Music played against the backdrop of crashing waves. Alyson tore her mesmerized thoughts from Rory’s hands to the musicians. An odd assortment of instruments had appeared, flutes and whistles and mouth harps, a cracked and worn fiddle, some hollow object covered with leather for a drum. The sounds they produced had very little to do with melody, but the beat pounded much as her pulse beat through her veins.
Before long, those of the crew not playing began to dance in unsteady jigs about the fire. Alyson grinned as they pantomimed courtly bows and then swung into country reels. Seeing her smile, Dougall bowed over her hand, glancing to Rory for permission to join the others.
“I think not.” Rory refused him with a glance down at Alyson’s black curls.
Alyson looked up in surprise, more at the sultry tone of his voice than at his refusal. When Rory stood and held out his hand to her, it was Dougall’s turn to register surprise. Apparently the dour Scotsman didn’t normally join in his crew’s revelry.
Pleased at his offer, Alyson leapt up, taking Rory’s hand and swinging it joyously as they joined the antics about the fire. The crew made room for them, and an impromptu reel ensued. The reel involved much shouting and laughter and stumbling over toes. Even shy William took his turn swinging Alyson about, and Dougall was granted the favor of one circle before Rory claimed his turn again.
Alyson’s breath quickened as the music raced faster and louder and the wine danced in her head. The crackling fire swirled with smoke, the scent mixing with the rich, mossy aroma of the heavy undergrowth.
Awareness heightened by alcohol, Alyson was acutely sensitive to the sway of Rory’s narrow hips and the press of his muscular thighs as they danced., Her feet scarcely touched the ground. She was giddily conscious of the masculine scent and warmth of his brown chest.
The men began a meaningless chant. With all her senses wrapped up in Rory, she scarcely noticed that the others had stopped dancing and formed a circle beside the fire. Rory, however, must have known this moment was in the making. With a grin and a glance to her breasts, he caught her close and led her toward the waiting crew.
“The broom! The broom! Give them the broom!” The laughing chant made no sense to Alyson, and she glanced around for understanding.
The men were sitting and standing around in a rough circle, brandishing their bottles and jugs and mugs and smirking hugely as Rory presented her. One of the crewmen, a giant African, had apparently been selected as spokesman, and he stood blocking their entrance into the circle. For some odd reason, the men behind him were waving a worn-out broom from the ship’s galley.
Alyson could not comprehend the low rumble of the African’s monotone, but she suspected no one else could either. He had been selected for the sonorous qualities of his voice and perhaps his ceremonial sway at the rhythm of his words.
When the speech ended, the music jumped to rowdier levels and the circle closed behind them, forcing them nearer the broom that was now held across their path, a foot from the ground. The chant of “Jump the broom!” swelled louder, the circle closed tighter, and before Alyson understood, Rory had leapt across the broomstick, carrying her with him.
A cheer rocketed through the night, but the African obviously had not done with them. Brandishing a wicked knife, he halted them before the circle could open again. Rory’s hand tightened around Alyson’s, and he looked down at her questioningly, as if she had some choice in what happened next, but the African grabbed their joined hands and held them up before she knew how to reply. The pounding in her head and the swirl of her senses prevented understanding. It was not until the point of the knife cut into the vein at the base of her thumb that she felt anything at all.
There was not even time to cry out before the process had been repeated with the heavy pad of Rory’s palm. With further intonations, the African rubbed their bleeding palms together, and Rory’s fingers twined around hers. Their blood mixed and flowed into each other, and Alyson felt the completeness of this joining as her legs threatened to give way beneath her.
Her head spun in light-headed circles, and she felt she had no weight at all. The pain in her hand throbbed against the bleeding wound in Rory’s. His eyes held her steady, and her pulse pounded in her lower regions as he lowered his head to hers. The kiss, when it came, was applauded with riotous clamor.
The circle opened. Alyson had little knowledge of how she came to be in Rory’s arms, engulfed in the empty shadows of forested vegetation. Tall grasses, twining vines, and stunted trees closed in upon them. Rory’s stride was swift and sure along the path. His heart beat near her own, and she buried her face against the folds of his unfastened shirt. The primitive hunger roused by the strange ceremony made explanations unnecessary. In front of man and God, she belonged to Rory, and he meant to take full possession of his claim.
No church or law legalized what they were about to do, but Alyson had no doubt about their right to do so. She wondered if Rory felt the rightness of the ceremony that had joined them, but she could not ask. She clung to his shoulders, absorbed the strength of his arms, and waited.
He set her down outside a small thatch-roofed hut. The walls consisted of worn mosquito netting probably scavenged from a ship’s trunk. Alyson turned questioning eyes to Rory, but he swept aside a corner of the thin curtain and gestured for her to enter.
Inside, the crew had created a pallet of palmetto leaves and lavished it with all the linens and pillows in Rory’s threadbare coffers. The effect had been completed with a swath of white silk apparently hoarded for some special occasion. Alyson rubbed it between her fingers, enjoying the sensuous texture of the extravagant bedcover.
The man standing behind her said nothing, apparently waiting for her to speak. He filled her senses to such a degree that she knew his closeness, the shape of his body, the placement of his hands, without looking. She wanted him closer.
Alyson turned and lifted her wounded hand to his shoulder. “You will show me what to do?”
He lifted her bloodstained palm, and finding the bleeding already stopped, he kissed it lightly. “We are joined already, lass. You will know what to do.”
Alyson smiled at the languorous drawl of his words, and she stepped into his embrace. “What promises did we make with this joining? I heard no words I understood. How are we bound?”
Rory’s hand roamed up and down her spine. She felt his hardness pressed against her belly, and she shivered as his words vibrated through her.
“We are bound only by the promises we give each other. For myself, I need no other woman as long as I have you. You are more than I ever dared dream, Alys. What promises would you have me give?”
She studied the tension in the strong lines of Rory’s dark features, shadowed in this primitive shelter. Her answer came without conscious thought, pulled from the wind and carried on the moonbeams.
“I would have you love me while you can, just for this while. Will you love me?”
She could not mistake the tenderness in his gaze as he lifted both hands to cup her face. His thumbs traced patterns on her skin as he spoke.
“Aye, lass, I’ll love ye, make no mistake aboot that. ’Tis the only love I may ever know, but I give it to ye willingly.”
His mouth closed on hers then, and there was no further need of words. Caught between his possessive hands, his mouth branding her with wine-flavored flames, and his breath filling her lungs, Alyson could only surrender. Her fingers curled against his chest, and her lips allowed him entrance. She was swept along by his need as surely as she had been swept from her feet earlier.
Rory’s hands slid over her, stroking her throat, sliding beneath the satin vest, cupping her breasts while his kisses played havoc with her breathing. Alyson allowed the vest to fall to the ground, then caressed the hard ridges of his chest, flattening her palms against his smooth skin.
She felt his quick intake of breath and knew satisfaction that her touch affected him as his did her. She had never known how far kisses could lead
until Rory taught her. Now she wanted to know more.
Rory’s kiss grew more urgent once she discovered the hard buds of his nipples and played them as he had hers. But when she slid her hands beneath his shirt to his waist, Rory released her mouth and buried his face against her hair with a groan.
“Lass, if you do not release me from these damned tight breeches, I’ll not be of any use to you this night or any other.”
Alyson laughed low in her throat and ran her fingers along the waist of his pants until she found the buttons. He had unfastened her enough times that she felt no shame in returning the favor, but she was quite unprepared for Rory’s reaction to this release.
He yanked his shirt from the loosened band and cast it to the ground, then caught her clothing in both hands and drew it all over her head in one forceful stroke. Alyson gasped as the night breeze suddenly had full access to her flesh, but she had little time to dwell on her nudity. Rory carried her to the makeshift pallet, gently laying her across the silk, where he could admire her with his eyes while he finished shedding his breeches. In the moonlight filtering through the netting, Alyson lost awareness of her own nakedness in the discovery of his.
Her gaze swept from the V-shaped mat of curls on his broad chest to the taut flatness at his waist. Fearful of being brazen, she bypassed the proof of his maleness to follow the muscular lines of his legs. She barely had time to finish her inspection before he dropped beside her.
Rory’s muscled weight smashed the fragile pallet. One hair-roughened leg slid over hers, pinning her against the silk. His maleness rubbed her hip as he leaned over her, and she knew her vision hadn’t lied. That was Alyson’s last conscious thought as Rory’s tongue tasted her lips, and he teased her breasts into wanton points.
It was as if his body was the bow and hers was the string. He played her sweetly first, testing the notes, refining the tension until she quivered beneath his touch. When he suckled at her breast, Alyson moaned and rose against him, and the music grew more frantic.
The pull of Rory’s mouth heightened all her senses, or what was left of them, as the heavy wine seeped through her and made her reckless. His fingers played across her skin, stroking, caressing, finding those places that made her shiver and moan and brought her closer to the crescendo he sought.
When his hand slid between her thighs, Alyson tried to protest, but Rory chased away her words with his kiss. The twin invasions of tongue and fingers warned of what came next, and the fear from her vision made her whimper in fear of the pain to come. Still, her hands wound around his shoulders to welcome him.
Rory raised over her to lie between her legs. He continued making love to her lips, throat, and breasts, worshiping at the altar of her beauty, giving her no opportunity to shy from his advances. Not until Alyson was crying his name and covering his chest and shoulders with her kisses did he dare take the sacrifice she offered.
Alyson’s wild cry as Rory entered her rang through the jungle, at one with the call of the other creatures around them. He thrust carefully, stretching her tightness to accept him, carried by the passion that had long burned behind the closed walls of his heart.
Once he had breached her fear, she surrendered to all his demands, and he was swept along on the tide of his needs.
The moment came too soon, exploding in a bright heat that caused Rory to groan and gather her closer while his body shook and trembled with hers. Her cry of surprise and delight was reward enough for the effort he’d made to give her pleasure.
Alyson stroked his hair while he tried to gather he energy to remove his weight from pressing her into the ground. Nothing could distract him from the place where they lay joined together.
“You cannot daydream me away now,” he whispered in her ear, “nor deny that you are mine.”
He rolled to his side and carried her with him. He pulled the silk into a cocoon around them and found a pillow for her head to make her comfortable within the circle of his arms.
He rained kisses against her nose and brow, and caressed her cheek, pushing away damp curls. Her lips parted in a soft sigh, and he captured it with his kiss. “I did not wish to hurt you, lass,” he murmured.
“I don’t remember the pain, only the pleasure. Will it always be so?”
Lying on his side, Rory relaxed. “No, lass, it will get better. Let me show you.”
Alyson responded readily to his renewed caresses. He moved more slowly this time, giving her time to adjust until her hips rocked in a rhythm with his, then demanded more. Catching the measure of her need, he thrust faster, harder.
Responding to his thrusts, Alyson no longer knew where he began or she ended. She only knew Rory had pulled her strings taut as he drew himself back and forth, and the music reached its height.
A crescendo built so that she could no longer control her own movements. The pulsing beat carried her away, rolling over her in wave after wave of pleasure. Rory murmured reassuring words in her ear. She clung to him, and her hips rose and fell again with his swift thrusts. Alyson cried out in delight as they came together, and Rory’s shudders matched hers, bringing them so close that she knew his mind and body as well as her own.
She fell asleep, physically and emotionally exhausted, before Rory could leave her. He held her close as her breathing evened, but he did not find sleep so easily. Guilt weighed upon his mind, guilt worsened by the knowledge that he had not only taken her innocence but also broken his promise to her in so doing.
In the pleasure and excitement of teaching Alyson passion and claiming her for his own, he had failed to protect her from the results of this act of love. Even now, his bastard could be forming in her.
17
Eyes closed, Alyson stretched luxuriously against the slippery sheets until her toes brushed a hair-roughened and distinctly masculine leg. Her lids shot open just as Rory leaned over her. Placing an arm on either side of her head, he grinned down into her sleep-tousled face.
“Good morning to ye, lass. How are you feeling?”
She closed her eyes again as she captured the sensation of his long, hard body leaning over hers. She felt a familiar stirring and murmured “moon dreams,” then purred contentedly.
Rory pressed a kiss to her brow and inquired, “Moon dreams? Are they better than daydreams?”
Alyson smiled lazily as his body came close enough for her to arch against him. She now knew the meaning of that jutting shaft. It had not all been a moon dream, then.
“Much better.” She loved the way his brandy eyes gleamed as he looked down on her, and she felt the need for him grow again. “Much more dangerous. They’re impossible dreams, you see. Wild dreams. My grandmother told me to beware of moon dreams because I would never be happy with what I could not have.”
A shadow crossed Rory’s face, but he spoke lightly. “It’s daylight now, lass. No moon dreams, just me. Will you still have me?”
His voice rumbled low and caressing as Rory nibbled at her earlobe, and Alyson shivered in delight. She slid her hand along the muscled ridges of his ribs down to his hips, pressing him closer. She was aware of the aching soreness between her thighs, but she made no effort to push him away.
Rory rolled over and stood up, holding out his hand to help her rise from the rumpled bed.
She opened one eye and squinted at him warily. Just the sight of him standing there naked was enough to give her palpitations. What did he mean to do to her now?
“Come on, lay-abed. We have only this morning and then we must be off. Let me teach you to swim.”
Judging from what she could see, he did not precisely have swimming in mind, but a bath would be nice. Remembering the lagoon, Alyson looked for her shirt.
Rory grabbed her shirt and his, along with his breeches. He unwrapped her from the silk, leaving her unprotected from his gaze.
At sight of the telltale stain against the white, he grinned and spread the silk wide between his hands, displaying the sign of virginity. “I should have a flag made of this. Th
en I will always have something to remember you by.”
Alyson scrambled up to take it away from him. “I have heard that buccaneers prefer flags of gory skulls, but this is carrying things too far. You are an embarrassment, Rory Douglas.”
Instead of relinquishing his banner, Rory cheerfully wrapped her in it, then lifted her into his arms. “I know that, lass, but you’ll have to bear my poor humor for the nonce. The prisoners of buccaneers have no other choice.”
Then, wearing nothing but his birthday clothes, he carried her into the sultry warmth of the day. Arms wrapped in the silk, Alyson could do no more than squirm in protest. She only fought in earnest when Rory strode straight out into the water without letting her down.
“Rory, don’t! Take me back. It’s too deep out here!”
He lifted one dark eyebrow. “Is it so, now? Am I drowning? What will you forfeit if I take you back?”
“Just take me back, Rory, please. I will learn to swim another day.”
“If you’re to be jumping off ships and tangling with pirates, you’ll have to learn how. Hold your breath, dear heart.”
He had more compunction than to drop her in, but Alyson’s stormy look caused him to chuckle. He dropped her legs, letting them dangle in the water while he held the rest of her against him and gave her a watery kiss.
The silk floated free. With the water lapping around her and Rory’s body pressed to hers, Alyson could only concentrate on one thing at a time. Her body responded joyously to his, and the swimming lesson was as quickly forgotten as the silk.
They didn’t quite make it back to the beach. Half in and half out of the water, they made love in the sand with the water idly licking at their legs and toes. The pure pleasure of Rory’s possession drove out any discomfort. Alyson knew only the heat of the sun and the liquid warmth of the water and the ecstasy that rose inside her with his every thrust. Last night could not have been a moon dream, for not only was it possible to achieve last night’s pleasure, this exceeded it. Alyson cried out her joy as her body quaked in rhythm with Rory’s.
Moon Dreams Page 17
