Moon Dreams (17 page)

Running from the shadows into the sunlight, she was
momentarily blinded, but she could see the sloop sailing closer. She took off
her small frill of a cap and waved it but could not see a response. She removed
her shoes, hoping to fling them to the deck to catch their attention, but when
she stood up, her eyes widened.

The
Sea Witch!
Rory was back! Her vision hadn’t lied.

He wouldn’t know she was here. She wanted to scream her
frustration, jump up and down and make a scene, but Rory had no way of reaching
her before Cranville. She could see the men in the rigging, preparing to take
down the mainsail, eager to set foot on shore. Rory would go to the Lattimers’,
and by the time he returned, the
Neptune
would have sailed.

Perhaps not. She cast a nervous glance to the
Neptune’s
masts. The crew wasn’t in the rigging yet. Perhaps they hadn’t all returned?
But the idea of waiting patiently while Cranville roamed the decks did not
appeal. It could be hours before Rory discovered she was gone.

That thought and approaching footsteps caused her to panic.
She screamed. She waved. She flung her shoes as hard as she could across the
narrowing gulf between the ships. One hit the water, but the downward draft
carried the other so it glanced off the port bow.

A seaman knotting a rope in place looked up, startled. A shout
from behind her warned she had been seen.

Still screaming, she lifted her skirt and ripped at the ties
of her petticoats. She couldn’t struggle out of her gown, but if she could
unhook the petticoats . . .

“Alyson! My God, what are you doing? Alyson, stop that!” The
shouts came closer, unmistakably Cranville.

The heaviest petticoat fell off, and she flung it over the
side. If the
Sea Witch
didn’t see that coming at them, they would all
have to be blind drunk.

She threw a glance over her shoulder. Her cousin was almost
upon her, and others were running up from below at the sound of his shouts.
There wasn’t time for thought.

She placed one foot on the railing and pulled herself up to
the first rung.

***

At a shout from his crew, Rory glanced in the direction of
the
Neptune.
By pulling this close, he was effectively blocking the
merchant’s exit, but he wasn’t overly concerned about delaying some pompous ass
of a British captain. He expected the shout to be a warning, but the sight of a
woman leaning over the railing, waving her petticoat, nearly tumbled him off
the deck.

The petticoat sailed off on the wind, but Rory had already spotted
the man racing down the other vessel’s deck. He could add two and two well
enough.

Cursing, he shouted orders for the dinghy to be lowered, the
mainsail set, and the cannon loaded. Then, throwing off his coat as he ran,
Rory dashed down to the rail in his shirtsleeves to expedite the dinghy’s
progress.

Rory cursed as he saw Cranville bearing down on Alyson while
she hesitated with one leg over the top rail. “Jump, Alys, jump!” he shouted as
the dinghy lowered into the water.

“I can’t swim!” she wailed, glancing over her shoulder.

The earl threw himself at her. Alyson jumped.

Rory frantically rowed toward the muddy waters where the
ripples broke over her dark head. He was aware of the shouts from both ships,
of scrambling for ropes and ladders and boats, but his gaze focused on the
circle of ripples. His heart pounded until he could scarcely breathe. He jerked
off his shoes and prepared to dive. Damned if he wouldn’t do her a favor and
follow her into hell to drag her back.

She surfaced just as he hit the water. Grabbing a handful of
soaked black curls, Rory pulled her face from the river. She gasped, then coughed
and gasped again. The
Neptune
’s dinghy was fast approaching.

“I’ll have your head for this, lass,” he growled, throwing
his arm over the side of the boat. Unceremoniously he flung her half on, half
off, while he clambered in without tipping the whole thing over.

Alyson’s skirts dragged her down and the coughing drained
her ability to clamber aboard. Rory caught her by the waist and yanked her in,
then struck out for the
Sea Witch.

The commotion from the two ships had drawn a crowd to the
waterfront. Excited, gesticulating spectators pointed to the dinghy straining
to catch Rory’s. Cranville’s panic-filled shouts and the British captain’s
bellowed orders echoed across the narrow strip of river. Grimly Rory reached
the
Sea Witch
and the ladder his men held ready.

He wouldn’t have time to carry Alyson on board before the
other dinghy would be upon him. With a practiced jerk of his head, he signaled
his cannoneers.

Cannon shells exploded overhead, sending up sprays of water
around the dinghies, filling the air with the stench of smoke. Rory dragged Alyson
up the ladder and onto the
Sea Witch
under cover of the confusion.

He shouted orders as soon as he hit the deck. The lateens
swung out and filled with wind as the sloop lurched and slowly came about. The
tide was turning and would soon be in their favor.

Cannonballs prevented the brigantine from advancing, even if
they’d had sails set. As the maneuverable sloop headed to sea, the curses from
the
Neptune
and the dinghy grew fainter.

The sloop’s cannon fired a few more warning shots as Rory
took the tiller and aimed for open sea. His shy cabin boy and the taciturn cook
bent over Alyson’s soaked and gasping figure on the main deck, but he didn’t
have the time to lend his efforts to theirs. He had to sail the
Sea Witch
out of the river before half the ships in the harbor took sail to strike him
down for piracy.

A few hours later, Rory was still cursing their near escape
when he returned to his cabin. Inside, he found Alyson wrapped in his blankets,
her soaked gown spread across his desk chair and dripping upon the floor. She threaded
her fingers through her wet hair in a vain attempt to untangle it and frowned
in concentration until he roared at her.

“Now that I have the British navy on both sides of the
Atlantic after me, would you care to explain what the hell you were doing? Or
do you just enjoy departing in a blaze of glory?”

Rory’s sarcasm seemed to drift right by her. Alyson smiled
vaguely and adjusted the blanket around her shoulders. “Why should the navy be
after you?”

Her look of innocence nearly worked its usual spell, until
Rory remembered the clever mind behind those wide gray eyes. The treacherous
little witch had a penchant for trouble, but sooner or later she always landed
right where she wanted to be.

He refused to let her divert his anger. “The navy frowns on
people who fire on the British flag. Why were you on it, Alyson? You promised
to wait for me.”

Alyson smiled sunnily. “You need only tell the navy that I
ordered the ship fired on. Surely I can shoot at my own ship if I want to, can’t
I? You didn’t hurt anyone, did you?” She asked this last almost hopefully.

Cranville had been nearly the only person on deck.

It took a moment for the shock to dilute Rory’s anger. Once
it did, he gripped the desk chair for support, ignoring the soaked garments
upon it. “Your own ship?” he asked warily.

A ship the size of the
Neptune
would have made his
fortune twice over. The
Sea Witch
was little more than a fishing boat in
comparison. And the claimant of such wealth sat nearly naked in his bunk?

Alyson shrugged. “So they say. I certainly can’t compliment
the officers on their loyalty or obedience, but men do have difficulty
accepting the notion of a woman in command, don’t they? I daresay they
preferred to believe Cranville the true owner.”

If he had not talked to Farnley himself, Rory would have
believed her mad. No doubt the officers of the
Neptune
did have a
difficult time believing her. A woman in command of a ship that size! It
strained the borders of credulity.

“You could be riding in comfort aboard the
Neptune
now!”
he yelled at her. “I should turn around and return you. A little persuasion will
have Cranville removed and you installed in his place.”

Rory stood there in his sodden clothes contemplating the insane
but enchanting pixie who had danced into his life one fair morn. He had known
she was an heiress, but the enormity of her wealth had not sunk in until he had
seen that ship.

Alyson looked horrified at his proposal. “They think I’m
mad. And the captain was going to allow Cranville to
marry
me while believing I’m mad. Can I
have the captain of my ship removed when we return to London?”

Feeling as if he had lost complete control of the situation,
Rory surrendered. Since he had met his personal angel, he had been held up by
highwaymen, challenged an earl to a duel, killed a kidnapper, and fired on a
British merchant. He was down to his last three decent shirts and one of those
was clinging clammily to his shoulders right now. He was better off when he
courted the devil, despite the fact that Alyson looked more delicious in a
blanket and dripping ringlets than any other woman on the planet.

Rory resisted that thought with curtness. “Lass, you may
talk to your solicitors about that when you return. Right now I would like to
change into some dry clothes. If you’ll excuse me, there may be one or two left
in my trunk.”

Alyson watched with interest as Rory opened his trunk and
rummaged. His soaked shirt molded to the broad muscles of his back. An odd curl
of pleasure warmed her blood. She wanted to touch the hard plane of his
shoulders, but she could never be so bold.

She remembered now that his wardrobe had been in a sorry
state the last time she left, but he had dressed with such elegance that night
at the Lattimers, she had forgotten about it. Come to think of it, she was now
without all her new clothing once again. All she had was the saturated gown and
not even her good petticoat this time. It was a good thing she didn’t spend
much time worrying over her appearance.

Finding what he sought, Rory sat back on his heels. Still
bending over his trunk to watch him, she came face-to-face with him. She wore
nothing but a blanket, and his shock registered swiftly.

Grabbing a handful of clothes, he dropped the trunk lid, and
stood unsteadily. Without looking back, he stalked out the door.

Sitting back, Alyson stared after him in astonishment. Had
there been something terrible in the trunk? Perhaps he had forgotten something.
He hadn’t exactly been in the best of moods anyway. Perhaps he would be more
cheerful when he returned.

Remembering her own sad state of undress, Alyson knelt
beside the trunk to see if she could salvage anything for her own use. Before
she could properly inspect the contents, William knocked at the cabin door, and
at her call, entered with a pitcher of hot water.

Delighted at the prospect of washing off the muddy river
water, Alyson welcomed him while tugging to keep the blanket in place.

William turned his shy glance to the wall as he spoke. “Dougall
said I was to remind the captain that he stored the lady’s things beneath the
bunk. Shall I find the captain and tell him?”

“I shall be certain to pass on the message, William, don’t
you worry about it.” She could scarcely wait for the lad to leave so she could
search beneath the bunk. Lady’s things? What lady? And what things? Oh, please,
Lord, let some of them fit her.

With William gone, she let the blanket fall free so she
could open a large drawer beneath the bunk. In triumph, she dug out the
packages and tore at strings and parcel paper. The largest bundle revealed a
froth of lovely gray-blue satin skirt. Locating the bodice, Alyson shook it out
and scrutinized it with a practiced eye. The garment was too large for his Aunt
Deirdre. Maybe he had other relatives who had requisitioned the gown. The
exquisitely embroidered stomacher in white satin with silver and blue threads
would probably fit her without much adjustment of the laces.

The other packages revealed matching petticoats, stockings,
and even blue satin shoes, Alyson discovered with delight. Silently commending
Rory’s good taste, she poured hot water into the basin. Rory might be
displeased at her appropriating garments meant as a gift, but she could replace
them once they reached London. For now, she wished to appear as something a
little more than the bedraggled waif he was always fishing out of some trouble
broth.

As she scrubbed the river mud from her hair, Alyson tried to
contemplate why she should be concerned with Rory’s opinion, but the effort was
too great. Rory was the only friend she had been able to rely on since her
grandfather’s death. Perhaps he considered her something of a nuisance and was
occasionally inclined to be short-tempered, but she would be the first to admit
that he had every justification in being so. Perhaps that was why it was so
important that she impress him favorably now.

***

Having chastened himself for his lack of control at the
mere sight of Alyson’s breasts, Rory changed into dry breeches and shirt. Never
before had any woman ever sent him into such disarray. Alyson had not been on
board for an hour, and already she had brought him practically to his knees. He
would have to come to some solution soon.

Dougall was up on the quarterdeck pretending to ignore him,
and the rest of the men seemed well-occupied. Perhaps none had noted his hasty
retreat to change clothes. The fact that the shirt he had grabbed was missing
its buttons and lay open to the waist was not unusual in this warm climate.

And he certainly didn’t have to excuse himself to one Alyson
Hampton, heiress and troublemaker extraordinaire. After all, she had been the
one to choose his modest ship over the luxury of her own—costing him a great deal
of profit by not trading his goods in Charleston.