I may, and see you safe home."
    "I am safe on my island. Good luck with your puzzles."
    He continued to walk beside her through the long stretch of grasses and blooms. The dawn light bloomed quickly, illuminating the wild colors and fluted, dancing shapes of the flowers. "The machair is a beautiful thing."
    "It is," she agreed.
    "Do you know what sorts of flowers these are?" He did not particularly care, but needed something to talk about.
    "I do," she said, and kept on walking.
    "Buttercups, just there?" He pointed. "And harebells."
    "Buttercups, harebells, daisies," she answered. "Over there is yarrow and wild oat grass, and meadowsweet too. What you are crushing underfoot, sir, are tiny purple irises past their bloom. If we walked over that way, you would see wild strawberries and brambles and clusters of wild roses spreading so thick over the rock that you can hardly see the stone."
    "Lovely." He was watching her as she spoke.
    "Mmm," she agreed. "Close your eyes—inhale the fragrances. In the hills, the heather blooms so thick that the hills look dark pink from far out at sea."
    "I have seen it, I think," he said.
    "No one planted it, no one tends it, but it flourishes. It has always been here. Sometimes the