Moon Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page B

let
alone recognize the quote? He didna ken, but he would.
    Rory opened the napkin, and the scent of pickled salmon hit
him. With wonder he sampled the rest of the fare, each discovery bringing
another enraptured cry. “Bannocks! Ach, my bonny lassie, do ye not know what I
would give for fresh bannocks? And spelding! It’s been years . . .”
His ecstasy disappeared in the mouthful of bread and fish he deposited between
his grateful lips.
    His companion giggled at his reaction to her food. “Alan
always turned up his nose at my favorite dishes. Even grandfather hated spelding.
I should have known the Maclean would like this fare. My name is Alyson
Hampton. Pleased to meet you.”
    Rory nearly choked on her ingenuous recognition of his Scots
title. He hadn’t introduced himself as laird, nor did he show any outward sign
of it. He wasn’t even certain why he had given his proper name after all these
years of hiding it. Maybe she wasn’t the one who was witless, but he.
    She offered him a jug of cool, sweet water, and he took a
gulp, wishing it were something stronger. Angels and half-wits and kidnappers
all in a night strained credulity. Handing back the jug, he glanced at her bent
head as she nibbled on a scone. The hood had fallen back and he could see the
white sheen of her bare nape in the moonlight, delicately adorned with black
curls. She showed no apparent fear of him and seemed to have forgotten the
highwaymen entirely. Definitely mad.
    “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Hampton. Should I recognize
your name, since you so obviously know mine?”
    Frowning, she asked, “Do you think p’raps I ought to travel
incognito?”
    Rory gulped and swallowed his last bite practically whole.
All that blessed loveliness, and every bit as mad as a Bedlamite. “Incognito?”
he questioned stupidly.
    She didn’t appear to notice the inanity of his reply, but
began to repack her basket. She glanced to the snoring woman on the other seat,
then whispered, “If my cousin is so very desperate to have my money, he must
try again, mustn’t he? I thought I’d hidden myself very well, but perhaps that’s
not enough. Maybe I should change my name. What name do you think I should use?”
    As long as he didn’t distract her with questions, she was making
some small amount of sense. Rory wiped his fingers on the damask napkin she had
given him and gave the matter some thought. How in hell could he ascertain her
predicament if he could not ask her questions?
    “Perhaps you should tell me the whole story first,” he
suggested.
    Miss Hampton curled up under her cloak and closed her eyes. Rory
listened as she related her tale without self-consciousness, explaining her
illegitimacy and her unexpected inheritance.
    Rory could not believe his ears. As the musical voice
drifted on, unraveling the whole story for his amazement, he had the urge to
warn her not to talk to strangers. She had no business telling him all this. He
was absolutely the worst possible person for her to confide in—couldn’t she see
that?
    But, of course, she could not. Angels knew nothing of guilty
minds and lesser beings. When she finally fell asleep and her head gravitated
toward his shoulder, Rory wrapped his arm around her and settled her against
his side. Here he was, a landless, dispossessed laird, a hardened criminal, and
holding probably one of the wealthiest, most innocent women in the realm in his
arms. God might as well have parted the clouds and dropped the kingdom of
heaven on him. He couldn’t be any more dazed.
    Her breathing against his chest stirred gentle emotions, and
not all of them were base. Perhaps, just once in his life, he would do the
right thing.

4
    London, February 1760
    They switched transport somewhere during the night.
    Alyson woke to the Maclean shouting and dragging some poor
man out of his bed, insisting they could not wait until morning in this
pestilential hellhole they called an inn. With the authority of an aristocrat,
he