She glanced toward the older woman, who chatted amiably about the friends and home left behind in Sussex many years before. The innkeeper evidently considered Alyson a genteel young lady momentarily injured and separated from her servants in the riot, and sought to keep her occupied while she awaited rescue. She had been a trifle dubious when Alyson insisted that the man sent to find her was not from her family, but she had offered to repair Alyson’s gown after Dougall had been sent away. Now Alyson regretted the delay.
She had to escape before Rory discovered her with his extraordinary finding skills. Trapped on the other side of the wall from him, she tried not to eavesdrop, but the man doing most of the talking had a very insistent voice.
She listened with dismay to tales of some family called Crandall, whose breadwinner had been forced off his land. Crandall had apparently been killed when he tried to poach salmon to feed his ailing wife. The wife had died and the daughters had slipped into the desperation of the streets, forced to sell themselves for the crumbs needed to eat.
Somehow, these tales were related to the English cousin who had stolen Rory’s land and title. She recognized the name Drummond spoken with bitter scorn.
The tales became more heartbreaking, and Rory’s replies grew fewer and more curt. She cringed and drew the borrowed blanket around her when the laird’s roar finally erupted and his heavy fist thudded against the table. She tried to remember the words just previous to that roar—something about the lands and Drummond and the market. She listened more carefully when the other man spoke again.
“Hamilton has agreed to act as go-between, Maclean. The king’s too ill to intervene. He’ll make the offer and sign the deeds, then transfer them to you when the money changes hands. But he canna do it without your being there. He’s poor as a church mouse and canna raise those kinds of funds on his own.”
“And what in hell makes you think I can?” Rory’s voice broke with a mixture of fury and despair. “I doubt there’s that much money in all the Highlands. My cousin taunts me, you fool. Can you not see that?”
Dismay tinged the reply. “But Lady Campbell says you have run off with an heiress. It’s all about London. Some say you kidnapped her, others say she ran after ye, but it’s the truth you both disappeared at the same time.”
Alyson heard this plea as if in a dream. London seemed so distant now. She had rather imagined the inhabitants would have forgotten her as she had forgotten them, but the scandal of her departure was not as disconcerting as the implication of the man’s words.
Deirdre had obviously thought Rory would marry her and had sent this man to bring them back to save the family estate. She couldn’t blame Deirdre, she supposed. Rory must have sent her a letter reassuring her that Alyson was safe. It was only to be expected that they would have to marry under the circumstances.
Rory’s reply to the man’s gossip consisted of long strings of invectives, and Alyson didn’t linger to hear more. Her gown was complete, and she hastily slid from her stool to allow the landlady to help her dress. She didn’t know what she ought to do, or even what she wanted to do. She just knew she could not let Rory find her here.
Her benefactor’s frequent references to the “governor” had indicated this town had some type of British authority. That seemed a logical place to appeal for help. If she used the title Deirdre insisted she had a right to and explained her situation, surely the governor would take her in until Mr. Farnley could be notified and funds sent to her.
Remembering the result of that last plea made Alyson a trifle wary, but she had little choice. This time she had left Rory without a farthing to her name. She could not even find employment cleaning kitchen floors, garbed as she was in satin and lace.
“Mrs. Brown, if I could only reach the governor’s house, I am certain he could find my father. I would be safe waiting for him there. Could I hire a carriage?” The lie did not come with too much difficulty. After all, her father had last been seen in these waters, although unless he were a wizard, the governor would not be able to find him beneath the deep blue sea.
The landlady frowned and regarded Alyson with doubt. “I’ll have Jacob and Aloysius escort you. No man would think to lift a finger to you with those two about.”
Alyson understood her reasoning when presented to the landlady’s two hulking youngsters. Although still in their youth, they towered well over six feet and had shoulders like young oxen. Their bland, pleasant expressions gave no cause for fear, and she accepted their escort with delight.
***
Rory was not having it quite so easy. After sending Montrose back to the ship for a meal and a decent bunk, he tried to locate Alyson. The agony tearing at his heart spilled into his rum at every saloon and tavern along the wharf where he asked after her.
At one of the more respectable inns, he related a portion of his woes to a slim, graying man who appeared as out-of-place here as himself.
With quiet questions in a dignified English inflection, the man pried out of Rory the reason he was searching taverns for a black-haired lady in braids and satin gowns. He nodded understanding at the parts left unsaid and stared glumly into his own mug.
“I hope you find her, son. I know what it is to lose one you love from sheer youthful enthusiasm. The cause may seem worth it today, but take my word for it, lad, you will regret losing her when you are older. If the lass loves you, she will marry you whatever your fortune might be. Women are like that. They don’t see things as we do, and thank the good Lord for that. If I were you, I’d inquire at the governor’s. He’s a hard man, but fair. He’ll not want a young lady to come to harm in these streets. And when you find her, marry her, lad, marry her proper and legal. If she were my daughter, I would want that. You look like a likely young man. Lack of fortune should be no bar to love and honor.”
To Rory’s drunken mind, this logic made good sense, even knowing he possessed very little honor any longer. He left the tavern feeling much as if he had been given a father’s blessing. He’d find the wench and wed her, and then she would have no reason for flight. Wives didn’t run from their husbands. It would serve his wicked angel right to have her wings clipped.
An even more fortuitous thought crossed Rory’s befuddled mind. By damn, if he married her, Hampton couldn’t! That would put an end to the notorious earl’s pursuit. Rory would marry Alyson to protect her! Even Alyson could understand that.
Montrose’s insinuations that all of London thought her ruined didn’t give him pause. Alyson would give no care to what all of London thought. Besides, they would have to live at sea until he had earned the fortune necessary to pay off his greedy cousin. Finding Alyson and keeping her was what mattered.
He would have the governor send out troops to look for her. That was the least his old friend could do after insulting him by searching his ship and delaying him this day. They would have the wedding here, with the governor in attendance. That should quiet any clacking tongues.
Quite proud of his decision, Rory returned to his ship long enough to wash and change into decent clothing. He would play the part of gentleman for Alyson’s sake. He could not offer much, but he could offer that.
The memory of how little he had to offer caused a brief depression, and Rory swigged heavily from his flask to return the golden haze of earlier. The whisky on top of the rum and an otherwise empty stomach did wonders for his well-being, and he left the ship with determination and Dougall in tow.
By the time Rory arrived at the governor’s mansion, the evening was well advanced. Light streamed from the windows and music drifted through the open panes. Carriages lined the drive, and couples strolled about the spacious grounds.
Rory glared at this unexpected obstacle to his plans. The governor would scarcely be available for a private audience with this melee going on, and Rory still had presence of mind enough to know it would take very serious conversation to have troops sent out to locate one misplaced female.
Stationing Dougall outside as a precau
tion, Rory entered the festivities. His face was known here; the servants had no hesitation in giving him entrance.
Strolling into the crowded ballroom, Rory tried to locate the short rotund figure of his powerful friend, but the swirl of dancers and onlookers confused his already befuddled brain. Minerva found him before anyone else did.
The pretty widow flounced up to greet him while clinging to the arm of a wealthy planter. Rory wondered what he had ever found attractive in her colorless features. True, she had been willing, and he, desperate enough to try her favors, but compared to Alyson’s fascinating beauty . . . !
His gaze drifted past Minerva’s shoulder to search the room, until her chatter finally penetrated his cloudy brain.
“And Lady Alyson is such a delightful creature! Why, she has charmed every man in here this evening. How quaint of her to come unattended. There is some mystery about it all, I’m sure. The governor has welcomed her like a long-lost cousin, and she did seem eager to leave your tender care, Rory dear. That was her you were chasing through the crowd this noon, wasn’t it?”
Rory ignored Minerva’s maliciousness in favor of searching the ballroom. Alyson, here! Damn, but he must be drunker than he thought to be chasing her through taverns, when he ought to know by now that she always landed on cat’s feet.
Now that his target was Alyson and not the portly governor, he found her soon enough. Some lady’s maid had brushed and coiffed her hair into an elegant chignon with only a minimum of pretty curls escaping. The blue satin held up moderately well under the brilliance of the chandeliers, with the addition of a froth of lace about her bare shoulders. Even from this distance he could feel the effect of the daring décolletage he had chosen for his eyes only. The little witch had not worn a fichu in this elegant company.
Rudely stalking away from Minerva, Rory headed directly for the circle of dancers containing his wife-to-be. Laughing gaily as she twirled from one masculine arm to another, she seemed not to see him.
He vowed to put an end to that conceit soon enough. He was the one who had wooed her and won her to his bed, and it was his arm she should be clinging to. He’d had enough of her flighty dalliance.
The circle of dancers welcomed him as the music struck up a lively country tune. Alyson was situated on the far side of the circle, but the steps would lead him to her soon enough. He was eager to see her face when she grabbed his arm in the allemande.
The dancers shifted rapidly, and Rory had difficulty keeping his straying feet in line. He partnered some plump miss with a simpering smile, then promenaded with a gray-haired dowager. Every time he glanced up, Alyson was with some new young beau, and he never seemed to come closer.
The pace increased as couples skipped through the center to the clapping of the others. Rory grabbed the plump miss’s clammy hand and danced her to where he judged Alyson to be, only to discover her circling the ring with some young scholar with a receding hairline. Groaning in frustration, he followed the circle around to where he had been, only to find himself confronting the old lady again.
His urge to throw aside all convention and make a mad dash for the place he had last seen that cap of ebony curls was thwarted when the fiddlers sent the dancers spinning off in another direction entirely. Every time Rory looked up, Alyson was elsewhere, and the plump miss smiled at him as if they were already engaged.
By the time the dance ended, Alyson had disappeared.
***
Breathlessly running down the stone steps of the terrace to the street below, Alyson had to stop and gasp for air. The music still swirled in her head with the vision of Rory valiantly trying to dance his way to her. He had looked so handsome in his silk coat and ruffled shirt that she had almost surrendered without a fight. Almost.
The other vision had saved her, the one of Rory and his blond lover. She could not put that image from her mind—not until she had time to learn to deal with still another betrayal. That might not be anytime soon.
The governor had been so excited to see her that she had not even considered his giving her over to Rory. She had received the impression that he held Rory in disfavor for some reason, but then, she had never been very good at understanding other people’s motives. She just knew she wasn’t safe even here, and she knew nowhere else to run.
So it was with quiet resignation that she came face-to-face with Dougall in the carriage-lined lane.
Dougall respectfully lifted his cocked hat and folded it under his arm as he blocked her escape. “If ye will, lass, I know of a place ye can get a good night’s sleep in a proper bed, in a proper house. Will ye trust me to take you there?”
She had expected to be led unceremoniously back to the ship and locked in the captain’s quarters. This reprieve seemed miraculous. She looked at the bushy-browed mate with suspicion. “What kind of a house? I don’t want to be foisted off on strangers again.”
“’Tis an empty house. The owner will have no objection to yer using it, I’m certain. It will be better than running in the streets all night.”
Alyson tried to find the flaw in this. “Does this house have a key? Can I lock the doors?”
Dougall shrugged with embarrassment. “It does that, lass, but I’m not makin’ ye any promises where the captain is concerned. He’s a hard man, sometimes. I just thought to offer ye a chance to be alone. Living close on a ship is hard to get used to sometimes.”
He wasn’t offering a permanent haven but a temporary respite. That was better than any other choice she had at the moment. With a shrug to match Dougall’s, she fell into step with him.
Alyson drifted along, lost in her own thoughts, as Dougall led her from the palatial estates of the influential to the more modest residences of the town, their feet crunching the shell-strewn streets. In the faint gleam of the moon she admired the pastel colored homes and lush foliage and hoped one of these houses would be where they would stay.
They halted before a sadly neglected narrow house that still held considerable charm even though overgrown by flowering vines and giant hibiscus. Dougall unlatched the door and gestured for Alyson to enter.
They passed through airy dark rooms, sparsely furnished but scrupulously tidy. Dougall found a candle and lit it to guide their way upstairs, and Alyson had a glimpse of polished dark woods and leather, but little of feminine touches of color and softness. She glanced uncertainly at Dougall’s craggy face.
“Are there no servants?”
He gave another of his diffident shrugs. “A maid comes occasionally, I believe. It is too late to fetch her tonight. I’ll send her in the morning, if you like.”
Somehow, that reassured her. He seemed to know the house and its routines. Perhaps it was even his own, and he was being modest about it. She felt safe here, and a real bed would be a luxury.
As they stopped outside the bedroom door, she turned to study Dougall’s honest face. “Are you going to send for Rory now?”
Dougall shoved his hands in his pockets and returned her look. “He will have to figure it out for himself.”
She accepted his assurance at face value. Dougall had no intention of returning to the governor’s house. She smiled in gratitude.
“Then I shall trouble you no more this evening, sir. Thank you.”
***
After confronting the governor and spending an hour of wine and argument with him, Rory had gone beyond anything so amiable as a foul mood to the nether regions of dangerous implacability.
The damned traitorous earl of Cranville had lied about him. He was the one who had reported Rory as pirate and thief and forced the governor to send troops.
Rory wanted to commit murder, but since no convenient victim was at hand, other drastic action was required. His earlier drunken plans solidified with the knowledge that Cranville’s lies were responsible for half his trouble—and the cause of the other half had evidently escaped with his first mate.
Alyson could be the only reason Dougall had deserted his post. Rory had learned from the gover
nor that Cranville and the Neptune had sailed before the Sea Witch arrived. There was no danger that the damned earl was responsible for Dougall’s rank betrayal. Only Alyson was capable of leading grown men astray so quickly.
In the early hours after midnight, Rory dumped his sleeping men from their hammocks and sent them scurrying with furious orders. If he wasn’t getting any sleep, neither were they. There was no time to lose, in any case. He had to carry out his plans and make them a fait accompli before news of Alyson’s arrival on Barbados spread and Cranville returned.
He aimed for the most logical hiding place first.
Dougall was sleeping with his feet propped on the rolled arm of a leather couch. He showed no surprise when Rory roared through the door shouting his name, but he did raise an eyebrow at the retinue of half-dressed, hung-over seamen stumbling in his wake.
Rory scowled as the older man unfolded himself to stand. “Where is she?”
Dougall shrugged. “Asleep.” He regarded Rory with doubt. “The lass is weary. Ye have not given her much rest these last days. Wait until morning before ye tear her to shreds.”
“You have some promise that she will be there come morning?” Rory demanded. Then, striding to the window, he shoved aside a shutter and indicated the hint of light on the horizon. “It’s near dawn. How much longer does she need to make her escape?”
Dougall spread his hands in surrender.
***
Alyson woke from her fretful slumber with the feeling that someone else was in the room. Wearing only a short shift and no covers in the room’s humid heat, she reached for the protection of a sheet.
“Ye needn’t fash yerself. I’ll not be stayin’ long,” Rory’s voice slurred from the darkness.
It took Alyson a second to focus on the pale gleam of his ruffled shirt near the door. He was leaning against the panel as if to block her escape, but all she could think about was the strength of those muscled arms and how much she longed to have them around her.
Moon Dreams Page 19
