Moon Dreams (33 page)

Seeing only her stiff back, Rory waited, afraid to disturb
her. When she began to sway and sound as if she were choking, he hurried across
the room. Before he could reach her, she crumpled to the faded Persian carpet.

“Alyson!” Shocked into shouting, Rory knelt on the carpet to
gather her into his arms.

His yell brought servants running. Deirdre’s lady’s maid
raced for the smelling salts and burnt chicken feathers. The others milled
uncertainly until Rory shouted for a physician. A footman did as bidden. The
housekeeper ran up the stairs, trailing a contingent of maids to light fires,
fetch hot water, and warm the bed.

Terrified by Alyson’s stillness in his arms, Rory was
reluctant to release her to the care of others when he reached the chamber they
directed him to. He sat on the bed and held her close, willing her to open her
eyes. He had thought her lost to him before, but not like this. Panicked, he
watched her breasts rising and falling—not with lust, but as proof she lived.
Gently he smoothed the linen sheets and laid her upon them as the maid entered
with her salts.

Alyson stirred with the departure of his arms. Her eyes opened,
and Rory could see the shock in them. The maid waved salts and burnt feathers
beneath her nose, and Alyson coughed. Weakly she waved them away and pushed to
sit upright.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone,” she muttered. She sent Rory an
accusing glance. “Tell them to go away.”

Rory noted the bruised look of her eyes, then turned a
questioning gaze to his aunt, who had followed the servants in.

“A physician has been sent for,” Deirdre murmured. “Keep her
here until he comes.”

Alyson relaxed as Deirdre ushered the crowd out the door but
still didn’t face him.

“What did you see, Alyson? Can you tell me?” He took her
pale hand and rubbed the knuckles, feeling the iciness of her fingers, warming
them with his own. He couldn’t halt the still-frantic beat of his heart, and he
fought for some simple explanation to reassure himself that he had not somehow
caused her faint, that she was well and all was right with her world.

Alyson shook her head wearily. Rory’s hands were like
burning brands, but she welcomed their heat, wishing it could spread across her
body. The thought of those strong hands upon her breasts ignited the dry tinder
of her heart. After all that had happened, she still wanted him to touch her.

Sadly she listened to his pleas, but she could give him no
sensible answer. She could not describe the scene, nor the danger. She only
knew that it in some way involved Rory, and common sense told her the snowy landscape
had to be Scotland. What could she say that would make him understand? Or even
make a difference?

“At least let me know if ’twas the Sight or if you are ill,
lass. You canna keep everything to yourself.”

The rough concern in his voice returned her wandering gaze
to her husband. Over and over she had debated why he had treated her as he had
done, but her wealth was all the conclusion she could reach. Perhaps he had
meant to sell her to the pirates, but she could not believe that of him. She
did not understand him or his actions, but there were many things in this world
she did not understand.

She retreated behind indifference. “I am fine, just a little
weary perhaps. I’ll rest . . . you go on with whatever you were
after.”

Rory set his jaw stubbornly. “I’m not a child to be
dismissed at a whim, Alys. As much as you may dislike the notion, you are still
my wife, I assume, and while I can, I will take care of you. Deirdre has sent
for a physician. Perhaps it would be best if he examined you.”

“No, Rory. I cannot abide yet one more person poking and prodding
at me. Let me be, please,” she whispered.

“Persuade me you are not ill and I will go away and send the
physician home.”

Alyson closed her eyes, but the blizzard was gone. She could
feel the heat returning to her bones through the medium of Rory’s hand. Her
fingers wrapped unconsciously around his as she spoke.

“The visions are not things I can describe, Rory. Sometimes
I might see someone I know walking up the road when I have no access to a
window, or I can see the ground crumbling away in a tunnel, but there are
others that I cannot see so clearly. Grandmother said they are windows into
another world, often a future world, and those we cannot see clearly because
they have not happened yet. But I
feel
them. I am there and I experience
them, but I do not know what it is I see or do.” Alyson gestured at the
futility of explaining what she could not explain to herself.

“My mind rebels at the idea of a future that cannot be
changed. Can you tell me what it was you felt today?”

Alyson chewed on her bottom lip and tried to put the
sensation into words. “In the vision, I feel cold. Very cold. And it is white
all around me. There’s a man on horseback. I cannot stop him. My throat is
hoarse from screaming, and he keeps riding.” She hesitated, waiting for Rory to
voice his skepticism, but he stayed silent, waiting. “The danger is all around,
something I can feel; I don’t know why. Then the rider disappears. I think he
has gone over a cliff.” She drew a deep breath and held his gaze. “I’m certain
the rider is you.”

He studied her for a full minute before replying. “A storm
like you describe would be found only in the northernmost part of the
Highlands, lass. I would have no business there. My home is in the hills along
the coast, where the winters are mild.” Rory shoved his hand through his hair. “If
there is naught we can do to change the future, then there is no use in our
worrying over it, is there? Now, get some sleep, and I will send the physician
away.”

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she couldn’t change the
future. But if she had not seen the vision of Rory making love to her, would
she have allowed him the liberties that she had? Would she have thought of
marriage?

If she had not seen that vision of Rory with another woman,
she would have married him happily and been innocent of his true nature.

Alyson frowned as Rory quietly rose and went out the door.
If she had not run away that last time, would he have married her at all?

“I am sorry if I have called at an inconvenient time.” James
Farnley, Esq., narrowed his bespectacled eyes as the Maclean paced the parlor
with irritation. “There are some important matters that must be discussed, but
if you would prefer to come to my office later today . . .”

In the week since his release from prison, the captain had
evidently spent little time or money on embellishing his wardrobe. His
broadcloth coat was impeccably kept, but not the fashion of colorful silk or
satin. Although evidently dressed to go out, he wore no wig, did not powder his
hair, carried no decorated walking stick, disdained red heels and clocked
stockings, and had no expensive sedan chair waiting outside for him.

The oddity of a newly wealthy man acquiring none of the material
symbols of his success made the cynical lawyer suspicious. Combined with the
fact that the Maclean had not attempted to inquire into his new wife’s
considerable business affairs, Farnley’s instincts for trouble were aroused.

Rory halted his pacing and tapped his fingers against the
desktop. “I have given your messages to my wife, sir. I do not know why she has
chosen not to respond to them. If there is some matter of importance that must
be discussed, I will hear of it, but any decisions are Lady Alyson’s.”

The solicitor raised his eyebrows. “As her husband, you are
the one with the legal responsibility of seeing to her business affairs. I
recognize that the lady is of exceptional character, but as I have already
informed her, your signature is required on all legal documents.”

Rory’s fist closed around the handle of a letter opener. “You
have spoken with Alyson? She did not mention it to me.”

Farnley coughed. He did not know the state of affairs
between the young couple, but in Alyson’s best interests, he had investigated
the young man his wealthiest client had married. He had reservations about the
marriage and the man’s character, but none about his business acumen. Since
that was Farnley’s main concern, he attempted to placate his profitable client.

“Lady Alyson has never shown any interest in her holdings. I
have asked her opinion on several outstanding matters, but she always defers
the decision to me. I have helped the former earl with his business affairs,
but I must face the fact that I am growing older and more cautious and have not
the will to seek the more aggressive investments that I once did. I had the
presumption to inquire into your finances when it came to my attention that you
had taken on the responsibility of protecting Lady Alyson.”

That was as polite a way as he could state the case of
Alyson’s abrupt disappearance. Farnley had been horrified when he’d learned his
clerk had intercepted the lady’s letter from Charleston and sold it to the earl.
He’d done his best to learn more of his client’s disappearance since then and had
learned much from Lady Campbell. He was reassured that the Maclean was more
trustworthy than the lady’s bankrupt cousin.

Rory gave him a look of cynical respect. “And?”

Not in the least intimidated by the captain’s cold tone,
Farnley continued, “You have amassed a considerable fortune from your choice of
investments, Captain. You are very daring. I would not advise risking a large
fortune in such undertakings, but I think you are well aware of that. I’m quite
convinced you are capable of managing Lady Alyson’s wealth without my
interference.”

Rory clenched the engraved brass letter opener so tightly
that the metal ought to pierce his palm. “I don’t believe you understand my
position, sir. I believe the barrister you have employed has forwarded copies
of the earl’s charges against me to your office. There are also several
indictments pending in the Admiralty. Law has never been my profession, but I
understand I could be hanged or transported for just one of these charges. I
don’t believe it is in Lady Alyson’s best interests for me to be involved with
any of her affairs. I am surprised that she has not already requested an
annulment.”

That shocked Farnley. He stared at the young Scotsman in
consternation before recovering his tongue. “An annulment? I should think not.
I would advise against it, most certainly. The charges are specious, at best.
The lady has suffered enough indignity by reason of her birth. I knew her
father and grandfather well. They would not approve of such shabby treatment of
one so dear to them. No, whatever the problems are, they must be overcome. The
lady is your wife, Captain—it is your responsibility to look after her. Shall
you come to my offices later today to take a look at the books?”

Rory set his jaw. “I am resigned to the fact that I have
been assigned the task of responsibility for my wife by some immutable force,
but my protection does not extend to include Alyson’s fortune. Find somebody
else, Farnley.”

Understanding seized Farnley, and he favored the reluctant
husband with approval. “It is difficult to find someone competent and
trustworthy enough not to be tempted by such vast sums, Captain. Your wife
would be left destitute if the wrong person had access to them. In the interest
of her protection, perhaps I could hire you to manage her investments? They
require a goodly amount of time and effort. I am certain a percentage fee would
be needed to compensate for your time.”

Rory’s grip on the letter opener relaxed. He crossed his
arms and leaned against the bonnet of the secretary. “You are a clever man, Mr.
Farnley. I begin to understand why you and the former earl must have got on so
famously. The only way I can protect Alyson from fortune-hunters is to take on
that task also?”

Farnley beamed. “Exactly, Captain. Shall we say two-thirty
this afternoon? I will have my clerks gather the necessary papers. A quantity
of matters has gone unattended in these last months.”

***

After a day spent grasping the enormity of Alyson’s
inheritance, Rory staggered home with aching head. In their shared dressing
room, he discovered his wife scantily garbed in what appeared to be silver
tissue as Deirdre’s maid coiffed her hair in powdered ringlets. He eyed the
powder with disfavor and studied Alyson in the long vanity mirror. The daring décolletage
of her gown left little to the imagination. The full globes of her breasts
pressed against the thin material, beautiful without need of jewels for
adornment. Rory could well imagine every male eye in the town resting on his
wife’s bosom, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. He had not imagined
spending this time before the trial trapped in his wife’s company. For the life
of him, he did not know why she stayed. Perhaps she had some foggy notion of
being noble and standing by his side until he was proved guilty.

“Have I forgotten some occasion?” he asked warily, wondering
why his normally reticent bride had suddenly decked herself out in all her
glory.

Alyson puckered up her nose at her image as the maid
inserted yet another silver butterfly in the intricate net of her hair. “Nothing
of importance,” she answered absently. “Lady Hamilton is giving a small soiree,
and I told Deirdre I would accompany her.” She started to tie a velvet ribbon
with another tiny butterfly upon it around her neck. “Do you think this is too
much? The modiste recommended it if I did not wear diamonds, but it seems a
trifle foolish.”

“Alyson, you have enough wealth to buy every diamond in
London. It matters not whether you wear butterflies or nothing at all. Am I
expected to attend this function?” Wearily Rory shrugged out of his serviceable
frock coat.

Alyson turned from the mirror to look at him in surprise. “I
did not think you would want to, but I’m certain Lady Hamilton would be
delighted if you could come.”