Alyson backed against the window seat and abruptly sat down.
She couldn’t tear her gaze from Rory’s frozen features. There was nothing of
gentleness in his eyes, and the hawk-like nose added fierceness to his visage.
She had been warned of his ruthlessness, but she had never believed.
“You wouldn’t do that,” she whispered uncertainly, waiting
for him to laugh and tell her he teased.
“Try me. I’ll be back with a clergyman and a soldier. You
can choose which one you prefer.”
Rory swung on his heel and stalked out, leaving Alyson
crying for the man she had thought she loved.
The bright light of a Caribbean midafternoon caught on
golden strands in the tall, distinguished visitor’s otherwise silver locks as he
took the slip of paper from the pocket of his beige silk frock coat. Dressed
for a formal call, Everett Hampton looked up to a shabby town house and back at
the paper with a frown.
Returning the paper to his pocket, he regarded the stream of
surprisingly well-turned-out guests entering the shabby house. He had already seen
the governor, several distinguished gentlemen, and a clergyman enter. A host of
fluttering maids and dressmakers and people with flowers ran in and out. It
seemed quite possible that a wedding was in preparation.
Remembering the drunken young sea captain from the night
before, the gentleman smiled. He was no stranger to the odd quirks life takes.
Perhaps he had been talking to the man he sought just last night and didn’t
know it. He hoped so. He liked what he had seen of the man, and he hoped he had
taken his advice to wed his little heiress. Everett’s own daughter had just
recently married, and she seemed content with her wedded state, despite her
husband’s lack of wealth.
He remembered Brianna laughing at what she had called his “moon
dreams.” He had thought it was necessary to prove himself to his father, to
prove that he was worthy of being his son and heir, and earning the right to
choose the woman he loved instead of the one chosen for him. How foolish he had
been; what lives he had wasted on those foolish dreams.
In guilty memory of the woman he had finally married and who
had borne his children, he had to admit that he had not suffered for his
decision. True, he missed the love that had bound him to the home and family of
his youth, and the memory of Brianna would always tear at his heart, but he had
no reason for complaint. Had it not been for Diana, he would have died and had
no life at all.
Yet he continued to finger the paper in his pocket. Why
would anyone be searching now, after all these years, for a ship and crew long since
buried in the deep?
There surely must have been an official inquiry at the time,
although Diana and her father had never mentioned it to him. That was the only
thing he held against them. Withholding his past had been cruel, although he
certainly understood why they had done it. Diana’s father had been a dying man
even then. The plantation had been in ruins and was no dowry for a daughter
whose kind and generous nature did not overcome her lack of physical beauty. A
healthy young man with no memory must have seemed a gift from heaven at the
time.
Everett sighed and headed for the tavern. Memories were all
he had anymore. His deceitful Diana had died in the epidemic of yellow fever
that had claimed his sons last year. Only his daughter survived, and she was
happily wedded and breeding his first grandchild. That gave him something to
look forward to, but not enough. His son-in-law managed the plantation well
enough. He needed something new to occupy his mind.
That was why his mind kept returning to the scrap of paper
and the life he had left behind. Thinking him dead, Brianna would be happily
married by now, with probably a dozen children around her feet. She had always
loved children and scolded him for making her wait for a proper marriage.
Perhaps he would ask the young sea captain about the best
ship to take should he decide to return to England.
Diana had never realized his memory had slowly returned. It
would have only brought her pain to know he had already been married and that
their entire respectable life was a sham. Besides, he had his sons and daughter
to think of by that time. It had seemed best not to dredge up the past.
But he could see no obstacle in doing so now. Perhaps he
should inquire into family affairs first. If his father were no longer alive,
his cousin’s son would have inherited. The lad could not possibly recognize him
after all these years. Or his father could have remarried and there would be
complete strangers in residence now.
It gave him a task that made his step a little jauntier as
he left the shabby townhouse and the wedding preparations.
***
From the window of Rory’s bedroom Alyson watched the
distinguished-looking gentleman disappear from view and gave a sigh as reality
intruded. As the clergyman behind her had droned on, she had lost herself in
daydreams of the gentleman’s identity and why he would stand looking so forlorn
outside a house that had seen much better days. She knew he had a fascinating
story to tell, but she would never hear it. Rory and the clergyman would never
understand when she explained she wished to follow a stranger simply because he
resembled the ghost of her father.
Wearing a silver satin gown adorned with yards of white lace
that the mantua-maker had produced, Alyson turned to face the black-clad vicar.
He seemed a kindly man, if somewhat nervous, and she should not have been so
rude to him. She simply had no idea what on earth he was talking about.
“You do understand, then, my lady, the seriousness of the
step you take today? It is not a decision to be made in haste. There is your
family to consider . . .” He hesitated as Alyson turned her
vacant stare to him.
“Family?” Alyson’s mind jolted back to the present with mad
glee. “Yes, there is my family to consider, of course. Thank you, Reverend. You
have been so very helpful. You may reassure the Maclean that I will say my vows
as promised.”
Since he had spent the better part of an hour trying to
persuade her otherwise, the vicar only frowned, bowed, and departed.
Alyson watched the vicar go without regret. She had been
bathed and perfumed and pinned and sewed together for what seemed like hours. She
really had very little choice. Every man she met would admire her money without
seeing her. It seemed a pity that Rory wasn’t any different, as she had hoped,
but at least he had a good reason for his greed. Once they were married, he
could buy back his lands and save his family and tenants from a life of
poverty. That was a noble cause.
She had never seen Scotland, but that had been her
grandmother’s home, and she had heard the tales. She wouldn’t mind living there
and helping Rory return his estates to production. She could almost imagine
some semblance of happiness in that life. It wouldn’t be too bad.
And it would put an end to Cranville. That thought again
filled her with unholy glee. He would be so furious he would most likely have
an apoplexy. ’Twas a pity she couldn’t be there when he found out. Marriage to
Rory would certainly be better than anything the drunken earl had to offer.
She wanted to talk to Rory again. She needed to reassure
herself that this sense of impending doom was only a matter of last-minute
nerves. He’d had time to sleep off the drink and make himself presentable. If
she could just see the Rory she knew, and not that ruthless stranger, she would
know she had made the right choice.
All the maids and mantua-makers had left, but she knew the
house was full of Rory’s men. Acting on the moment, she flew to the bedroom
door. And found it locked.
Alyson shook the latch in disbelief. He had locked her in!
She was a prisoner in what was soon to be her marital chamber. She stared at
the latch in dismay. How could he?
Remembering that first night aboard his ship, and the horror
of finding herself locked in, Alyson felt all the doors to freedom clicking
closed. She had been Rory’s prisoner from the very first. There never had been
any escape. He had just given her time to adjust the noose around her own neck.
Alan had but bent her heart in comparison to what Rory had
done. The horror of it washed over her as her hand slipped away from the latch,
and she stared at it as if it had just turned into a Gorgon’s head. Backing
away, she tried to gather her thoughts, but could not.
Images of Rory in another woman’s arms intermixed with the
demon Rory who crushed her beneath him in a mockery of love. It could not be
like this. She struggled to remember the man who had held her with love and
taken her with gentleness. She had to recall how he had rescued her from
kidnappers and saved her from her cousin.
Only, the evil thoughts corrupted the good ones. He had
seduced her with his gentleness, claimed her in the only way left to him, since
he had already stolen her from home. She had only Rory’s word for it that
Cranville had hired her kidnappers. It had been very convenient that he found
her before they returned her to her cousin. Too convenient.
And someone must have told Cranville that she was in
Charleston. Mr. Farnley surely wouldn’t betray her after what she had said in
her letter. Only Rory could have done that, Rory, who had written to his aunt
to tell her Alyson was with him, destroying her reputation so she would have no
other choice than to marry him. It was all beginning to make some kind of
insane sense. Rory had been waiting for her cousin to chase after her so he
could come sailing to her rescue, hoping she would fall into his arms in
gratitude.
And she had. Oh, my Lord, she had. With all her heart and
soul she had fallen into his arms and betrayed herself. She was no better than
her mother, never had been. She was as wanton as Rory had called her, and now
she would pay for it for the rest of her life.
Desperately, she glanced out the window, but she wasn’t mad
enough to fling herself from such a height. Steps sounded outside her door, and
she looked for a hiding place, but there was none. The room didn’t contain so
much as a curtain or a wardrobe to cower behind.
A weapon would be useful, but the door opened before she
could even figure out what would constitute a weapon. She stifled her scream as
a stiffly formal Dougall entered.
Sorrowfully he held out his hand to what she regarded as her
execution. “Come, lass, the company is waiting for ye.”
***
Rory watched Alyson come down the stairs on Dougall’s arm
and his insides contracted into tight knots. Her beautiful misty eyes had
transformed into glass-hard mirrors. Her sun-tinged complexion had gone pale
overnight, and her skin seemed drawn taut over fragile cheekbones. He should
never have done this. He should back out now, send the whole company home, go
drown himself in the ocean and be done with it.
He couldn’t, of course. The governor stood at his elbow, and
his official men-at-arms were interspersed throughout the room. He had vowed
that the marriage would be made legal before church and state, and they were
all here to see that Rory kept that vow and henceforth trod the path of honesty
for Alyson’s sake.
Rory hadn’t quite determined how he was to uphold all the
promises he had made in these last hours or why he’d made them. His head hurt as
if pounded by the seven hammers of hell, and he hadn’t had any sleep for nearly
two days. His every waking thought since seeing Alyson running down the dock
had been fully occupied with getting her back. There had not been time to
contemplate what he would do after he caught her.
And now it was too late. He could tell by the brittle set of
her face that he had already destroyed something rare and precious. He had been
given this one chance to share something special, to hold someone lovely, and
he had destroyed it with his need to possess. Perhaps everything had been taken
from him for a reason, and he had yet to learn the lesson.
Alyson stood without touching him during the service. Rory’s
neckcloth felt too tight, and in the warmth of the afternoon and the crowd of
people, his long formal vest and frock coat began to melt the linen of his
shirt against his back. His head spun from lack of food and the aftereffects of
too much drink.
When Alyson gazed up at him, he lost all thought of what he
was supposed to do. Her eyes were like the gray clouds that formed on the hills
before a winter storm, and he felt their frozen winds blowing through his
heart. If he believed in witches, he would know she had cast an evil spell on
him at that moment. The effect would be much the same.
Dougall prodded him, and Rory remembered the ring. He
slipped the gold band on her finger, and she gazed blankly at the place where
their hands joined. The clergyman continued his ritual chant. The pagan
ceremony they had celebrated earlier had more meaning than this one. These were
just words. The love and joy had disappeared. Alyson’s fingers were lifeless in
Rory’s hand.
The token kiss at the end of the ceremony brought a round of
stifled cheers from the crew. Alyson’s breath was warm and sweet against his
lips, but it seemed to come in short gasps. Rory glanced at her worriedly, but
they were soon surrounded by well-wishers. He clasped her hand and the ring cut
into his palm near the healing wound at the base of his thumb—symbols of his
possession. But they didn’t make him happy.
The governor claimed precedence in shaking the groom’s hand
and kissing the bride’s cheek. “Your grandfather was a good man, Lady Alyson. I
hope I have done what he would have wanted. ’Tis a pity your cousin could not
be here in time to catch the ceremony so you would have family present, but
under the circumstances, your young man was right in insisting on having the
service immediately. I’m certain Maclean here will change his ways now that he
has a good woman to stand beside him.” He sent Rory a meaningful look.