Moon Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  Alyson favored him with a look of annoyance. “I’m certain it will, but then I would have missed all the entertainment, wouldn’t I?”

  The earl unbent slightly as he observed this byplay. “I remember her mother as being much more even-tempered. I suspect Alyson takes after her grandmother,” the earl mused out loud, apropos of nothing at all.

  At Alyson’s eager look, Rory surrendered the battle without a fight. “Perhaps that’s so, but to my mind, Alyson is one of a kind. I would have her no other way.”

  Alyson sent him a surprised look. He used loving words when they were alone and he wished to woo her, but never had Rory said such a thing in public. Could he truly mean it?

  The earl continued to test the waters. “How did you know me, Alyson? You look enough like your mother that I could recognize you anywhere, but you have no such advantage.”

  Trapped by a familiar face but a stranger’s understanding, Alyson smiled absently and dismissed the subject with a wave of her hand. “You are very much like your portrait, sir. How do you come here? Where have you been? Will you tell us your story?”

  With determination, he tried again. “If I remember rightly, that portrait was done when I was little more than a boy. I wore one of those deuced wigs that made the head scratch infernally, and I proudly sported a ridiculous hat with enough gold braid to match the king’s crown. Do I still look so foolish, then?”

  Alyson had never had difficulty escaping these situations before, but this was her father, and she could not dismiss him lightly. Rory understood her, but he always had, trusting without question and accepting her oddities for what they were. She had no desire to alienate her father by speaking of ghosts and visions he would not understand, but she had no ability to lie.

  Distraught but revealing none of it, she smiled dreamily and rose to take away the empty tankard. “I loved that portrait, sir, and memorized every line of it. Let me refill your drink.”

  Her father stopped her hand, holding it in his own. “You said you saw me at your wedding. How was it that you did not make yourself known?”

  Alyson threw Rory an anxious plea, but his imperturbable gaze was focused on her father. Their battle of wills had found a new target, and she was it. Throwing up her hands in disgust at this discovery, Alyson returned to her seat, picking up her embroidery as she did so.

  “Perhaps Rory would care to explain about our wedding, Father. And then you might explain why you were alive and in Barbados all these years we thought you dead.”

  Rory grinned and lifted his tankard in toast to this neat delivery of the hot potato to new hands. Alyson gave him a wicked scowl in return.

  The earl lifted a languid brow in Rory’s direction. “Yes, I think I would like to hear about the wedding. As I understand the tale, my heir scoured the islands after your head. You smuggled in your ill-gotten goods behind his back, were forced into making an honest woman of my daughter, and fled in a pirate ship before my heir could return. Would you care to elaborate?”

  “It will be my word against Hampton’s, sir. I removed Alyson from an intolerable situation created by your heir, only to embroil her in a worse one, admittedly, but I will not allow it to be claimed that I was forced to marry her.”

  Rory hesitated, apparently unwilling to reveal Alyson’s reluctance. Taking a deep breath, he proceeded, “There was some misunderstanding of my intentions, but they have ever been honorable toward Alyson. Now that you have returned, perhaps the misunderstanding can be remedied. I want Alyson, not her wealth. If you can prove your claim to the estate and the title, then you are entitled to your father’s inheritance also.” Rory met the earl’s eyes squarely. “Just leave me Alyson.”

  Alyson blinked, speechless, unable to grasp the vastness of this declaration.

  Without blinking an eyelash, her father replied, “Well said, Maclean, but not convincing. I don’t need my father’s wealth. He meant Alyson to have it. What I want is what is best for my daughter. I cannot believe an impoverished, fortune-hunting Jacobite is the solution.”

  Seeing Rory’s hands clench in frustration, Alyson smiled at her father. “Being declared a bastard in front of the whole world probably wasn’t very good for me, either, but I survived.” Laying aside her embroidery, she looked to Rory. “Your son is growing restless, my dear, and I find I am overtired, after all. This discussion would be better held after a good night’s rest, would it not? Let us show my father to his chamber, and we can all talk again on the morrow.”

  The earl’s lined face paled at mention of a child, and when he and Rory rose with her, his glance went to her middle. His furious gaze flew to Rory’s impassive face.

  “You wasted no time, did you?”

  Still holding Rory’s arm, Alyson reached up to kiss her father on the cheek. “If you had wasted any time, I would not be here today. Good night, Father. I’ll have the steward show you to a spare chamber.”

  She felt the irate exchange of looks over her head, but Alyson smiled. Neither man might love her as boundlessly as her grandparents had, but she loved them, and for now, that was enough.

  32

  They were at it hammer and tongs over breakfast when Alyson reached the breakfast table. A bemused Dougall and Myra sat at the far end of the table, staying out of the line of fire, as Rory and her father politely—and sometimes not so politely—stabbed at each other with words.

  She kissed both men on the cheek and sat beside Rory. The maid hastily set a bowl of oatmeal in front of her. Smiling, she inquired, “Have you figured out yet how to buy back Rory’s estate to put an end to this feud?”

  Dougall choked and hastily covered his mouth with a napkin.

  “I have decided it would be preferable if you returned to Cornwall with me, Alyson.” The earl threw his host an indignant look. “I will need to track down my heir and come to terms with him, I suppose, but the estate is entailed. There is little he can do to stop me from taking back my home and title. I had meant to bring your mother there. It is your home now.”

  “I believe you will find our cousin with Rory’s, not far from here, Father. Shall you go to see him before you return to Cornwall?”

  Rory stared at her in shock. Before he could voice his concerns, the earl’s face lit with a mixture of anticipation and anger.

  “Alex is here? They told me he was hunting in Scotland, but this is rather late in the season, is it not? I certainly shall go to see him. I do not at all approve of the way he is ignoring the management of his estate.” He set aside his napkin with a finality that indicated immediate departure.

  Rory caught his father-in-law’s arm, ignoring his indignant expression. “Were it just myself, I would let you leap blindly into the fire, but for Alyson’s sake, I give you warning. My cousin Drummond has taken the lives and the lands of my family and mistreated the innocent ever since he had the power to do so. That your heir is in the company of such as he does not bode well for me or mine. He has already attempted Alyson’s rape and abduction. Just the other day, someone shot at her. If you wish to visit that nest of vipers, it is upon your head. I will not come to your rescue.”

  Stunned by Rory’s vehemence, the earl returned to his seat. Slowly he turned his gaze to Alyson, who did her best to hide her thoughts.

  “Is this so, Alyson? I heard no such tale from any other.”

  “Because there is only my word to speak it, Father,” she answered quietly. “How many besides Rory would take my word over the Earl of Cranville’s?”

  The earl drew in a sharp breath. His fingers dug into the lion’s-paw arms of the ancient dining-hall chair. “You might not bear the title, but you had my name and my father’s protection. Why should you not be heard?”

  Alyson lifted her eyebrows. “Your name? Had it been so, perhaps some would have listened with righteous indignation. As it was, all society would have thought your heir did me a favor by making me his mistress. A bastard has no rights, Father.”

  An ashen pallor replaced the earl’s
healthy color. “You are no bastard, child. Your mother and I were legally and truly wedded, although I swore her to secrecy until I had time to tell my father. Why did she not tell you this?”

  “She died when I was just a babe, but I do not think my grandparents would have hidden the truth. I asked once, and they said my mother believed she was married, but as she had no papers or witnesses, they thought her confused. I can see now that they most likely thought you had led her astray with promises. Apparently your reputation was not of the highest.” Alyson delivered this speech with no condemnation while she laced her oatmeal with milk and broke off a piece of brown sugar to sweeten it.

  “Bigawd, the deuce they did! Astray! Of all the . . .” The earl broke into mutters. Gathering his ruffled dignity, he glared at his son-in-law. “I wedded her on board ship, with all the officers as witness. If you know anything of your own laws, you know no other license or church was needed. I carried the papers with me to present to my father when I returned. Alyson is no bastard, but my daughter. She belongs in society, not in this desolate ruin. I am taking her back with me to Cornwall.”

  Alyson buttered her bannock. “How interesting. Are you planning to abduct me too?” She lifted laughing eyes to the company, her joy at knowing she was not born in shame making her lighthearted.

  Rory chewed his bread, obviously working out the consequences. She feared he would be returning to his foolish beliefs that a man like him would never have been allowed to touch the hem of her gown. Her father would have had every right to forbid Rory from the door. But he came from a lineage older and more aristocratic than her father’s, even if good King George had tried to strip him of it.

  With relief, she watched as he finished the bread and met the earl’s gaze with equanimity. “We’re married under English law and in the eyes of the church. That is my child she carries. I would have every right to kill you if you tried to take her away. The choice to leave is Alyson’s. I have never held her against her will.”

  Alyson smiled approvingly and offered her father more tea with a gesture of the pot. “I can see that it is most important that someone return to Cornwall, but it won’t be me. I have too much to do here. Rory, my love, you will spill that cup all over the table if you don’t watch what you’re doing.”

  The earl narrowed his eyes at Alyson’s casual dismissal of her heritage and addressed her husband. “You’ve already admitted that this feud has someone shooting at her. How can you in all conscience keep her here?”

  A muscle in Rory’s jaw jumped. “I cannot imagine what anyone would hope to gain by shooting at Alyson, but my cousin’s hatred of me and mine is irrational.”

  Alyson sent him an anxious look. It had never occurred to her that he would send her away, but that was because she was so blindly in love that she could not see the nose on her face. But the veil had lifted. Rory had never claimed to love her. He had married her for expediency, but she had ever been a nuisance to him. Now that her body was growing unwieldy, he might find reason to send her away. She didn’t think she could bear it.

  She hid her fears behind her usual complacence. “Myra tells me the child will most likely come in April. I could not possibly travel before then, so you have plenty of time to argue.” She set aside her uneaten bannock and addressed her father. “When will you tell us where you have been all these years? I’m certain it will make a fascinating story on a day like this, when no one wishes to brave the winds.”

  Rory generously extended his holiday cheer to his father-in-law. “It is Christmas Day, lass. Give your father some peace and let us open our gifts. I, for one, cannot wait to see what is in that wicked assortment of packages Mary was smuggling into the hall this morning. And there is one in there that must weigh two stone, at least. I have been waiting for days to find out what is in that one.”

  Alyson flashed him a mischievous grin. “You have been shaking those packages all week! You’re worse than any child. Next year I will know to fill them with sticks and stones so you’ll not guess.”

  “Do that and see what you receive in return,” Rory murmured against her ear as he pulled her chair back from the table.

  His breath blew intimately against her cheek, sending shivers of pleasure through her as she accepted his arm. Next year. That did not sound as if he planned to send her away, but she had learned not to let her hopes run away with her.

  Not only the entire household but also tenants close enough to brave the weather gathered in the hall in time-honored fashion for this festive day. The small kirk had no minister, but several of the men took turns reading from the Bible, and Rory led the final prayer, offering fervent thanksgiving for what they shared this day. Alyson had tears in her eyes when his gaze sought hers after he finished. She had felt his passion all the way to her soul.

  The merriment began after that. Rory’s ship had carried many of the items Alyson had requested without Rory’s knowledge. There were sweets for the children, bundles of coffee and tea for the adults, bolts of warm wool for everyone, and enough leather to build brogues for every man, woman, and child on the estate. None of the gifts was lavish, but the practicality also brought pleasure.

  Alyson had no gift for her father, but in the early-morning hours she had thought of one thing she possessed that he might enjoy. In the trunks she had taken from Cornwall had been one precious memento that she had never thought to part with. But on this day she would gladly trade an image of what had been for the reality of what was now. She had wrapped the locket in a silk handkerchief and saved it for the proper moment.

  While Rory triumphantly located the heavy box addressed to him among the riot of packages, Alyson produced the tiny silk bundle and handed it to her father.

  “It is not much, but it is all I had until you arrived. Merry Christmas, Father.”

  He accepted the gift without immediately opening it. “I met your mother in this crumbling ruin, and she looked at me with those same large, lovely eyes of yours. She had skin as fair and fine, her hair was the same dark riot of curls, and I fell madly in love. You are much like her, but I see more of your indomitable grandmother in you than there was in her.”

  Having given her a gift of memory more precious than any material object, he opened the small bundle.

  Tears sprang to his eyes at sight of the locket, and he turned away to wipe at his eyes. Fortunately, at that moment, Rory ripped open the wrapping of his package, and his roar captured the attention of everyone within hearing.

  “By all that is holy, lass, how did ye know?” His joyous cry rattled the rafters, and Alyson smiled at the way he stroked the elegant leather bindings of the books. With trembling fingers he lifted the covers to examine the freshly printed pages and beautifully drawn illustrations. Alyson felt her heart being wrung dry at his rapt expression. There was the boy he had once been, and she dropped to the floor at his feet, leaning her head against his knee to examine the gift with him.

  “Deirdre told me you were studying medicine and that you had to leave your books behind when you left Scotland. I didn’t know what books they were, but a friend of Deirdre’s told her what ones were most important. I didn’t know if you would still want them, but I could think of nothing else.”

  Her husband caressed her cheek as he turned the pages. “You could have found no better gift had you read my mind, lass. I know I am truly home now.” He set the books aside and lifted her into his arms, cradling her against his shoulder and burying his face against her hair.

  To cover this private moment, Dougall and Myra began a game of chase with the children, with oranges as a prize. The screams and yells of excitement returned the chatter to the room.

  Warmed by Rory’s gratitude, Alyson studied his weathered face and tugged at his auburn queue. “Myra can teach you to be a midwife,” she informed him wickedly.

  “Ach, and I thought all there was to do was lift up a cabbage leaf.” Rory kissed her nose. He glanced toward their aristocratic guest, who had retired to a relatively qu
iet corner. “What spell have you cast over our noble visitor? He seems strangely absorbed in our small gathering.”

  Reluctant to leave Rory’s arms, Alyson turned to see what he spoke of. Her father’s expression left no doubt as to where his mind traveled. “It is the past he is seeing, not us. He would not lie about marrying my mother, would he?” This last she asked anxiously.

  Rory hugged her, enjoying the fragrance of Alyson’s hair and the welcoming softness of her body, wishing they were alone so he could say the things he felt, things that he had kept buried too long to release easily. Instead, he prattled nonsense meant to please, even while they spoke the truth. “If your mother was anything like yourself, lass, he would need be a Bedlamite not to marry her. Does he look a Bedlamite to you?”

  Alyson laughed, kissed his cheek, and left to return her father to the present. Rory watched her go with a hunger so deep and gnawing he could almost cry out with the pain of it. Never before had he seen the crude rawness of his life until his wife’s gentle beauty had invaded it. This cold stone fortress surrounded by bare hills and icy blasts of wind was not the setting she deserved. Ruefully Rory wondered if he should have kept her in Barbados.

  Preferring not to ruin the day with such thoughts, he sought the packages addressed to Alyson. The silly wench had found so much enjoyment in gifting others, it had not occurred to her that any might wish to return the favor.

  Gathering a procession of children to carry an assortment of packages, Rory carried the larger bundles. Someone struck up a tune on a fiddle, and other instruments materialized to add the first notes to a merry song. Color leapt to Alyson’s cheeks once she realized she was the focus of all this attention.

  With a gallant, if somewhat overburdened bow, Rory laid his gifts at her feet. Then, propping his arm against the massive timber over the fireplace, he waited for her reaction.