Taming the Heiress by Susan King Page A

Margaret, who now sat in the sand watching Iain, who played near her among some rocks that formed a small tidal pool. Margaret looked up at Thora and the baroness in the bathing costume and blanket—then she shook her head, glancing in Dougal's direction.
    "I had best go. Good day, Mother Elga," he said. "How nice to chat with you." He reached out to touch the baby's head, and the little girl stared up at him, open-mouthed. Then she laughed and cooed, showing four tiny teeth.
    Elga backed away as if he meant to snatch the baby. The MacNeill women were overprotective of their children, he thought, puzzled.
    "Good day to you, water man," the old woman barked, scowling at him as he nodded and turned to go.
    He headed across the sand toward the machair. Glancing in Margaret's direction, he saw that she talked with the others, but she paused to catch his gaze for a moment.
    The look she gave him was so plaintive, so full of longing and vulnerability that he felt the very pull of it deep within, somehow. Impulsively he changed direction to walk toward her.

Chapter 6

    "Oh ma leddy," Mrs. Berry protested, "Please, dinna let the man think I am Lady Strathlin!"
    "He already thinks it," Meg said, noticing that Thora hastily retreated, having delivered the news, and now crossed the beach to join Elga, holding small Anna. "Just let it be for now, Mrs. Berry," Meg went on. "I will tell Mr. Stewart the truth... later."
    "Well... fine for now, but I canna talk to a man when I'm in my swimming costume!"
    "You do not need to speak with him. I will tell him that you value your privacy." Meg glanced over Mrs. Berry's shoulder at Dougal Stewart, who walked toward them.
    "Oh, verra well. I'll just go back in the water for a bit." Dropping the blanket and lifting the stiff skirt of her black, long-sleeved bathing tunic, worn over knickerbockers and high laced slippers, Mrs. Berry walked down to the surf's edge. Meg smiled a little watching the governess's haughty posture as she eased herself into the waves. Berry rather liked playing a baroness—and might do a better job of it than Meg herself, she thought.
    As Stewart walked closer, Meg steeled herself. Could she look at him, speak to him this time without feeling that ache of loneliness and wanting, without remembering tenderness and betrayal?
    She realized again how much the father resembled the son, despite Iain's hair being blond like her own. They had features and eye color in common—and charming smiles. Iain would someday develop his father's build, with long muscled legs, a powerful torso, wide shoulders. She would give the man his natural beauty. At least their son had inherited that.
    Iain called out and held up another shell for her to see, and she picked up her leather-covered book and walked over to him, bare heels sinking in damp sand.
    "Oh, that one is lovely, Iain," she said, as he dropped a broken conch into a bucket. Together they bent to study some tiny, nearly transparent fish in the water. Lifting her skirts, Meg stepped into the water and laughed with her son as the little fish tickled past their ankles.
    "You must draw these in your book," Iain said.
    "I will," she said. She set the brown leather volume on a dry shelf of rock.
    "Hello, Mr. Stooar!" Iain said. Meg turned, heart slamming.
    "Good day, sir," she said stiffly.
    "Miss MacNeill, good day to you." Today he wore a dark gray suit with a blue brocade vest and a black neckcloth. He looked as if he had come calling. He smiled at Iain. "Did you collect all these shells yourself?"
    "Aye, look!" Iain set his wooden bucket on a rock. Dougal Stewart leaned forward, holding out his hand while Iain lifted a few slimy snails and plopped them into the man's palm. Stewart admired them and put them back. Then Iain handed him a few tiny crabs, and he and Iain laughed to see one of those endeavoring to escape.
    "Oh, I think this fellow deserves a chance," the engineer said, and set the crab down near the water. "Go on, wee mon,