The governor claimed precedence in shaking the groom’s hand and kissing the bride’s cheek. “Your grandfather was a good man, Lady Alyson. I hope I have done what he would have wanted. ’Tis a pity your cousin could not be here in time to catch the ceremony so you would have family present, but under the circumstances, your young man was right in insisting on having the service immediately. I’m certain Maclean here will change his ways now that he has a good woman to stand beside him.” He sent Rory a meaningful look.
The mention of her cousin caught Alyson’s attention as little else had done to this point. “Cranville?”
Rory felt her tension and hastened to reassure her. “He will not return for several days. He is searching for you.”
The governor snorted. “He is looking for your head, is more like it, Maclean. Whatever face you might wish to put upon it, abducting his ward was not one of your better deeds. I suggest you meet him in a more amiable manner than with cannon next time.”
Alyson turned her face up like an inquisitive bird at this suggestion. “The next time, I will order Rory to blow the odious man out of the water, Governor. You would do well to do the same,” she said sweetly.
The older man went blank and glanced to Rory for confirmation. Rory lifted his shoulders. “Family quarrel. I did not wish to mention it without Alyson’s permission.”
“My God.” He stared at them as if they were both insane. “Cranville said as much, but I thought he exaggerated. He could have you hanged for piracy. You could spend your wedding journey in the brig on the way to Admiralty Court.”
“Cranville is the pirate.” Alyson fixed the governor’s stare with a wide-eyed look. “That is my ship he has commandeered. I do hope you can have him restrained so it can go about its business. This senseless running about is costing me money.”
Rory resisted staring at her with incredulity. When Alyson chose to be coherent, she did it with flair. Unfortunately, the governor had no idea that this was Alyson at her most cogent. He saw only her porcelain prettiness and vague expression and thought her simpleminded or half-mad. Earls did not steal ships and young girls did not own them.
Rory intended to stay clear of this fight. The governor had already threatened to throw him in jail for smuggling, kidnapping, and suspicion of piracy on the basis of Cranville’s lies. He just wanted to get the hell out of here.
“Well, well. We’ll have to see about that.” Uncertainly the governor bowed over Alyson’s hand, and with a nod to Rory, beat a hasty retreat.
“Not very well done, dear heart. I’m the rogue around here, not one of His Majesty’s nobles. Cranville had him quite convinced I abducted his innocent but simpleminded young ward for nefarious purposes. The governor does not like being made a fool.”
“Then he should not consort with fools.” After that terse statement, Alyson greeted Dougall with a false smile and accepted greetings from well-wishers.
Rory could feel her tension build until he was almost certain her brittle facade would crack. The room was almost entirely filled with men, and every one of them had heard some version of their scandalous story by now. Their considering looks at the ruined heiress set Rory’s nerves on end, so they were both on edge.
When a fight broke out in the back of the room, Rory decided it was time to remove Alyson from the scene. Taking her elbow, he guided her firmly through the throng.
Alyson offered no resistance. Like a lifeless doll, she allowed him to push her past the winks and jests of the crew into the passageway outside the kitchen. A muscle jerked in Rory’s cheek as he gazed down at her vacant expression, and he had the jolting realization that she might very well escape him even now. He wanted her mind as well as her body, but she seemed capable of separating the two.
“Go up the back stairs. I’ll send Rosie to you and see our guests off. You needn’t wait up for me. They’re quite likely to make a night of it.”
Alyson nodded, and lifting her skirts, trailed up the narrow stairs without a word.
Leaving Rory to wonder what the devil he was going to do now.
***
When the house was finally cleared of all but his watchful crew, Rory dragged up the stairs, much the worse for too many toasts. And the night was not yet over. If he had any reassurance that his wife would welcome him with open arms, he could relax and indulge in the pleasures his marriage entitled him to. But he had indulged in those pleasures before the marriage, and he felt certain he was about to pay the price. Everything had a price. He had learned that the hard way long ago.
No candle flickered in the bedroom, but he knew she was in here. There had been men stationed at all the exits, and Rosie had assured him that Alyson was resting and had eaten some of the meal that had been taken up to her. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see that the bedcovers had not been folded back, and he searched the room.
She was not hard to find. She sat curled in the window seat, shoulders propped against the wall, her wedding gown trailing to the floor as she gazed out over the street. Weariness overwhelmed him, and he had half a mind to turn around and walk out. Only the knowledge of the wrong he had done her forced him to face her. If they were ever to retrieve any shred of happiness, someone had to be reasonable.
Alyson watched without curiosity as he staggered into the room. He dropped his coat and vest across a nearby chair, then came to an uncertain standstill at the foot of the bed.
“You’re drunk again,” she stated simply, without condemnation.
“Aye, it seemed the thing to do.” Rory took another step forward, but Alyson did not rise to greet him.
“I’ll not disturb your sleep tonight. You may go on to bed without me.” Alyson dismissed him politely, turning back to the window.
Dumbfounded, Rory swayed and stared at her silhouette. She had not even taken her hair down. “I think not, lass,” he finally answered. “You are my wife now. I have the right to ask you to share my bed with me.”
“I suppose the law and the church give you the right to force me, also.” Her voice remained quiet and without emotion. “That is the only way you may have me.”
“I’m too tired to force you to anything. Come to bed and get some sleep and we’ll discuss it in the morning.”
“No.” She turned her back on him again.
That simple word drove him to fury faster than any argument or excuse. Rory clenched his fists and tried to rein in his temper. “What have ye to gain by refusing me? What is done cannot be undone. We must make the best of what we are given.”
“You weren’t satisfied when I gave myself, so you are a fine one to preach. Now you have what you want, go find your pink canary to share your bed, and leave me alone. Otherwise I shall talk to Mr. Farnley and see if this mockery of a marriage cannot be undone. I see no reason to take your word for it.”
Pain followed the fury, and Rory rocked unsteadily on the brink of disaster. This was no time to have a head full of cotton batting. He was a man accustomed to thinking quickly under fire, but she almost had him to his knees, and his brains refused to function.
“Alyson, I had to do it. Do ye not ken? It was not myself I sought to protect, but you. I could have sailed away and left ye here, and Cranville would have been satisfied, but I dinna think that was what ye wanted.” Inspiration came to him, and he offered his final plea. “I thought it was marriage ye sought, to protect any bairn ye might have. If I have misjudged, I am sorry, but I couldna give ye up to Cranville.”
She glared at him in astonishment and renewed rage. “Bairn? Child? I might have? You said there would be none. You said I would be safe. And that was all a lie too? Had Cranville not come along, would you have let me keep on making a fool of myself until I ended like my mother, with only shame for my child’s name?”
Inspiration had certainly failed him this time. He was guilty as charged, with no words to explain. “’Twas madness, I know, but I wouldna have left ye.” Rory turned away and found a chair to hold his weariness. These las
t days had become a nightmare without end. He leaned his head against the upholstered back and stared at the ceiling. “Take the bed, lass, I’ll not be bothering ye.”
Rory’s admission of guilt left Alyson no target for her rage, and she continued to stare at him even after his eyes closed and his breathing fell into light snores. A child could have come from these weeks of madness they had shared. Her gaze drifted to the flat valley between her hipbones, and her hand covered it wonderingly. She wasn’t prepared for a child. She wasn’t even certain she wanted a husband. And now she might have both.
Her grandmother had been right. Moon dreams were the most dangerous of all, particularly when they were granted.
20
Rory woke to the rustle of satin skirts against taffeta petticoats. Keeping his eyes closed and his pounding head still, he tried to recover some memory of his wedding night. The fact that he sat fully dressed in a chair warned that the memory would not be romantic.
He stifled a groan at the recollection of his manifest errors. He might as well have cut his own throat. Why he had ever involved himself with a woman was beyond his ken, but he deserved whatever happened when that woman was Alyson. She was beyond the reasoning of any mortal man.
Still, there were a few explanations she owed. The fault was not all on his head. With that scarcely reassuring thought, Rory opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was his new wife rearranging the folds of her blue satin skirt in an attempt to hide a mended patch in one of the creases. That hit a raw nerve.
“Don’t fash yerself o’er it, lass. We’ll order new ones this morn. I may not be a rich man, but I can keep ye well enough. Is Rosie here yet?”
“I’ve just been waiting for you to wake before calling her.” Alyson went to the door and nodded to someone waiting outside. A clatter of footsteps on the stairs signaled breakfast would soon be on the way.
Rory regarded her warily as she turned back into the room. She had found a fichu to hide the rounded rise of her breasts, but the transparency of the filmy scarf could not disguise what he already knew by heart. A familiar ache had already begun to build in his loins.
Alyson stared out the window as he stripped off his shirt and washed.
The whole world knew them as man and wife. They would have to share this room or be subject to the jeers of his crew. Worse, Cranville might call their marriage into question. Then there was the return journey to England to face. Rory glared at his image in the shaving mirror and decided to leave his beard unshaven.
“I thought I saw my father’s ghost again yesterday.”
Rory rubbed soap out of his eyes and turned to stare. “When?”
“Before the wedding. Outside there, on the street. I thought he was a stranger who had lost his way, but now I think on it, he was too much like the man in the portrait, only older. Do ghosts age, do you think?”
When she talked like that, she scared him. This was the Alyson he could not reach, the dreamy angel who drifted off into a world that did not exist. The man outside could have been quite real, and her mind had transformed him into a vision she desperately wanted. Or she could very well have seen a ghost, if such things existed. Or the Sight could have given her a prophecy she did not yet know how to interpret.
He suspected that was much of the reason she would not talk about her gift: it had few practical purposes unless she could also interpret what she was seeing. It could have been anything, and he did not know how to respond.
“I have had men searching this island for people who might know of the wreck of your father’s ship.” That was something he could relate without fear. “It was last seen near here, and apparently disappeared before it reached any of the other islands. There was a hurricane that season, and a few of the older inhabitants remember it. So far, none remembers the wreck or any survivors.”
Alyson turned around as Rory pulled on a clean linen shirt. She lifted her gaze to his unshaven face. “May I talk to the men who remember the ship being here?”
“If you wish. I can see no harm in it. Just do not hope too much.” He reached for the buttons of his breeches, and Alyson hastily turned around.
Rory grinned for the first time in days. Alyson might be angry and confused, but she would never be cold. That didn’t necessarily mean there was much hope for him—in fact, she could very well be right in wishing to pursue an annulment—but her lust made him feel better just the same.
The maid delivered a selection of delights to their bedroom, where they could dine in privacy. In no hurry to confront the myriad problems of the day, Rory enjoyed explaining the contents of the various delicacies on their plates.
His usual store of coins had been sadly depleted when deprived of his profits in Charleston and Bridgetown. He would have to deplete it further to finish filling his hold with sugar to return to London. He didn’t know what the hell he would do with the load of barrel staves he had intended to sell in Barbados, now that he had been forbidden the outlet of free trading. Their profit would not be so great in London.
And then there was the sticky problem of what he would do with himself when he reached London. In return for the governor’s agreement to his wedding, he had vowed to return to honest trade. Except one ship would hardly produce the income needed to keep Alyson in gowns. All that and more lingered outside the bedroom door.
Dougall was the one to demolish his brief peace. At his mate’s curt knock, Rory scowled and ordered him in.
Dougall’s gaze immediately traveled to Alyson. She seemed in better command of herself this morning, and, relieved, he turned to his captain. There was a man who teetered on a dangerous brink. The news he brought could very likely send him over.
“Well?” Impatiently Rory rocked back in his chair.
Dougall nervously contemplated Alyson’s back. Since Rory made no motion to dismiss his wife, the message would have to be repeated here. “The governor’s had word from one of the other islands, and he sent a warning.” Again he glanced at Alyson, but Rory didn’t take the hint. “Cranville has apparently found the captain of a British navy frigate willing to listen to complaints of piracy and kidnapping. They’re on their way here now. I don’t know how much of a start the messenger had on them.”
Rory rocked his chair slowly as he contemplated this latest complication. Cranville and the navy. He wouldn’t be surprised if Drummond didn’t show up soon to make his life even merrier.
At Rory’s silence, Dougall offered, “Our cargo is legal. They can’t touch us.”
Rory’s black grin had no reflection in his eyes. “You want to prove that to an officer of His Majesty’s finest when he has a bloody earl breathing down his back?”
That brought silence. Innocence would be very hard to prove. There would be witnesses to testify that the Sea Witch was a free trader, that she had fired on a British merchant in Charleston, and that Alyson had been on her. Alyson might testify that the kidnapping charge was false, but it was altogether too close to the truth for comfort. Remembering that night in London and the dead man left behind, Dougall had to shake his head in agreement. The truth was black enough without Cranville’s lies.
“Get the men together and sail out tonight,” Rory ordered. “You can get her to Plymouth without me. Don’t attempt London. Even with clean papers, I’ll not take the chance of losing her. Then sail north and drop one of the men near Glasgow as usual to await my message.”
“Aye, Captain.” Dougall was too good a sailor to ask questions, but he raised an eyebrow, as if waiting for more.
Knowing Alyson listened without seeming to, Rory responded as much for her sake as his mate’s. “With any luck, the navy will get word you’ve sailed and race off after you. If they find you, let them search, follow orders, and send word to Lady Campbell when you reach London. They’ll be mad as hell not to find their prey, but there isn’t much they can hold you on.”
Apparently understanding that Rory sent his own men and ship as bait for her cousin, Alyson tur
ned to stare at him in confusion.
Rory shrugged and asked, “Margoulis still in port?”
Dougall hesitated a moment before nodding. Margoulis had a reputation worse than Rory’s, and his run stayed on this side of the Atlantic. His ramshackle ship would never make it to London.
“There will be few enough ships out of here before hurricane season. We’ll aim for Charleston or Boston and look for passage there. We shouldn’t be much behind you. We’ll be down shortly to see you off.”
Dougall touched his hat and departed, leaving Rory to handle his newly acquired wife. The wild look was returning to her eyes despite Rory’s attempt to keep his tone casual.
He rose and headed for the door. “I’ll be back shortly to take you to the mantua-maker’s. We’ll see what we can buy on short notice, and find the rest in Charleston.”
“Rory.” For the first time since Dougall had intruded Alyson spoke. Rory looked at her inquiringly. “Is this necessary? Can we not go with Dougall? What could they do to us?”
Rory’s lips tightened into a thin line. “They can clap me in irons and leave Cranville to do as he will with you. Any more questions?”
Alyson’s stomach knotted, and she shook her head. It had been bad enough contemplating sharing the captain’s quarters on the Sea Witch. She didn’t even want to think about how this new ship would accommodate them.
True to his word, Rory was back within the hour to escort her into town. Only they didn’t head directly for the shops but to the port instead. Despite the heat, Rory wore his formal frock coat and a lacy jabot and gold-braided tricorne. He looked every inch a sea captain, with his sun-darkened skin and athletic physique, but Alyson could see the crease of a grim frown over his nose, and she knew he played some part.
Moon Dreams Page 21
