Moon Dreams

by Patricia Rice

  “It’s a boy, my lord.” Myra held the kicking infant in the air while the maid rushed over with warm linens.

  Rory could feel the grin pushing foolishly across his face as he gazed upon the perfectly formed infant with a thick thatch of black hair, then back to his wife’s lovely black tresses. He brushed the curls from her forehead, and Alyson’s eyes flickered open for just a moment.

  “I’ve always loved you, Maclean. Whatever made you think elsewise?”

  Rory’s whoop of sheer joy could be heard throughout the house. The sound lifted heads and brought tears to the eyes of all who listened.

  ***

  “Alyson’s fine and it’s a boy!” Rory yelled over the banister at the expectant faces below. A cheer raced around the room, and the defiant wail of a bagpipe commenced.

  In his excitement, Rory raced down the stairs to accept the tumbler of whisky Alex held out to him. He drained it appreciatively, then gestured for a refill for everyone. The crowd cheered again, and the illegal bagpipe played more boldly, filling the long stale air of Stagshead with the wild, haunting strains of the mountains.

  Dougall grabbed two swords held out by men in the crowd and threw them down on the marble floors. The house had never been properly christened. Never would there be a better time.

  Rory glanced to the crossed swords, up to the piper, and around at the expectant faces of friends and family with a grin of exhilaration. With the whisky and his joy winging through him, he set his hands on his hips, and in shirtsleeves and breeches, with his tartan flying around him, he flung himself into the wild dance of homecoming and celebration that his ancestors had performed for centuries.

  He was home, at last.

  Laughter and yells of triumph combined with streaming tears of happiness on the faces of the crowd as the laird proclaimed his proud possession in this dance of victory. Perhaps the days of Highland warriors were over, but never their courage. The pipes wailed louder, and voices lifted in old familiar songs.

  Throwing an eager glance overhead to where his wife and child rested, Rory surrendered the floor to others. He needed to be back with them, but first, he had to recognized the needs of those who had helped him get here. Panting from exertion, he clasped his father-in-law’s back and shook his hand.

  “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be happy to have my daughter married to a barbarian, but that day has just come. She needs you, son. Take care of her,” the English earl said with weary pride.

  Rory couldn’t wipe the grin from his face. He had spent half his life on the dire edge of nothing, painstakingly plodding his way toward his goal. Of a sudden, none of that mattered. He knew Stagshead still didn’t belong to him, might never belong to him. He knew he had broken enough laws to land him in jail for the rest of his life.

  But none of that mattered any longer. He had told Alyson the truth, a truth he had long denied and felt better to have said. All he really needed was her. Everything else would follow. It seemed so easy, now that he recognized it. His grin broadened as he watched Hampton’s skeptical expression.

  “Aye, my wife and I both need keepers,” Rory chuckled, taking another glass that someone offered. He lifted it in toast to Alyson’s father and cousin. “But then, I think there’s a wee dram of madness in Hampton blood too. What have you done with Drummond, Alex?”

  Hampton shrugged his broad shoulders and continued to look bored as he lifted his glass to his lips. “He’s keeping cool. You needn’t concern yourself yet. There’s another bottle of this gullet lye somewhere around. Care to join me?”

  The earl lifted a disapproving brow at his heir’s ill manners, but Rory only laughed. “I will, and we will see who is the true Highlander here. But first, I want to see how Alyson fares.”

  He sprinted back up the stairs, carried by wings of happiness, ignoring the ache of his injured shoulder. He had everything now, and everything waited for him at the top of the stairs.

  Myra let him into the room, handing him the sleeping infant. With a few whispered words of caution, she slipped out. Rory awkwardly held the bundle in his arms, smoothing a petal-soft cheek and touching infinitely tiny, perfect fingers. Wanting to share his joy, he sat down upon the bed and gazed lovingly at the beautiful woman lying upon the pillows.

  At first, he thought she slept, and an odd loneliness tugged at his heart. Perhaps he had just dreamed her words. He wanted them so much to be true that he could have just imagined them in the happiness of the moment. It didn’t seem possible that a lovely, gentle lady like Alyson could love a cold, hard ruffian like himself, not after what he had done to her.

  But he would make it up over time, she would see. Then, maybe, he could hope one day to hear those words in truth. He had never realized how much he needed to hear words of love, to hear the reassurance of family again. For too long he had been without a home, and at heart he had always been a family man. He hugged his son close and smoothed a straying lock from Alyson’s brow.

  Black lashes lifted, revealing the misty gray of her glorious eyes, and her lips lifted in a smile at sight of father and son. “Rory, I thought you were but a moon dream sitting there.”

  “And so I am, dear heart.” He bent to kiss her cheek and hold the infant where she could see. “See what comes of moon dreams? Dangerous, they are.”

  “Oh, no, lovely, lovelier than any other dream. Let me hold him, Rory.” Alyson took the bundle and lifted the blanket to explore the small creature they had brought into this world. Sighing with pleasure, she smiled up to her weary husband. “He’s going to be just like you. I’ll have two of you to love.”

  As her words spoke her meaning clear, Rory felt them burn straight to his heart and knew he would never be entirely separated from her again. He didn’t own her, but they were a part of each other, as it should be. He slid his arm around her shoulders and bent to whisper kisses along her cheek. “Aye, and I’ll love ye until there’s a whole lot more than that, lass, but there’s a lifetime for a’ that. For the noo, I’ll show you how much I love ye. Sleep, and have sweet moon dreams, my bonny jo. I’ll be here when ye wake.”

  Epilogue

  Stagshead, June 1761

  Laughing at the cooing sounds and dancing hands of the infant in the cradle, Alyson abruptly tilted her head as if hearing something beyond the room. Myra looked up too, and listened, but heard nothing. She watched in surprise as a soft smile crossed the lady’s face. Without a word, Alyson drifted from the nursery.

  Not taking time to arrange her hair or change her gown, she floated down the staircase, past the startled housekeeper, and toward the carved front doors. A footman hurried to fetch a cloak and place it around her shoulders or she would have stepped out into the breezy sunlight without one. Both servants exchanged glances over her head, smiled, and ran off to inform the others.

  A copse of trees lined the drive and filled the narrow valley at the bottom of the hill. The rhododendrons had spread wantonly along the forest’s edge, and new shoots of heather and foxglove sprang up beneath their protective cover. In a few weeks the hills would be a burst of color, but the thick rich greens after the winter’s white were sufficient for Alyson. She pulled up her hood and waded into the shadows of the trees.

  She could hear the horse now, and she smiled at its wild pace. The poor beast would be exhausted if its rider had ridden that way all day. She waited in the dappled pattern of sunlight along the side of the road.

  Horse and rider flew around the bend, the capes of the rider’s redingote flapping in the breeze, his cocked hat balanced precariously over gleams of dark red, polished knee boots clinging to the horse’s side. At the sight of the nymph waiting in the forest, the horse shied, and the rider pulled up on the reins, dancing his mount to a halt.

  Within moments Rory was off the horse and lifting Alyson in the air. Her eyes were like bluebells this morning, and he filled his arms with the lovely fragrance of heather and the soft curves of a willing woman. His long-denied body responded to this
sensual barrage, and he bent to bury her face in kisses.

  “Ach, lass, if ye knew how much I needed this, ye’d run and hide,” he murmured as his lips found the moist corners of her eyes and traveled down flushed cheeks to at long last settle on her lush lips.

  Alyson drank heavily of the glorious wine of his kisses, breathing in the masculine scents she had missed so much. She circled his waist and clung to the muscular line of his back. Rory pulled her closer, and their lips parted and melted in loving kisses.

  Silently cursing the nuisance of cloaks and coats and gloves, Rory reluctantly lifted his head to smile into Alyson’s welcoming expression. “Ye know how to make a man feel wanted, lass, but I fear I’ll not make it back to the house if we dally here longer.”

  She laughed and lifted her fingers to the fastening of his coat. “They will all be waiting for you, and I’ll not see you again until midnight. It’s been months, Rory. Would you make me wait any longer?”

  With a wild grin, Rory threw off his gloves and braided his fingers into her hair, leading her off the path into the protection of the trees. “I’ll not wait a moment longer than I have to. How quickly does that gown come off?”

  Coat and cloak landed on the ground. As the horse sampled tufts of grass, Rory laid his wife upon their makeshift bed and joined her.

  After the months he had spent in London, they were almost shy with each other, but that lasted only until their lips met again. Closing his eyes to better inhale this heady potion, Rory allowed his hand to roam freely, drawing gasps as he found the concealed hooks at the front of her bodice and slid his fingers into the warmth beneath.

  “I like this gown. You need a dozen more like it,” he murmured, pushing aside the ribbons and lace of her chemise to explore the firm curves of flesh.

  Alyson cried out her eagerness. When he touched his tongue to her breast, she was lost. Her hands laced through his hair and she rose against him, urging him on. Rory had no need to be begged. Within minutes their clothes were in disarray, but they were together again.

  As she took him inside her, molding her fingers to the rippling muscles of his back, he groaned with delight. Their bodies melded together as if it had been yesterday that they had done this last. With exquisite patience Rory brought her to the heights he had reached so easily, moving slowly, then quickly as Alyson caught up with him. Her eyes flew open at the sudden wild leap of their bodies.

  Overhead, in a break between the towering trees, she found the moon floating in the sun’s light, and she cried out her ecstasy as Rory’s life flowed into hers. Her eyes closed again in joy as her body responded with the electricity she remembered so well. Joyfully she felt his heavy weight pressed into her, and she held him close.

  “Lass, we’re an old married couple now. We’re not supposed to behave like this,” Rory chuckled some while later as he shifted his weight to one side and pulled her with him. He wasn’t ready yet to lose her warmth. He relished the way her breasts spilled from the open bodice and chemise. They were fuller than he remembered, and he pressed the puckered crests against his palm. The erotic sensation brought a tightening in his loins.

  “We can be an old married couple when we go back to the house,” she jested. “For now, we will be lovers on an afternoon tryst. We cannot linger long. My husband is expected any moment.”

  Rory laughed, and Alyson’s heart swelled. He looked so much younger than when first they met. She had worried every day that he was away, but whatever had been decided in London hadn’t taken away his hard-won pleasure in life. She had feared the grim privateer might return if things went wrong. She touched wondering fingers to his sensual lower lip, scarcely believing that it was love she saw warming his gaze.

  “I doubt that your husband would be an understanding man. We’d better dress hastily.” He made no move to do so.

  “There is time. Tell me what happened in London. I have not had a letter in weeks. Don’t make me wait until you tell the others at dinner.”

  “And where would you like me to begin? With all the wicked ladies waiting for me behind every door I entered?”

  “I’ll slay them with a wave of my hand. Tell me of Stagshead, Rory. That’s what you truly wanted. Did you get it? Did Lord Bute help you as you hoped?”

  He grew serious and pressed a kiss to the worried frown between her eyes. “I told you that it no longer matters. But at your insistence, I am now a pauper. Lord Bute was very helpful, your father was quite persuasive, and His Majesty was receptive to the idea of filling his coffers a second time for the same land. It is ours now, lass, for better or worse.”

  Her frown didn’t completely dissipate. She studied Rory’s square face, lined with the weariness of playing the part of courtier. These had not been easy months for him. She had known they would not be when it was decided he must go, but they had been necessary. He needed to know where he stood, and she had been in no condition to help him. Now she was healed, and he was home, and they could go forward.

  “And your cousin, then? Does this mean the king took the land away from Drummond? What will happen to him?”

  Rory grimaced and lay back against the rough capes of his coat, pulling her with him. “Your cousin Alex is more ruthless than I’ll ever be, lass. He took care of that matter for me. He found a physician who certified Drummond as insane and found an institution that agreed to keep him locked away in comfort for the rest of his life. Don’t look so alarmed, Alys.” He touched a gentle hand to her cheek. “It is no Bedlam. It is a private home with skilled workers. He is quite mad, lass. It became more obvious as we traveled. He still thinks he killed me. I never said the Macleans were perfect. His mother had the same madness. It happens from time to time. There’s naught we can do about it.”

  His halting phrases didn’t reassure. Alyson could tell he still fought with himself over the outcome of that tragic night. He would have dealt better with it had Drummond died at his hand in an equal fight, but these things couldn’t be changed. He was right in that.

  She moved her hips suggestively along his, bringing him back to the pleasures of the present. “Shall our son be a penniless laird, then, my lord? Have you managed to give away all that troublesome money?”

  Rory grinned. “Not quite all. You have been handsomely dowered. There is a nice trust set aside for our children when they come of age. And the rest, your father and Alex intend to help me oversee. Alex has taken a fancy to your shipping line, so I need not travel to Plymouth and London to keep an eye on that. Your father is content to open the town house and travel to oversee the other investments, and I am to sit here and make my wife happy while deciding what to buy and sell. We shall all be paid handsomely for our services, never fear.”

  “Praise the Lord,” Alyson agreed fervently. “Now all we need do is find a nice Scots wife for Alex and hope my father doesn’t take a fancy to a younger woman. It would be dreadful if Alex were bypassed again for that silly title.”

  Rory laughed and kissed her and loved her all the more for this concern she showed a man who had caused her naught but anguish for nearly a year. He could feel the softness of her thighs rubbing against his, and he decided he could wait a few minutes longer to see his son. Turning Alyson on her back, he leaned over her, drinking in the beauty of her laughing features as she rose hungrily against him.

  “For your information, dear heart,” he told her, “your father is currently dangling after my Aunt Deirdre. She tells me she always wanted to be a countess, and that you would make a much more satisfactory daughter than I have a nephew. Is there anything else you would like to know before I ravish you thoroughly?”

  Alyson lifted her arms to bring Rory’s head down to hers. Pressing her kiss against his lips, she murmured, “When do we begin?”

  Copyright & Credits

  Moon Dreams

  Patricia Rice

  Copyright © 1991/2015 Patricia Rice

  First Digital Publication:

  Book View Café Publishing Cooperativer />
  Edition February 3, 2015

  ISBN: 978-1-61138- 459-8

  First published: 1991 by New American Library, New York

  Cover design by Killion Group

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portion thereof, in any form.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Digital edition: 20141108vnm

  About the Author

  With several million books in print and New York Times and USA Today’s bestseller lists under her belt, former CPA Patricia Rice is one of romance’s hottest authors. Her emotionally-charged contemporary and historical romances have won numerous awards, including the RT Book Reviews Reviewers Choice and Career Achievement Awards. Her books have been honored as Romance Writers of America RITA® finalists in the historical, regency and contemporary categories.

  A firm believer in happily-ever-after, Patricia Rice is married to her high school sweetheart and has two children. A native of Kentucky and New York, a past resident of North Carolina and Missouri, she currently resides in Southern California, and now does accounting only for herself. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Authors Guild, and Novelists, Inc.

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