Moon Dreams (42 page)

Rory spoke softly, giving her time to think. “Wreak your
vengeance as you will, lass, but remember I have suffered for my error too. I
berated myself at the time for not killing you quickly to prevent your
suffering at the hands of pirates. My only consolation since has been that in
my cowardice, I did not, because selfishly, I wanted to know you were still in
my world.”

She heard the torment behind this confession. Vaguely she
understood he had thought to protect her by rendering her unconscious, but she
would worry over the intricacies of his mind later. The need to hold him was
much stronger, although fear could not be completely eradicated. She
experimented by rising to meet Rory’s lips with her own.

He tasted of whisky. His lips were like fire, searing her
with their brand, and she could not tear away. Her hands flew to his shoulders
for support. The probing caress of his tongue drew her into the rings of flame.
He lifted no hand to pressure her, but his passionate response burned away her
resistance.

She surrendered to the need, parting her lips until their
breaths mixed, and he was caressing her deep inside, arousing a need she had
denied for too long. The need grew wilder beneath the heat of his kiss, but
still he did not touch her. Alyson slid her hands over his shoulders, stroked
the straining muscles of his neck as he held her mouth captive, ran her fingers
through his hair, but he made no move to caress her. She wanted his hands on
her breasts, against her flesh, telling her what she needed to know, but she
did not know how to tell him.

Daringly, as their kiss deepened and Rory groaned against
her mouth, she ran her hand downward, finding the length of him, spreading her
fingers to stroke him there. He jerked spasmodically, pressing into her palm,
but still he did not take her in his arms. His kiss grew greedier, more
demanding, until she felt he would steal her breath away, but he would not
force her in any way. With fumbling fingers, Alyson began to unfasten the buttons
that would release him.

As her cool fingers brushed his burning flesh, Rory
smothered a groan of relief. He choked on a laugh as she reacted with
startlement at the eager response of his uncovered parts.

“Perhaps you should bind me hand and foot so I cannot do
anything you do not wish me to do.”

There was laughter in his voice, and, relieved, Alyson eyed
his hands gallantly held behind his head. Shyly she admitted, “I am not at all
certain what I would do with myself then.” He had given her complete power over
him, but she had no idea yet how to wield it.

Softly he said, “Then think of what you would do with me.
Strike me, if you like. I certainly deserve that and more, but I have no
intention of giving you other ideas than that, lass. I’ll take whatever you
mete out, but I prefer pleasure to pain.”

“So do I. Show me how.” Alyson stroked him, exploring with
her fingers, feeling his body tense beneath hers. In the short time they had
been intimate before, she had never been so brave, but she was filled with
curiosity now.

Rory closed his eyes and murmured, “Unless you wish me to
remain bound, we’ll have to do something about the breeches, lass. They’re
damned confining.”

Alyson eagerly applied herself to the task of peeling off
his breeches, rolling them over his narrow hips when he lifted them from the
bed, then rolling down his stockings so she could find the knee buttons and
unfasten them. She could feel the male part of him rubbing against her breasts
as she pulled the fabric downward, and that produced inexplicable urges she
found hard to resist. When she hesitated, Rory sat up to assist her.

Suddenly desirous to see him naked, Alyson knelt and
unfastened his long shirt. She fumbled at the ties over his broad chest until
Rory caught her hand, pressing it against his chest, then raising it to his
lips to draw gently on her fingertips.

When her gaze fled uncertainly to his, he suggested, “I’ll
take it off if you will remove yours.”

The low rumble of his voice sent shivers down her spine, and
she responded without question. As he finished the workings of his lace-cuffed
shirt, she slid her shift over her head.

For a moment they just looked at each other’s nakedness
through the shadows thrown by the dying fire. Gently Rory lifted her breast in
his palm. She smiled, giving him permission for more. He slid his arm around
her waist and drew her closer, touching, exploring her. His rough hand caressed
her skin until she quivered. Then, gently, he leaned back against the pillows
and pulled her down with him.

Alyson snaked her bare legs over Rory’s rough ones, pressed
her breasts against his wide chest, and gave a sigh of delight as his hand
cupped her bottom and settled her against his hip. She did not have to do
anything yet but enjoy the sensation of Rory’s flesh against hers. She needed
time to reacquaint herself with the strength rippling beneath her hands with
his every move. She knew that strength could hold her powerless, but he was
using it now to keep himself in check. That knowledge stirred much more primitive
urges than fear.

She kissed the bearded plane of his cheek. Then, avoiding
Rory’s attempt to capture her mouth, she kissed his ear and from thence down
his neck. She felt as well as heard his growl as she pressed her lips at the
base of his throat. His arm tightened deliciously around her waist as he fought
the urge to take over. To Alyson’s delight, he allowed her to continue
unmolested as she explored the male body that had so neatly trapped her own.

When she came to the masculine part of him straining for attention,
she hesitated. Modesty had prevented exploration here in the first days of
their lovemaking, but her rounding belly was reason enough to shed modesty. He
had planted his babe inside her, and she had a need to know more about this
miracle. The first tentative touches elicited a moan from her victim as Rory
buried his hands in her hair. The need to exercise her new power gave Alyson
confidence to carry her kisses to the limit.

Rory trembled at the touch of her tongue, and, grasping her
hair tighter, he pulled her away. “Lass, I am but a man, and if you keep that
up, you’ll learn more than you wish of a man’s ways. Come here, and let me
pleasure you.”

With the taste and smell of him filling her senses, Alyson
went willingly into his arms. Her body sprawled along his as his fingers played
along her skin, lighting fires everywhere they touched, until she squirmed
against him for relief. His fingers teased her breasts to aching points. She
needed more, and urgently she moved against him.

Unable to hold back any longer, Rory lifted her hips and
guided them to his own.

Alyson cried out at the sweet bliss of this joining, sinking
deeper until he filled and stretched her with excruciating pleasure. All
patience fled, they moved quickly together, seeking that release they had found
before, needing the reaffirmation of this physical bond. With cries of joy,
they discovered new heights, and clinging to each other, fell from the cliffs
with dizzying delight.

All too aware of Alyson’s fragility, Rory reined in his
hungry impatience for more, satisfying his greed with kisses. Fearing to let
her go, he held her in his arms, and rolled over to the mattress. He held her
next to him, not wanting this magic moment to escape as all his dreams always
had.

Alyson burrowed against his shoulder, kissing wherever she
could reach. At the telltale signs of his arousal rising against her belly,
Alyson giggled.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead before pinching her
delightful bottom, Rory growled, “You laugh? Is that what you think of me?”

Alyson raised her arms to circle his neck. “You would think
us the newlyweds instead of Dougall and his bride. Shouldn’t an old married
couple suppress their ardor?” She moved suggestively against him, indicating
her awareness of his state.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? Will you make me regret
my confession of weakness?” Rory surrendered to the twin temptations pressed
against him, circling first one erect tip and then the other, until she
squirmed with delight. “Or will you realize it works both ways?” he whispered.

“I already know that it works both ways,” Alyson murmured as
she took him between her thighs. “I just want to know what you will do when I’m
too large to mount.”

“Wait until the brat comes out to join us, and contemplate
planting another, of course. But there’s time enough to worry about that. All I
want now is to know that I’ll be welcome here every night for the rest of our
lives.” His hand slid to the sensitive juncture of her legs, making his meaning
plain. He had little enough to offer her but the pleasure of their bodies. For
now, he hoped that was enough.

“Was there ever any doubt, my lord? Perhaps for you it is
different, but I can give myself only once. You will find it difficult to be
rid of me now.”

Rory caressed her hair and bent to burn her lips with his
kiss before easing into her a second time. As Alyson closed tightly around him,
he laid her back against the bed and sank deeper into her welcoming body.

“Aye, lass, you may regret your choice, but there will be no
separating us now. You’re a Maclean now, and a Maclean never gives up his own.”

December 1760

Alyson looked out over the snow on the hillsides and held
her hand to the mound where the child grew. Uneasiness—and the snow—made her
restless. She drifted from window to window as she went about her work, looking
out over the loch when she brought her knitting to the kitchen, checking the
sloping hillside when she remembered a needle left in the hall.

The
Sea Witch
had left the loch weeks ago, sailing
for warmer ports, leaving Rory, Dougall, and Dougall’s wife behind. Myra had
become a welcome part of the household, her serenity providing the balance
Alyson needed when the dark clouds were upon her, as they were today.

The snow haunted her dreams, and she could not escape the
recurrent nightmares. Rory and Dougall were out there on those snowy hillsides
now, as they were every day. It was going to be a harsh winter, and few were
prepared for it. Rory was laying in provisions and helping repair cottages as
quickly as man and beast would allow. She just wished he didn’t have to oversee
these activities personally.

There was something wrong, something out of kilter, but she
could not put her finger to it. If it were not the snow or her dream, it must
be something else, but what?

***

Myra watched Alyson’s nervous pacing with concern. It
could not be good for the child. Sewing tiny stitches into an infant’s gown,
she reflected on ways of occupying the lady who had become her closest friend
in this forlorn outpost.

There was more to the smiling butterfly the Maclean had
married than could be seen on the surface. Dougall had called the lady simple
and innocent, but it was more than that. Despite her occasionally childlike
manner of dealing with people, Lady Maclean knew at a glance or a whisper what
was happening at all times. She had an uncanny knack for arriving in the
kitchen to settle Mary’s tirades about the evils of their neighbor. Once, she
had been pacing the top of the tower when a crofter’s cottage caught fire. The lady
had been able to warn the servants to run for buckets in time to save the roof.

Myra had the feeling that Alyson’s restlessness now did not
bode well.

True, it was not always danger that Alyson sensed. The
servants had told Myra of how the lady had known when the
Witch
would
arrive. She had also been all smiles and running from window to window just
before the shipment had arrived from London.

Half those packages were still stored in a secret hiding
place waiting for Christmas. The others had been spread generously throughout
the household: shoes and shawls and yard goods and a new loom to replace the
broken one upstairs, among other things.

It wasn’t that Alyson just sensed danger, it was that there
seemed more danger than pleasure these days. That was the reason Myra watched
Alyson’s pacing with caution. Danger to just one could easily be danger to all.

Dougall had explained the feud between the Maclean and his
cousin. She knew men didn’t ride out to battle as they once had, but she was
thinking it might be simpler if they would. From the tales she heard in the
kitchen, there wasn’t a man in the countryside who would rise to arms at
Drummond’s call. Maclean would emerge victorious from a clean-cut battle. These
underhanded tactics now were of an uglier nature.

Myra felt certain Rory had not told his pregnant wife that
he was helping the tenants slaughter Drummond’s sheep so that they might eat
and keep warm this winter. Nor would he have told her how someone had taken to
shooting at him whenever he strayed too far alone. There were other matters,
too, legal documents that he and Dougall pored over, letters going back and
forth between here and London and Edinburgh, but Myra didn’t know their
contents beyond Dougall’s worried frowns.

“If I brought you a hot toddy, could you lie down and sleep
awhile?” Myra finally asked.

“No. No, I think I’ll go out. The snow has stopped, and the
wind seems to have died. A little fresh air would be nice. I wish there was
more greenery to decorate the house.” Murmuring her thoughts to the air, Alyson
drifted from the room.

Half an hour later she was traipsing up the side of the hill
with more exuberance than she had felt in days. She enjoyed being outside,
feeling the brisk wind on her face, crunching through the crystalline snow. It
made her feel alive as Rory did when he touched her. All her senses prickled
and danced with the brilliance of the sun glinting off the snow-wrapped hills.

The shot, when it came, echoed in her ears long after she
fell to the ground.