"But only a quarter of the length. Yet it gives such a clear image."
"I reconfigured the mirrors. I didn’t have room up here for either a forty-foot telescope or that huge ungainly stand he had to build for it in Slough." William Herschel, who had discovered the planet Uranus late last century, had always been his hero.
"It’s brilliant. No wonder you’re doing such good work here."
"I’ll take you through what I’ve done, if you like." Few people in the world would be able to follow the course of his investigations. He was fortunate that his wife was among those few. He hadn’t only missed Emily’s physical presence. He’d missed sharing his work with her.
"I’d like that." She stood up. "Now?"
Now? When she was only half-covered and he could still taste her kisses? Not bloody likely.
"Aren’t you tired after all that travel?" he asked with a hint of desperation.
"Yes."
"Then wouldn’t you like to go to bed?" He closed his eyes in dismay at his lamentable phrasing. He rushed on. "I spent most of the day asleep. You didn’t."
"I’m…keyed up."
Hell, Hamish could write a thesis on feeling keyed up. "Let’s go downstairs. Some of Bruce Mackenzie’s finest might help you to settle."
She smoothed down the coat. He restrained a groan. The material pulled too tight against the body beneath it for his comfort. "What on earth is Bruce Mackenzie’s finest?"
He made himself continue and hoped she’d put the hoarseness of his voice down to tiredness. "Whisky. Not entirely legal. The best distiller north of the border lives on the Achnasheen estate, devil take Fergus’s good luck. If Fergus feels in charity with me, he sometimes lets me have a bottle or two."
"I’m not sure spirits will—"
"A little bit won’t hurt you. And if you’re planning on becoming a good Scotswoman, you need to learn to love the water of life."
"The water of life?"
"Uisge beatha. It’s Gaelic. That’s where the word whisky comes from."
A faint smile curved her lips, made her breathtakingly lovely. And breathtakingly approachable, which was the last thing he needed when they were alone together in the middle of nowhere.
"It really is a new world up here. How fascinating." She cast him a searching look. "You’re different, too."
He paused in the act of picking up the lantern. He left his notebook where it was. Tonight, it contained no new observations. "Oh?"
She watched him with that steady, perceptive gaze that always made him feel like she cut to his soul. As usual it made him uncomfortable. It was worse tonight when his soul was crammed with a thousand depraved intentions.
"Yes. You seem more…yourself, more true to Hamish Douglas than the man I knew in London."
He shifted under her assessing stare. "Go on with you, lass. It’s just the romance of the hills and the stars, and sleeping in a tower that the Vikings built."
"The Vikings? So you’re part Norse."
"Aye, a lot of the people in the glen are. There were longboats up and down this coast."
A pleased smile curved her lips. "That’s how I’ve always thought of you, you know. As a fearless Viking. No wonder you never fitted in with those pale, skinny Londoners. I thought it was my imagination, but it wasn’t. You come from a long line of marauding warriors."
Hamish bit back an offer to show her just how marauding he could be. "You really have fallen for the romantic Highlands."
He waited for her to deny it, to remind him she was a cool-headed scientist just as much as he was. If William Herschel was his hero, Herschel’s brilliant sister Caroline, with a string of scientific achievements in her own right, had always inspired Emily. Caroline Herschel offered Emily a model for a female who made her mark in the world of the intellect.
That mysterious smile still flickered across Emily’s face. "You know, you might be right."
Heaven save him. He needed to get off this rooftop. He needed to cover up his wife – preferably in a suit of armor. He needed to jump into the burn and cool off before he did something he was sure to regret.