It would be very nice to have a child someday, but only after she had found a husband who truly loved her. She trusted Rory to protect her reputation once they returned to London. He might call himself by criminal names, but she knew his gallantry from experience.
When she finally decided that Rory would prefer her in the chemise instead of his long shirt, Alyson returned the neatly folded linen to the trunk and crawled between the covers of Rory’s bunk. She shivered as the cool muslin rubbed against her bare skin. Soon Rory would be here beside her again, and it would be his hands she felt against her skin, and not cold muslin. She had to wrap her arms around herself to keep from trembling all over.
She fell asleep before she could learn that Rory never returned to the cabin.
When she woke, the ship was strangely still except for the shouts and footsteps above her. Rubbing her eyes, she ascertained it was daylight. Then, remembering the night before, she turned and hastily searched the bed, as if Rory would be disguised by the blankets.
She had not had time to register her reaction at discovering his desertion when a loud knock sounded at the door.
“Up with ye, lass. It’s too late to be lying abed!”
Rory’s voice. The same Rory who was supposed to share her bed last night—the one she had trusted with her most intimate feelings and had not even bothered to avail himself of her offer.
Furious, embarrassed, she grabbed his shaving mug and flung it at the door.
The resounding crash raised Rory’s eyebrows, and he rightly surmised he had somehow managed to do something wrong again. Shrugging, he walked off. To let himself in now could be suicidal, judging by his previous encounters with enraged women. Alyson’s good nature would prevail eventually.
When he heard that William had successfully delivered her breakfast and lived to speak of it, Rory returned to the cabin. Deciding the degree of intimacy she was about to grant him made knocking a false modesty, he simply walked in.
He caught her trapped in the entanglement of donning her gown. He stopped to admire the view of slender ankles and well-turned calves. As she hastily jerked the bodice waist in place, he was given a fine view of scantily clad breasts. A hot surge of desire boiled through his blood. But it was not his intention to take her like this. He gritted his teeth when she pulled the bodice closed and held it there with a death grip.
Rory regarded the elegant satin gown with a practical eye and shook his head. “It will not do. The heat will kill you. Take it off and let us find something more suitable.”
Alyson glared at him and deliberately began fastening her laces.
Rory grabbed two great handfuls of skirt and jerked upward. Alyson’s dark hair disappeared in a swirl of blue satin. She shrieked as the unfastened waist caught on her breasts and left all else bare for his perusal. Rory chuckled at the sight of her thin chemise riding up to her hips, leaving only her stockings and garters below. She was a joy to behold, and his gaze lingered on the full curve of hip and rounded thighs before he gave in and worked the gown the rest of the way off.
He flung the satin over a chair and headed for his trunk without drinking his fill of the sweet sight she offered. If he were to last through this day, he would have to avoid tempting himself beyond the bounds of endurance.
“It is summer and the heat here is more than Charleston. Save the gown for cooler months.”
Tight-lipped, Alyson grabbed up her gown and held it before her. “Shall I go about in nothing, then? That should be sufficiently cool.”
Rory pulled out his long linen shirt. Trying not to look too closely at her flimsily concealed curves, Rory yanked the shirt over her disheveled black curls.
“I have no desire to share you with my men.” Rory contemplated the impromptu gown. The billowing sleeves of his shirt hung below her fingers. The neck closure plunged nearly to her waist. Only the chemise preserved any modesty.
If he looked more closely, he could discern the erect tips of her breasts. No wonder women wore all those foolish garments. Any less, and men would lie raving in the streets.
Meaning only to lace the neck closure to hide some of her generous proportions, Rory couldn’t resist cupping the full curve of one breast. Alyson closed her eyes and held herself taut but didn’t resist.
When she did not flee, Rory smiled and teased temptation a little more. Her startled look transformed to a more sensual one, and she swayed toward him. He pressed a warning kiss against her lips and reluctantly removed his hand.
“Don’t let’s fight, lass. It’s much more pleasant to take things as they come. Trust me.”
Rory tied the knot in the lacing, hiding most of her nakedness, then inspected the results. The shirt hung to mid-calf, revealing the enticing sight of embroidered stockings and blue satin slippers. The problem of the long sleeves was easily solved by using her old garters as bands to hold the flowing material high enough for comfort, but Rory shook his head at the way the thin material revealed all the full, womanly curves beneath. Men would kill for less than that.
He rummaged in the trunk again until he produced one of his old flare-bottomed vests. The yellow silk was moldering, but the quilted lining had a good deal of strength left. He held it out for her, and Alyson slipped into it. He sliced off the lengthy arms at the shoulders.
Alyson’s eyes widened in surprise, but she appropriated the length of material that resulted, looped the two pieces together, and knotted them in a belt around her waist. She looked like a pirate, but all except her legs was covered.
“Aye, you’ll do. It’s better than William’s breeches, leastways.” Contemplating the satisfying fact that her impromptu skirts came up much more easily than boy’s breeches came down, Rory congratulated himself on his sartorial inspiration. To test his talent, he ran his hand over the curve of her buttock. When she looked up in surprise, he grinned. His men could not see the curves the cloth concealed, but he could feel them.
“Shall we see what there is to see, my love?” He made a courtly bow, then opened the cabin door to escort her out.
“But I haven’t even brushed my hair!” Alyson protested, glancing nervously toward the outer cabin.
Rory picked up his brush from the shaving stand and offered his arm. “I’ll do it for you later. You could never look less than lovely.”
That flattery astonished her into silence. She accepted his arm and stepped into the bright light of day in her daring dishabille. The crew’s reaction to her appearance caused her to start with surprise.
They cheered. They yelled. They whistled until a bright scarlet flush suffused her cheeks, and Rory scowled with a ferocity that had the men nudging each other and winking.
“If all ye layabouts have naught to do but embarrass a lady, I’ll send ye to scraping barnacles,” he finally roared into a lull in the commotion.
That sent men scurrying into the rigging. The woman at his side relaxed and scanned the protected cover of the island to which he’d brought her.
Gentle waves lapped upon sandy beaches, and scrub palmettos filled the interior. Beyond the barrier of the reef, the ocean roared, but the ship rocked only slightly.
Rory watched her, hoping she understood what he offered. The island provided an escape from the confinement and lack of privacy of a small ship. He relaxed at her smile of comprehension and approval.
Relieved, Rory gestured to the men working on a spar above. “There wasn’t time in Charleston to make the repairs we needed. I’d prefer to have them done before we sail any closer to the islands.”
She gazed at the rigging, then abruptly tugged on his arm. “Make him come down, Rory, please.”
She did not raise her voice or convey her urgency in any untoward way, but he frowned and glanced upward. “Who, lass? What is wrong?”
“William. I want to see William. Have him come down now, please.”
Since William had nearly reached his goal high atop the mainmast, this was not a reasonable request. With another woman, Rory would have d
ismissed it without a second thought. With Alyson, he couldn’t help but have second and third thoughts. He signaled to Dougall, who gave the shouted command for William to return to the deck.
William quickly complied, scurrying down the mast with amazing speed, until he reached the deck and presented himself at his captain’s feet.
Not having any good reason for calling the lad, Rory lifted a quizzical eyebrow in Alyson’s direction.
With a vague smile of apology, she asked, “Have you a hat I could borrow, William? I fear I will become dreadfully sunburnt out here.”
Boy and man stared at her in incredulity, but a frightened cry from above diverted their gazes upward. The splintered spar the men had been lowering crashed loose from a frayed rope, swinging in a wide arc along the mast, knocking loose the gaff spanker that had been William’s destination not minutes before.
Had Alyson not called him down on her ridiculous errand, the boy would have been knocked clear of the rigging and onto the main deck to his death.
William turned white as he realized the nearness of the miss. Those of the crew who had seen William’s departure and the accident shouted in relief. The remainder of the crew righted the spar with hefty curses.
Rory narrowed his eyes to study the woman beside him, but Alyson’s misty gaze revealed naught but the shadows of the clouds crossing the sun.
He sent William on his errand. Then, placing his hands on her shoulders, he turned Alyson to face him. He had seen that look on her face before, and uneasiness roiled his innards. When he was certain he had her attention, he asked, “You have the Sight, don’t you? That’s why you look at me sometimes as if you’re looking through me. What else have you seen, Alyson?”
Her lips turned up in a surprised smile that did not reach her eyes. Without a word, she walked away from his hold and drifted over to speak to a shaken Dougall. Rory stared after her with a mixture of confusion and understanding.
Of course she would not admit to possessing the curse of Sight. It had labeled women as witches for centuries, or set them so far apart from their peers that they became hermits.
He knew of a woman in the village near his home who was reported to have the ability to see things no other could. She had no friends or family. The only ones who sought her out were those desperate to know the secrets of their future, young girls in love, old people preparing for death.
He remembered clearly what he had seen with his own eyes. The old woman had appeared in the street one day, grabbed a toddler playing in the dirt, and shoved the child into the arms of an irate mother. Seconds later, a load of heavy whisky barrels had tilted out of a cart and cascaded down the hill just where the child had been playing.
He had tried to convince himself that the barrels had fallen first and that the woman had merely rescued the child from the obvious danger. But he had been in a position to see both woman and barrels, and he could not lie so easily to himself, no more than he could lie to himself now.
It would be easy to call it coincidence. Another man might have. That was the beauty of Alyson’s deception. For years she had been convincing people of her half-wittedness with her vague habits, when in truth she had just adapted to the behavior expected of her, the one that explained her strangeness to everyone’s satisfaction.
Believing her half-witted was preferable to believing in the supernatural. The ridiculous reason she had given William for her call had completely fooled the lad because he thought her foolish. He would never know that it had been more than the hand of fate that had saved him. Alyson’s quick-wittedness in the moment of danger was astounding, once the veil of deception was removed.
Rory watched her gesture with her lovely hands as she soothed Dougall’s fears. He had almost believed her foolish innocence. Had he not been such a curious bloke, or so infatuated with her confounded hands, had they not been forced into long confinement for the length of that coach ride, he would have believed her half-crazed.
No wonder the old earl had kept her hidden in the country where no one had the opportunity to learn her true character. Her disguise worked best at a distance or with those too blind to see beyond their own noses. Dougall was neither, and Rory hastily sent his first mate back to his duties.
Alyson looked up at Rory’s abruptness, but William raced up with a disreputable-looking straw hat. She beamed with delight, perched it rakishly over her curls, and struck a pose for his approval. The boy grinned, then sprinted off to his assigned tasks.
“If you have that boy talking more than two words at a time, they’ll call you another kind of witch. Come on, lass, you and I will do some exploring.”
Alyson hesitated at sight of the dinghy he meant her to climb into, then back to his familiar crew. Rory waited for her to come to terms with this next stage of their life. She had been more or less forced from the shelter of her grandfather’s home. She had been given no choice at all when Rory had kidnapped her from London. Accepting the intimacy of his private protection would have to be her own decision.
Alyson turned back to him, and her lips curved upward in happy decision. Without further hesitation she gripped the rope ladder and swung her unencumbered legs over the side.
Rory scarcely heard the appreciative catcalls as he hurried after her, his heart beating wildly. He hadn’t been at all certain that last night wasn’t a moonstruck dream and that dawn would return them both to their senses. His imagination ran free, picturing sun-drenched days and moonlit nights in the arms of the fairest angel he had ever chanced to come upon. They didn’t have to hurry back to London. Perhaps he could persuade her to linger in these warm waters until England’s harsh winter had ended. Anything was possible.
Alyson had proved that beyond questioning.
15
Alyson dug her toes into the hot sand and gazed dreamily into the intriguing pattern of tree fronds above her head. She had never seen anything like it. A scarlet vine spilled over the sharp shrubs Rory had called palmettos on either side of the path. A strange bird crackled above. They had left the sea and the mournful cries of the gulls at the ship earlier, but this miniature jungle fascinated her.
The heat was a tangible weight upon her skin, and she longed to pull her hair off her neck and cut the sleeves from her shirt. Rory had unfastened his shirt to the waist and rolled up his sleeves as he hacked through the vines with his wicked-looking knife. Alyson lowered her gaze from her study of the sky to the powerful sway of the Maclean’s shoulders beneath his sweat-drenched shirt and the bulge of his arms as he chopped at the undergrowth.
Just the sight of his shirt plastered against his back caused strange sensations through her center. He was not an overly tall man, but she knew the strength of those muscles rippling beneath that thin fabric. His tight breeches revealed even more, accenting the hard lines of his legs and other places she was not bold enough to admit noticing. Her need to know more of the man beneath the clothing would certainly be her undoing.
It was with relief that Alyson greeted the object of Rory’s exertions—a placid blue lagoon shimmering in the shadows and sunlight of overhanging trees. Crowded undergrowth prevented easy access from three sides, and a ragged cliff of gray rock blocked the fourth. Their privacy would be protected here.
Rory waited until Alyson was beside him, his Eve in pirate’s clothing in the Garden of Eden. He still could not quite believe his good fortune, and instincts warred with upbringing. He had never bedded or dishonored a lady before, had never even thought of doing so until Alyson entered his life. As a gentleman, he should not even be considering it. As a man, he could do nothing else. He bowed and gestured toward the lovely lagoon.
“Your bath, madam. The water is not deep, and it is all yours.” He produced a sliver of soap from his pocket and shrugged. “As a valet, I fear I am sadly lacking. I didn’t think to bring a towel.”
Alyson glanced at him nervously, but he made no move toward her other than producing the soap.
“You will not go far?”
Accepting his gentlemanly behavior at face value, Alyson nodded and trotted off in the direction indicated.
Rory heard her splashing a little later and groaned at the image leaping to mind. Since his fifteenth year he had been driven by one goal, to restore his father’s name and lands, and in doing so, have revenge against the man who had stolen them—who had killed his brother at Culloden. There had been no time for daydreams or selfish pursuits.
To fall victim to selfishness now was disturbing, but he could not set aside the image of Alyson with long hair streaming across full, up-tilted breasts. He could see her tiny waist, nearly feel the flare of her hips beneath his hands, and he longed to see the expression in those mist-haunted eyes when he held her beneath him and claimed her as his.
Standing idle only encouraged such thoughts, and, cursing, Rory stripped off his stiff clothing. With one swift leap he dived into the glassy water, wishing it were a Highland stream in order to cool his overheated ardor. Swimming relieved some of the tension, and he deliberately stroked in the opposite direction from Alyson.
After a vigorous swim, he floated on his back, listening to her splashing, judging at what point she would climb out on the rocks to dry off. He pictured her sitting there like a mermaid, combing her long tresses. He went down spluttering and came up determined.
He couldn’t see her as he swam back toward his clothing. She was somewhere on the rocky ledges, hidden from sight, as he had told her. He found the sliver of soap she’d left for him and scrubbed, then climbed dripping from the water to don his breeches.
***
Moon Dreams Page 15