Another evening, Rory came home to discover Alyson in her bedchamber, practicing the knitting that Deidre was trying to teach her. She hastily tucked her work into the knitting bag beside her.
Jubilant that the Admiralty had dropped the charges against him, he failed to notice what she was knitting. He had imbibed more than a pint or two in celebration, but finding his wife sitting in the near dark sobered him. He was a free man, able to roam as he would. He could leave England and return home, but in so doing, he would leave his heart behind.
He had to be fair to Alyson first. He had tricked her into this marriage, made her miserable with the kind of life he led, and hurt her far beyond his abilities to repair. He had hoped there would be some means to minimize the damage, but finding her in the dark only reminded him that she belonged in happiness and sunshine. Where he was going had neither.
“You have news?” Alyson asked when he did not speak first.
Rory had doffed his coat earlier. Now he loosened his jabot while he sought the words he had not planned in advance. She looked so serene and young sitting there with her hair tied back in a ribbon, leaving only a few ebony curls around her pale face. The pearly gray of her satin robe was gathered to fit snugly around her breasts, and the lamplight gleamed on the luminous flesh revealed above the lace. He remembered how it felt to slip his hand in there, and his loins tightened punishingly.
“Farnley says you have never discussed the possibility of an annulment with him.” There was no point in treading around the subject. He owed her honesty, at least.
“Annulment? What made you ask that now?
Rory sank into a dainty chair with a heart-shaped back. She did not sound as if she had thought about this. “I never meant to force you to something you did not wish, lass. I was drunk and hasty, but I thought wedded life was what you wanted. I can see now that I made a mistake, that I cannot make you happy with the kind of life I lead. If you still wish your freedom, I think it can be arranged.”
Alyson stared at him, clasping her hands in her lap. “Where would you go?”
That was a strange question under the circumstances, but Rory replied patiently. “The charges have been dropped against me, lass. I will go home.”
“Your cousin has sold you the estate, then?”
He shook his head. “No. Drummond agrees only to sell the worthless parts, and those for enormous sums. I have saved enough to offer him a fair value, but he will not take it from me or any I appoint in my stead. He steals the money he needs from the tenants. There was wealth there once. It is nearly gone now. I have to return home to help.”
“Why can’t I go with you?” she asked reasonably.
Rory stared at her in astonishment. “To Scotland? Away from your friends, from all society? I told ye, lass, I have no home. I will live with the crofters. That’s no life for the likes of ye.”
“And that is the reason you ask for an annulment? Is there some Highland lass waiting for you there to keep you warm?”
“Alyson, be fair!” Rory cried, standing up and pacing the room. “If I could keep any woman at all, it would be you. I only wish to return the freedom I stole from you. Farnley will go over the books with you, show you what I have done. You can hire someone else to manage it when I’m gone. Keep paying Cranville, and he will most likely leave you alone. If not, I’ll come back to quiet him. I will not desert you entirely, lass. I just want you to be happy.”
“Then you will not ask for an annulment.”
Rory stopped his pacing to stare at the woman illuminated in the lamplight. She seemed changed, but he could not quite put his finger on the difference. Her misty eyes still hid behind a black fringe of lashes.
“What are you saying, Alys?” Her quiet words had sent his heart into a dive.
“I am saying I don’t want an annulment, Rory. Even if I thought it would make you happy, I’m not certain that it can be done now.”
Rory wished for another drink to clear the clouds of fog in his brain. In her own oblique way, Alyson was trying to tell him something, but his brain was too numb to accept it. “You have talked to someone besides Farnley about it?”
“I don’t think I need to. I understand enough to know there are certain conditions to an annulment. I fear no court in the land would acknowledge that those conditions exist.”
He could dismiss her words as naiveté. Judges could be bribed. Physicians would lie. The proof that she was no longer untouched did not have to actually exist. There was only one thing she could be talking about, and he didn’t think he could survive that news standing up. He promptly sat down on the edge of the bed nearest her chair.
“Tell me, Alyson, why do those conditions no longer exist?”
With a deep breath she replied, “Because I am three months gone with your child.”
Rory felt the air rush from his lungs. He lacked the presence of mind to draw it in again. His child! She was carrying his child! He gulped a breath before he passed out, then did hasty mental arithmetic. He didn’t need to. He already knew when it had happened—in that very first week of their loving. Thank God he had had the sense to marry her!
He didn’t know what to do, what to say. She had just hit him over the head with a brickbat, and he was still dazed. The sweet sound of her voice repeating his name returned some portion of his senses.
“Alyson, I didn’t mean to . . .” But he had meant to, his conscience warned him. With a sigh, Rory acknowledged his guilt in trapping her.
Rising, he lifted Alyson from her seat, swinging her into his arms as he sat down and pulled her into his lap. Her hands fluttered against his shirt, and he captured them against his chest.
“I’m that sorry, lass. There’s nowt fair in what I’ve done to ye, but I’ll try to make it right. I’m a wretched excuse for a husband, probably worse as a father, but I’ll see to it that neither of you lacks for anything.”
Alyson huddled forlornly against her husband’s broad chest, hearing Rory’s words as a bleak wind dissipating her dreams. Even telling him of the child wouldn’t hold him back. Tears rimmed her eyes, but she refused to give in to them. Whether he wanted one or not, Rory would have a home and a family. She’d had enough of this living in purgatory. It was her turn to make the decisions now.
“Take me with you.” She spoke into the lace frill of his shirt, not lifting her head from the thud of his heart.
Rory sighed and caressed her hair down. “If only I could, dear heart. Someday, maybe.”
“Not someday. Now.” Alyson pushed from the comfort of his arms to glare into his dark features. “You are not leaving me behind, Rory Maclean.”
“Alyson, be sensible. I could not take a lass such as yourself even before I knew of the child. There’s twice the reason to leave you here now. I can live off the land, sleep on the ground, survive the winter wind off the loch. You canna.”
“I will not have to. I found a map in your library. Your home is on Loch Linnhe, isn’t it?”
Rory narrowed his eyes. “It is.”
“So is my grandmother’s home. Can it be so very far from yours? My grandfather kept up the house even after she had gone. It cannot be in too poor a condition.”
“What was your mother’s family name?” he asked cautiously.
“Maclnnes.”
Rory leaned his head against the back of the chair and frowned. “Maclnnes. It has been nearly fifteen years, but I vaguely remember hearing tales of the MacInnes witches. The castle was crumbling to the ground when I was but a lad. There was nowt but the tower left. ’Tis doubtful it is habitable. In the winter, it would be a cold, drafty place.”
Alyson set her chin stubbornly and shoved from his lap. Setting her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “Those witches were my mother and grandmother. I am going, Rory Maclean. You can come with me, if you like. Or you can freeze your toes off on the moors for all I care. My grandmother had no money to make the tower comfortable, but I do, if you’ve left me any.”
�
�Left you any! I haven’t touched a farthing of your fortune, Alyson. Even the wages Farnley insisted I take, I spent on you. Don’t go throwing your bloody blunt in my face!” Rory threw himself from the chair and stalked toward the sitting room.
“I don’t care about the money!” Alyson cried as he tried to escape. “You can have it all, buy back your estate, feed your tenants, just let me come with you. This child needs a father.”
Rory swung around, his fingers curled into tight fists of resistance, his expression one of struggle.
Sensing his hesitation, Alyson whispered her final argument. “I’ll do anything you want, Rory, anything. Just take me with you.”
That promise—more than any promise of riches—broke his resolve. Rubbing a hand across his brow, he nodded. “Very well, lass. We’ll talk of it in the morning. Go to sleep now.”
Joy swept through Alyson at his surrender—joy muted with fear. She knew the promise that had changed his mind. How soon would he call on her to make it good?
27
Scotland, November 1760
As the icy deluge began once more, Rory cursed his haste. They could have traveled safely around the coast on the Witch if he had waited for Dougall to complete his shipment. It might have meant a delay of a month or more, but at least Alyson would not have been subjected to the worst of the winter weather as she was now.
As the carriage lurched through a particularly deep mud hole, Rory realized his memory of riding across these unmarked roads at great speed had much to do with youth and a spirited horse and little to do with carriages and pregnant wives. His foolish notion that they could save time by taking the first ship north and hiring a carriage from Edinburgh to Loch Linnhe had certainly given Alyson a fine insight into the country he called home.
Glancing over his shoulder to be certain the carriage had pulled out of the hole intact, Rory had to admit Alyson had not voiced a single complaint throughout the abominable journey. Pulling his hat down farther to allow the rain to funnel down the back of his cloak instead of his neck, he sent his mount ahead to test the condition of the road.
She had agreed to his every command, smiled at the other female inhabitants of the ship’s cabin she was forced to share, and didn’t murmur when their first day on land and every day since had been accompanied by a steady downpour. At times she had looked a little green, and he’d had to stop the carriage, but if she heaved up the better part of her breakfast, she didn’t complain.
Her ability to smile at him at the end of the day multiplied Rory’s guilt. Even without the burden of a child to carry, she had no place in these wild, barren lands. If anything should happen to her, he would not survive the loss, let alone the guilt. Just the thought of losing her twisted a knife in his heart. Rory slowed his horse to check on the carriage again.
His reasons for bringing her had been entirely selfish. Despite Alyson’s pleas, he could have left her behind. Common sense told him she would be safer and happier in London than in these harsh lands in midwinter. But just as they had from the first, her desires and emotions had twisted his logic until he could no longer think straight. He didn’t want to leave her behind for the admiration of London society.
He wanted her with him. He wanted his child to be born in these hills that he loved, and most of all, he wanted Alyson to love his home as he did. Some insane quirk of his mind believed that if they ever had a chance at happiness, it would be here. It was that madness that had brought them to this boggy trail in the barren hills with daylight fading fast and no shelter to be found.
Cursing again, Rory spurred his horse over the next hill. If he had ever imagined bringing a wife home, it would not have been with her fingers turning blue with cold and her trunks turning green with mold. He would have liked to bring her in the spring, with the broom blooming a brilliant yellow over the hillsides and the purple rhododendron and wild foxglove spreading across the valleys, or in August, with the heather turning the hills to celestial colors. Anything would be preferable to this.
A but-and-ben cottage nestled into the next hillside, sending up a thin gray swirl of smoke from the rock chimney, a luxury that indicated the owner had given some care to the building of his home. Inside it would be warm and dry.
Rory would have called it a day and stayed here had it not been for his entourage. He could not ask Alyson to sleep in a mud-daub-and-thatched cabin, no matter how cozy it might be. If he remembered correctly, they were near enough to some friends of his to pass the night. The house had been cold and drafty when he was a lad, but at least it had wooden floors and bedrooms and beds. After a day like this, a feather mattress would be welcome.
Not wishing to think too hard on the subject of beds and mattresses, Rory pushed his tired mount to the crest of the hill overlooking the next valley. He groaned as he realized that the trifling burn he remembered cooling his heels in had become a river with the heavy rain. The carriage could never ford it.
Resolutely he turned back to break the news. The crofter’s cottage would have to serve as inn for the night.
***
Alyson set her heavy patten on a rock near the carriage door. Holding Rory’s hand, she lifted her skirts from the ankle-deep mud and stepped on the next outcropping of stone. One wrong move and she would be face-first in the pebble-strewn yard, but she feared she would never pull her feet from the mire should they land in it.
From beneath lowered lashes she studied Rory’s stony expression rather than the low hut to which he guided her. She could see where a stark land like this would cultivate stoicism, but she thought his rigid expression hid pain. Rory had learned to hide his feelings, but she understood his emotion more than his thoughts.
Once inside the cottage, she shed her dripping cloak and muddy pattens with the aid of a wizened old woman. Her hostess murmured reassurances in an accent so thick Alyson could make little sense of it. Her gaze drifted to the smoke-blackened beams barely giving Rory’s height headroom. The ill-chinked fireplace sent gusts of smoke into the room. But the hard-packed dirt floor was covered in coarse grass to form a carpet against the damp, and the warmth of the tiny peat fire dried the air.
She thanked her hostess and drifted toward the fire. Coming in from securing the horses in a small shed attached to the house, Rory and their host exchanged glances as they watched her. The older man’s murmurs of appreciation brought a tired grin to Rory’s face, who answered in the same strange language.
The old woman chopped more vegetables for the simmering pot and glanced to Alyson with a gap-toothed smile. Alyson recognized the word “bairn” in her thick speech, and she turned from contemplation of the fire to glance at Rory for explanation.
“She said carrying a child teaches patience. Would you agree?”
Alyson blushed that the woman had guessed so easily. The old man and woman laughed at her sudden color and went about their chores without expecting reply. The intensity of Rory’s gaze heated her face more.
He had not taken advantage of her offer or even showed any desire to do so since she had made it. She had thought his desire for her must have died upon gaining what he wanted, but she could see now that she was wrong. She did not know the reason he still stayed from her bed, but his decision to do so saddened as well as relieved her. It would be difficult to build a marriage without the loving they had once shared.
She swallowed a sigh and accepted the offer of the room’s only chair. The gap between them had seemed almost unbridgeable in London. Perhaps here they could have the time to themselves necessary to conquer it.
The carriage driver and footman came in out of the rain, stomping their filthy boots on the clean floor and cursing as they studied the dismal hut. Rory’s scowl silenced them, and they settled on a rough bench out of the way of the kitchen activities. Tin cups of hot cider brought grudging nods.
Alyson sipped at her cider and listened as the old woman chattered. Rory replied in careful English so both she and their hostess could understand. They talked of pe
ople and places she did not know, but her desire to know everything about Rory compelled her to listen. When the conversation came around to her own family, Alyson was startled by the old woman making a sign of the cross.
“What did she say, Rory?” Alyson intruded in the conversation, drawing the eyes of everyone back to her. She hid her discomfort at the attention and waited for Rory’s reply.
To her surprise, it was their host who answered. “It is an old woman’s foolishness.” He spat into the fire and glared at his wife before speaking in guttural but careful English. “Your mother was a lovely lass with no harm in her. There are those who still mourn the day she left these lands.”
That piece of information brought a smile to Alyson’s lips, but she was not satisfied with the reply. Her grandmother had taught her to love the Highland tales, but she had also warned of Highland superstition.
Almost apologetically the old woman set out bannocks and poured bowls of thick soup for their supper. When Alyson exclaimed with delight at this simple offering, the woman appeared surprised and turned to Rory for confirmation.
“My wife has simple tastes, Peg,” Rory replied to the woman’s look. “Else why would she choose me?”
This brought a round of laughter, and the food was devoured hungrily. Alyson noticed the lines about Rory’s mouth relaxed and the creases on his forehead all but disappeared. He was at home here. She would have to learn to be the same.
She had doubts about her ability to adapt sometime later when they were showed into the narrow back room and given the honor of the cottage’s only bed. The others would make do on the floor of the main room. She glanced at the thin, sloping pallet, then back to Rory.
In the light of one short candle, he caught her look and shrugged. “It is this or the carriage, lass. Would ye hurt their feelings by refusing?”
Practical Rory. Silently Alyson turned her back to him to help with her gown. The number of heavy chemises and petticoats she wore beneath the gown prevented anything so intimate as a touch, but her spine still stiffened as his fingers worked their way through the fastenings.
Moon Dreams Page 27