Moon Dreams (29 page)

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 turned 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.

At her inquisitive look, Rory spoke. “We want Cranville to
think we went with the
Witch.
Look around you. There’s the customs
officer watching us, the guard the governor set on us, and half the people who
were at our wedding are down here somewhere, all of them waiting to see what we
will do.”

Holding his arm, Alyson gazed casually about. She recognized
several of the faces from the wedding, and she lifted her hand in greeting,
smiling vaguely in their direction. Rory ignored them all, seemingly intent on
making his ship before it sailed. She could see the men up in the rigging
already. How did he intend to do this?

She wasn’t long in finding out. Safe in the privacy of the
captain’s cabin, she gave Rory a look of disgust when he handed her an old pair
of William’s breeches. “If I did not know you better, I would say you are
determined to keep me in rags to save money.” She took the worn breeches from
his hands with two fingers.

“I would prefer no clothes at all if money were the object.”

Startled by the warm tone of his voice, Alyson glanced at
him suspiciously, but Rory had already returned to the trunk for his own change
of clothing.

As he slid off his coat and pulled at his jabot, Alyson
realized he meant for them to change here, together. Her hand closed around her
neckerchief. The action was pure defensive instinct. The sight of Rory with his
shirt unfastened and open to the waist brought back dangerous memories. She
remembered how the bronzed ridges of his chest felt against her palms, the
warmth of his skin beneath the sun, the slippery softness in the water. All the
traitorous pleasures he had given her had been for the sole purpose of seducing
her out of her money, despite his grand display of heroically resisting. He
would have done better had he simply asked for it. She would have respected him
more.

She swung around to present him with her back. Rory merely
unlaced her bodice.

Alyson attempted to jerk away, but one strong hand clamped
her shoulder as the other finished its task.

“Unless you wish me to finish undressing you, you had best change
quickly. I’ll turn my back if that will help.”

Choking on humiliation, Alyson gave the door to the cabin a
wishful look, but she had learned a lesson about running away. The problems
didn’t go away just because she did. Her cousin was still out there, and she
still had no means of protecting herself against him. Reluctantly she began to
undress.

As she pulled on her overlarge shirt, she heard Rory moving
about, and she swung to see what he was up to now. He had donned common seaman’s
garb, the baggy trousers long and tattered from ill use, his shirt gray with
age and tied in front for lack of buttons to hold it closed, exposing a rather
overwhelming expanse of very masculine chest. Around his distinctive auburn
hair he had wrapped a red scarf, enhancing the costume’s piratical flavor.

Alyson glanced down at her own disguise and wrinkled her
nose in distaste. There was no means by which Rory could disguise her as a boy
The overlarge shirt fell to her knees, hiding some of the curves of her waist
and hips, but she had no means of flattening her bosom. She glanced up to catch
an expression on Rory’s face that indicated he had reached the same conclusion.

Tucking the last of his valuables into a sack at his waist,
he gazed helplessly at her curls and womanly curves. “Nothing you wear would
ever disguise your gender, lass. Slaying dragons would be easier than hiding
ye. I’ve a better idea. Wait here.” Rory strode out without further explanation.

He returned carrying a length of bold cotton print. When he
held it out, however, Alyson could see it was a skirt of an amazing array of
colored stripes. Red and orange and pink mixed with violets and blues in a
rainbow of hues she had never seen in one piece before.

“I will not tell you where it came from. It’s clean. Just
put it on.”

Alyson hastily complied. The skirt stopped short of her
ankles, and the sailor’s breeches could be seen beneath. She struggled out of
them as Rory obligingly turned his back. That left the skimpy cotton to cling
indecently to her hips and thighs. Combined with the low neckline of the seaman’s
shirt she wore, she looked the part of whore or worse.

“I need petticoats,” she whispered in dismay. Her own would
trail out from beneath the indecent length of this skirt.

Rory turned and caught his breath. In silks and satins,
Alyson was an unattainable goddess meant to be worshiped. In peasant’s cotton, she
was a more earthy deity. “No, it’s perfect just the way it is. We’ll need to
braid your hair. There isn’t time to find you a bonnet.”

Surely he could not mean for her to appear in public like
this! Her shirt sleeves had been cut off so she could at least find her hands,
but they left her lower arms bare. She had only her silk chemise beneath the outer
garments, and it served as a reminder of how bare she actually was. Every
movement betrayed her body. Her nipples pressed against the thin material, and
Alyson had all she could do to maintain her composure under Rory’s knowing gaze.
Lifting her arms to unpin her hair would be certain destruction.

Rory abruptly swung her around and began braiding. His rough
fingers burrowed into her curls, searching out elusive combs until they fell in
cascades over his hands and over Alyson’s shoulders. Rory jerked the heavy
strands into a single braid.

Once he had the braid tied off with a scrap of red rag, he
opened the cabin door and gestured for her to precede him.

Sensing his tension, Alyson scurried out the door. She did
not wish to be the one to push Rory over the brink of that dangerous precipice
he lived upon.

They left the ship surrounded by dockworkers done with their
loading. Dougall stood on the quarterdeck ignoring their departure. William
leaned over the side of the ship waving his battered hat, unlike some of the
crew, who had taken to whistling and catcalling from their places in the
rigging. Rory’s jaw set angrily, but mimicking the actions of some of the women
on the wharf, Alyson threw back her head and grinned upward, jauntily waving in
farewell. The cheers multiplied, but the sails were already unfurling. With a
wrenching feeling of final farewell, Alyson followed Rory’s tug into the crowd.

No one paid heed to the sight of a sailor and his whore
taking a room at a waterfront inn. At this hour, they had the place almost
entirely to themselves. The innkeeper offered them a narrow room with only a
pallet for a bed.

Alyson nervously clasped her arms as soon as the door closed
and Rory released his hold. The room’s one wooden chair looked too rickety to
support the weight of a child. Before she could drift to the window, Rory
usurped the spot, staring over the harbor as the
Sea Witch
sailed
without incident.

He had left the ship before, taking on the more dangerous
expeditions himself rather than risk his men. But he had always been alone and
responsible only for himself on those occasions. He now had the responsibility
of one too innocent to protect herself. He scowled at the dancing waters. It
should never have come to this. He had no experience at gallantly defending
ladies.

“You are wishing me to hell right now, aren’t you?”

Far from being accusing, her voice was sweetly melodic.
Knowing his need for her too well, Rory shoved his hands in his pockets and
morosely continued staring over the harbor. “Not hell. Half a world away would
suffice.”

“I know the feeling. So what do we do now?”

“We wait for His Majesty’s finest to appear. I rather
suspect that is them approaching on the horizon.”

Because of the prevailing east winds and currents, most
vessels found it necessary to approach the harbor from the east end of the
island, sailing in from the south coast and departing from the west. The
Witch
had scarcely been lost from view in one direction when the massive
frigate appeared from the other.

“If the captain of the frigate knows what he’s doing, he’ll
head for the Mona Passage as soon as he’s heard we’ve sailed,” Rory told her. “He’ll
think he can cut us off near the strait. We’re cutting the hurricane season too
close to linger in the Caribbean, and it’s the fastest route back to England.”

“And what will Dougall do?” Alyson came up behind him and
watched as the massive sails of the navy ship billowed into full view.

“I left it up to him. He knows the winds and the currents as
well as I. Normally the Florida channel is safest, but that’s a long distance
to take. The Windward Passage is between the other two, but it’s by far the
most dangerous. He would have not only the sea and wind to combat but also most
likely privateers and the French. The Caribbean is something of a trap for the
unwary. ’Tis a pity Cranville found someone as familiar with it as the navy.”

Without thought to what he did, Rory wrapped his arms around
Alyson’s waist. She stiffened at first, but when he merely pulled her in front
of him where she could see, she relaxed. He held her like that, feeling her
soft curves pressed intimately against the length of him, and his need for her
swelled to aching proportions.

Rory let his fingers stray up and down her unfettered curves,
but her attention remained on the activity outside. Unconsciously she leaned
into him as the navy frigate anchored.

Rory tensed as a gangplank was lowered to the wharf and
several dignified figures stalked down. In their braided regalia, they appeared
more like play soldiers than real people, but the one civilian among them made him
hold Alyson tighter.

Taller and broader than his companions, Cranville was a
fearsome presence. Alyson shrank back into his arms. Rory caressed her reassuringly.

A small crowd of officials gathered to greet the newcomers.
The months at sea had darkened the earl’s fashionably pale coloring. His
languid grace had hardened into more dangerous tension.

Alyson gasped as her cousin’s hard gaze searched the windows
of the buildings along the street. Rory pulled her safely back into the
darkness of the room.

She buried her face in his shoulder as he continued to watch
the confrontation. The angry gesticulations below indicated the earl’s opinion
of the governor’s allowing the
Witch
to sail unimpeded.