Taming the Heiress Read Free

while the dawn brightened.
    At the low end of the rock, a boat waited, oared by her grandfather. Thora, his wife, was with him. Meg ran.
    Norrie handed her in and pulled the boat quickly away, and Thora threw a plaid around Meg's shoulders. The fishing boat plowed through low, restless waves and fog toward Caransay.
    Meg looked behind her. The man stood in the cave entrance, draped in her plaid, gazing toward the open sea. He did not look in their direction as the boat slipped eastward.
    "He's there. Look," Thora breathed.
    "Huh," Norrie grunted, rowing.
    Meg felt a tug in her heart. She could not leave him on the rock. He was not a kelpie, but a man, and she had stranded him. Turning to tell her grandfather to go back, she glanced into the distance—and saw a boat gliding through the mist from the western side of the rock. Two men were in the fishing vessel.
    Her lover ran down the slope, waving to the approaching boat. He grabbed a rope the men tossed, and soon he was climbing in, greeted by the men.
    Fog slid over the sea, and the boat vanished from sight.
    Meg turned back. Her grandparents had not seen the other boat. She said nothing. Inside, she felt ill and ashamed. She had not lain with the great kelpie, but with a man. Just a man.
    Had word gotten that a maiden would be sent to Caransay that night because of the old legend? Had the man come to the rock on a drunken bet? Even now he was probably gleefully detailing his adventure to his friends.
    Gasping, she bowed her head.
    Thora hugged her. "So you met the great kelpie, and I am sure he was tender with you in his magic," she whispered. "The herbal potion helped make you willing. If a child comes of it, we will give it a loving home—and the kelpie will protect Caransay from harm, blessing our isle with good fortune for the sake of his wee son."
    Oh God, Meg thought. A child.

Chapter 1

    Strathlin Castle, near Edinburgh
    July, 1857
    "A home," Sir John Shaw said, peering down his bulbous nose, "for young women of questionable morals? Lady Strathlin, I must advise against this unwise investment—as a member of the board of Matheson Bank and because I was a friend of your estimable grandfather, Lord Strathlin. He would never—"
    "Matheson House is hardly intended for women of ill repute, Sir John," Meg said calmly, folding her hands as she faced him over a wide oak writing desk in the library of Strathlin Castle. Morning sunlight streamed through tall windows to highlight the pale blue and gold of the Oriental carpet underfoot, reminding her of a Hebridean beach. Together with the seascape painted in oils over the library mantel, the sight helped ease a sudden bout of homesickness. Seven years, and she still deeply missed the Isle of Caransay.
    A week from now, she would be enjoying a rare holiday visit to the island. She drew a hopeful breath at the thought.
    Sir John regarded her with a bleary eyes through a monocle lens. "A home for unmarried young mothers—you must realize that they have exceedingly poor morals, madam."
    "I have sympathy for them—I will not condemn them, sir. Girls of good moral fiber often find themselves in difficult circumstances. I only wish to provide help in such situations."
    "Now that you are Baroness of Strathlin, and no longer—" he sniffed, leaving the rest unsaid.
    "No longer a simple island girl?" She smiled tightly. "True, I am now Lady Strathlin, and I am aware that my inheritance of my grandfather's title may have set some English lords on their ears. But it is proper enough in good Scots peerage." And I do not care what they think, she wanted to say.
    He cleared his throat. "Some thought Lord Strathlin was mad to leave his fortune to you. As I recall, you scarcely spoke English when you first arrived."
    "And had no shoes." She smiled, and so did he. "I did not speak good Edinburgh English, but I was reasonably educated and certainly knew that what is proper behavior in anyone is also proper for a baroness. In other words, I