“She’s pleasant on the eyes, but I hear she can be hard on the ears.”
Ian chuckled. “Aye.”
Alden laughed. “Doesn’t matter, huh?”
“Afraid not. She’s won me heart, pure an’ simple. Guess that’s what they mean in those weddin’ vows—for better an’ for worse.”
“Ouch! I think I’ll stay single.”
“I hear ye. But I’m countin’ on more of the better and less of the worse.” Ian brushed off the sawdust from Richard’s borrowed pants. His own clothes still hung behind Fiona’s house. How he could bring back Richard’s clothes and gather his own without seeing Fiona, he didn’t have a clue.
“Hungry?” Ian asked.
Fiona couldn’t believe the change in her father when he returned to the living area. He apologized for his temper and asked her to forgive him for not believing in her. She’d seen her mother do this on more than one occasion, but she didn’t think she’d ever seen her father, a fairly eventempered man, so angry. Her mother assured her it had more to do with her being a daughter and having grown up. As she lay on her cot in the family living area that night, she replayed the day over and over. The one event that really stood out was being in Ian’s arms once again. Proper or not, she’d wanted to kiss him. If he had held her a moment more, she probably would have found her lips searching for his. She could no longer deny the attraction between her and Ian.
Her father tended the light that evening while Fiona slept soundly. She didn’t hear him, not even once, coming and going during the night.
“Good morning, dear,” Mary said as Fiona walked into the kitchen. “Did you sleep well?”
“Very.” The rich scent of bacon tickled her nose and made her all the more aware of her empty stomach.
“Would you like to talk about Ian?” Mary asked.
“Yes. I had so many questions I wanted to ask you, but now they seem unimportant.”
“How so, dear?” Mary forked the sizzling bacon in the frying pan, turning over the strips as they browned.
“I can’t justify a relationship with Ian and my calling to be a lighthouse keeper.”
“Oh?”
“I know I’m meant to carry on the tradition of our family,” Fiona explained.
“I see. And which tradition are we talking about?” Mary asked.
“Keeping the lights, you know, like Father.”
“Hmm, and like his father before him?” Mary teased.
Fiona smiled ruefully, remembering that Grandpa was a farmer, not a lighthouse keeper. “But I’m good at it; I’ve saved lives,” she protested.
“Seems to me you’re trying to convince me that keeping the light is more important than another job. And yet my father and your father’s father were men who worked the ground and produced food for others. Equally as important, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, but—”
“Fiona, I’m not saying you should or shouldn’t be a lighthouse keeper. What I am saying is that you’ve lived a very sheltered life. We were so isolated up in Maine. The only thing you’ve known of a man’s occupation is a lighthouse keeper. Sure, you’ve seen some sea captains and fishermen, but you’ve never experienced the kind of work they do. Is it possible there is more for you in your life than simply being a keeper of the light?”
How could she argue with that? And was her mother saying she and Ian should develop a relationship?
“One of the reasons your father and I took this post was to expose you to other people, other ways of life. There have been no lack of men wanting to seek your hand. Your father’s turned down quite a few offers since you turned sixteen.”
“He has?”
“Why, of course, dear. You weren’t ready.”
“But…I don’t understand.”
“I know, Fiona. That’s why we brought you here. In spite of what happened yesterday, your father and I both knew Ian was attracted to you. Your father just didn’t expect to find you in his arms so quickly.”
Fiona’s checks flamed.
“Now, would you like to talk about that?” Mary placed the bacon on a rack for the grease to drip off the fried meat.
“I guess I don’t want to discuss it yet.”
“Very well. When you have a mind to ask, you’ll ask me. In the meantime, set the table. Your father will have an incredible appetite this morning, and I want to be ready.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Fiona went to work setting the table and then slipped into her parents’ room to dress for the day. Her father had turned down suitors? They moved here for her? Yet she wanted to move back to Maine. There was simply too much information, too many new emotions. She needed some time to think and to pray.
Chapter 6
Fiona glanced at Ian’s clothes still hanging on the line. Days had passed with no sign of him. She found herself no better off than when he’d left and told her he would wait. Her mother’s conversation a few days ago hadn’t helped any either. She respected her parents, but why did they feel she needed to be exposed to more people? Was there something wrong with her?
The thought had nagged her for days. The entire time they’d been living on Ocracoke, she’d been dying to return back home. Yet Maine was the very place her parents felt she needed to leave. It didn’t make sense. Granted, her brothers had left the island for a time to continue their educations, but she had all the education she needed to run a lighthouse.
Prayers were useless. She tried and tried but found no relief. She had stopped praying for God to change Ian’s career days ago. But could she really pray and expect God to show her if she was wrong? Who she was as a person, her life’s career, was all based on the call to be a lighthouse keeper. Who was she if she wasn’t that?
Fiona ironed and folded Ian’s clothes. She needed to see him. He didn’t have to stay away…completely. Determined to get her life back under control, she wrapped Ian’s clothes in brown paper and marched to Pilot Town. She had no idea which shack he lived in, but as far as she knew, he was the only Scotsman on the island. He shouldn’t be too hard to find.
“Excuse me, can you tell me which home is Mr. Ian Duncan’s?” she asked a leathery-faced fisherman tending his net outside his small wooden abode.
“Over there, miss.” He pointed behind him and to the left.
Fiona walked through the narrow path of chipped scallop shells to Ian’s. A slightly older man than Ian, with a receding hairline, sat on the steps. As she approached, a wide semi-toothless grin greeted her. “Hello.”
“Does Mr. Duncan live here?” She bit her lower lip for fear it would quiver. These were strange men, and she probably shouldn’t be alone.
“Aye, miss. I’m afraid he isn’t here.”
“Oh.” Fiona’s hopes vanished. “Could you give him this?”
“Be my pleasure, miss. Who should I tell him this is from?” he asked as he grabbed the bundle from her hands.
“He’ll know.” Certain this must be the man Ian said would be staying with him for awhile, she nervously continued refusing to give him her name.
“Have a good day, sir.”
“Thank you, Miss Stemple,” he winked.
Fiona prayed the ground would open up and swallow her whole. He’d either guessed her name or knew her by sight. She didn’t know, and she didn’t care to stay there and discuss the matter. Uneasy with the feeling that everyone would know why she’d come, Fiona retreated. She nearly ran out of the small housing area and worked her way back up to the lighthouse. Of all the stupid things she could have done, she chided herself.
Instead of going home, she walked past the lighthouse and east toward the open woods and beach. She hadn’t visited the ponies since before the hurricane. To sit and watch those graceful animals run, buck, and play would help her take her mind off herself and one Ian Duncan. “Oh, Lord, make it so. I can’t take much more of this,” she proclaimed to the waves and the wind.
She sat on the bluff, her bluff, her secret place. Finally alone, maybe she could thin
k straight. She breathed deeper and more slowly. Yes, she needed solitude. Just what she’d asked Ian for. She watched the tall grass stalks dance and tease each other, the surf rise and fall as it crashed on the beach.
Alden greeted him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Ian couldn’t believe Fiona had come by. He grabbed Richard’s clean clothes and went to her home. Mary greeted him warmly.
“Is Fiona here?” he asked.
“I’m afraid not, Ian. She left while Richard and I were in the lighthouse. Is something wrong?”
“No, she dropped me clothes off an’ I wanted to thank her.”
“You’re welcome to stay and visit for awhile,” Mary offered.
“Thank you, but I’m afraid I have some work to do before the sun goes down. Just tell her I came by.”
“Ian, before you go, you should speak with Richard.” Mary reached out and touched his shoulder. “I believe it would be wise.”
“Aye, I think ye’re right. Is he in the lighthouse?” Ian asked, looking over to the red brick tower.
“Yes.”
“Thank ye, Mary, an’ I do apologize for any grief I may have caused ye an’ yer family.”
“You’re forgiven. Now go make your peace with Richard.”
Ian nodded his agreement and walked toward the lighthouse. Today the sky was blue and the wind but a whisper. An invisible force—guilt? fear? confusion?—worked against his legs with more power than the mighty winds of the hurricane a few days before. Richard had become a friend, a man whom he respected. He had betrayed that trust by being so forward with Fiona. He understood that now. He still didn’t believe it was wrong to hold the woman you loved, but he understood, in part, how it must have hurt Richard.
He took hold of the handle, turned the latch of the thick oak door, and called out. “Richard?”
“I’m up on the second level, Ian. Come and join me.” His tone seemed friendly.
Ian took in a deep breath and took the steps two at a time. “Good evenin’, sir.” Ian held out his hand.
Richard grasped it firmly, giving it one quick shake. One of the things Ian found most curious were how soft the man’s hands were, and yet they were as strong as any man’s he’d known. He’d come to the conclusion that the older man having his hands in whale oil day in and day out probably accounted for the smoothness. So unlike his own calloused hands.
“I ordered a couple posts to replace the ones that hold up the wall near the pump.” Ian flushed, remembering it was the very spot where he and Fiona had embraced each other.
“Thank you; I appreciate it. Ian, I was a bit hasty with my words the other day. I apologize.” Richard shifted his gaze toward his feet.
“I understand, sir. I’m sorry to have offended ye. I appreciate our friendship, an’ I don’t want to lose that.”
Richard’s eyes met Ian’s. “Understood.” A simple reply from a straightforward man.
Ian released a pent-up breath.
“So, you’ve asked Fiona to marry you?”
Ian felt the heat crawl up his neck and knew he was turning a bright shade of red. “Aye, we talked about it. I’ve not asked her formal-like. I’d be needin’ yer permission before I do that.”
“How would you provide for her?”
“I make a good wage craftin’ boats. I’ve saved enough to purchase some land an’ start to build a house on it.”
Richard plopped his large hand on Ian’s shoulder. “I’m impressed, son.”
“Thank ye, sir. I’m plannin’ to buy the land today.”
“Are you aware of Fiona’s desires to be a lighthouse keeper?” Richard resumed polishing the oil lamps that lit the stairways.
“Aye. We be findin’ that a bit of a touchy subject.”
Richard chuckled. Ian realized the man understood his daughter. “Do you love her?” Richard asked.
“With all me heart. But she isna ready yet.” Ian sighed. “I believe the Lord has brought us together an’ desires us to be husband an’ wife. I’ve prayed long an’ hard before I even approached her, but she needs time. An’ I do, as well.”
“And what kind of time do you need?” Richard asked, putting his cleaning rag down.
“ ’Tis me Scottish blood, sir. In my country, when a man has these powerful…” Ian cleared his throat. “These emotions for the woman he loves, an’ she for him, he takes her into the highlands an’ makes her his wife.”
Richard’s eyes bulged and his face reddened.
Ian quickly added, “But I believe God wouldna be pleased for me to do as me ancestors would, that He wants me to get ahold of me emotions and be a stronger man for it.”
“You’re not in Scotland, and I wouldn’t take too kindly if you ran off with my daughter.” Richard’s warning was clear.
Ian looked at his feet then raised his glance back to Richard’s. “I understand, sir. An’ I wouldna dishonor ye.”
“I’ll hold you to it. If Fiona wishes to marry you, you’ll have my blessing.”
“Thank ye, sir.” Ian’s heart soared.
“But I think it best that you and she always have someone close by until then.”
Ian nodded. How could he object? He’d just confessed how passionate his people were, and he couldn’t deny his own strong feelings for Fiona. “I’ll respect yer wishes. But ye should know, I won’t be around much. I’ve told Fiona I will wait for her. So she will decide when we will meet again. In the meantime, I’ll be buildin’ our house, but I’ll ask ye not to tell her. It will be me weddin’ present.”
Richard smiled. “I understand.”
“Thank ye, sir. She’s a fine woman.”
“With a bit of a strong will.”
“Aye, but once tamed it will make her a stronger woman.”
“Tamed, huh?” He winked. “You understand my daughter well. You’ll have my blessings and my prayers.” He chuckled.
Ian realized it would take a strong man with a gentle spirit to handle a woman like Fiona. He prayed God would keep him humble and give him the strength and grace for the blessing of such a wonderful gift as her. She could stand a man on his ear with her tongue, but he suspected she could strengthen a man with one word of encouragement that twenty years on his own would never have done.
“I best be goin’. I have some land to purchase.” Ian grinned.
“Good night, son. Godspeed.”
With a greater sense of urgency, Ian hustled down the stairs. One day Fiona Stemple would be his wife. He just prayed it wouldn’t take her too long to decide.
Fiona rose from her slumber to the sound of ponies baying. She’d fallen asleep on the dune. The chestnut with white boots glistened nearby in the setting sun. His dark brown eyes stared at Fiona. She grabbed some wild sea oats and waved them at him. He shook his head up and down and pranced his front legs.
“Come on, Boy,” she called to the timid stallion.
He nodded his head and snorted, his nostrils flaring and his velvety lips fluttering with the escape of air from his lungs. With his right front hoof, he demanded that she advance.
Fiona walked over to the animal and held out the oats. He took them and chomped noisily. She stroked the white streak painting the front of his forehead to his muzzle, then across his cheek and around the underside of his neck near his head—one of his sweet spots she’d discovered on previous encounters.
She had planned to bring a bit and bridle the next time she came, but today was an unplanned visit. “You’re a handsome beast. I shall name you.”
But what kind of a name would fit this animal? “With your dark coloring and firm muscles, you remind me of Ian. Have I told you about him? Well, if I had, you’d not have heard a kind word, I’m afraid.” Fiona continued to stroke the horse.
“I’m glad you made it through the storm. It was that storm that forced me to see another side of Ian. He’s a kind man. A bit demanding, but for some strange reason I don’t mind doing what he asks.”
The horse nuzzled his head on her shoulder.
He pulled his head off her shoulder as if insulted.
“You were made to carry a man.”
He wagged his head from side to side.
“Oh, you think not,” she chuckled at the wise animal. “So, you think you’re to be free to run and play?”
He bayed.
“Since you remind me of Ian, I’ll call you Highland. He often talks about the strong rugged hills in the highlands of Scotland. Highland, it fits you.”
The horse tilted his head to the left as if something had caught his attention. A shiver went down his fine chestnut coat. Fiona looked and saw nothing but knew animals could hear far more than she could. Highland backed slowly away.
“Go on, Boy, do what you must.”
The horse trotted away.
For months she’d been getting familiar with Highland. For months she’d been blind to his similarities with Ian—the glorious dark coat and Ian’s rich mahogany curls. Both had deep chocolate eyes and strong muscles. Of course, she hadn’t felt Ian’s strong muscles, or even been aware of them, until a few days ago. But as wonderful as it was to run her hand down Highland’s neck, it did not compare to the feeling she had when she caressed Ian.
Stop it! she yelled to herself. Thoughts like those will get you nowhere.
Fiona stormed back to her home, no more the wiser and definitely not calmer.
Chapter 7
Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. No sign of Ian. Fiona’s interest in staying up all night manning the light had waned tremendously. She found herself spending more and more time with Highland. She’d bridled him a few weeks back and ridden him bareback a few times. As much as she wanted to bring him home, she didn’t have the heart to put him behind a pen.
Ian had moved from the shack but was still on the island, she’d been told. Fiona could never muster enough courage to go to the shipyard and find him. And no matter how many times she told herself he said he would wait for her, she still felt hurt and angry that he never came around.
One day began as it had the day before, and the same as the day before that, sitting at the breakfast table discussing the weather and the condition of the lighthouse with her parents.
Lighthouse Brides Collection Page 5