The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  “What is it?”

  She rapidly shook her head. “Nothing.”

  Kennan’s arms tightened around her. “Did you see something?”

  “Nay, I just had a bad thought is all.” It was a glorious, wonderful thought and one she should never again entertain. But still, now that she’d spent so much time with Sir Kennan, it was hard to imagine not being with him for the rest of her days.

  I’d best think of something else to talk about afore I go off and kiss him again.

  “Tell me more about Achnacarry.”

  “In the first place, you’ll be safe there.”

  “Even if Sergeant Corbyn comes after us?”

  “He might try, but we are not ailing, and no matter what he said about the lieutenant’s orders, he cannot hold us without grounds. I highly suspect the only orders Corbyn was acting on were his own.”

  “Even though ye had the mishap on the pier in Dundee?”

  “Even then. And if that matter should ever return to haunt me, I’m certain the Earl of Mar will petition the queen for a pardon.”

  Divana shifted to ease the pain in her backside from riding for so long. “It must be nice to have such lofty acquaintances.”

  “It is,” Kennan said, his voice straining. He must be a wee bit saddle sore as well.

  “Do ye think the folk in Achnacarry will like me?”

  “You?” He chuckled. “Och, you’re the most likeable lass I’ve ever met. My kin will adore you. Besides, ’tis like an enormous family. Da has hundreds of servants.”

  “Are they all kin?”

  “They’re all loyal to Clan Cameron. My father can raise an army of a thousand men with a snap of his fingers.”

  “He must be a powerful laird.”

  “He is—old and wise as well. Some say he’ll never die, the Great Lochiel they call him.” The rushing of a river filled the air. “This is where the footing can be a bit dicey. ’Tis a blessing we have a clear night and a bright moon to travel by.”

  “It is a blessing. If only we had a blanket, we’d both be toasty warm.” She bit her lip. The blanket had been used for their escape. She shouldn’t have mentioned it.

  “Are you cold, lass?”

  “A little, though it would be far worse without your arms around me.” She glanced up to his face. The whites of his eyes looked brighter and the green almost black.

  “When we arrive I’ll see to it you have new clothes, a cloak, and all the blankets you want.”

  “Ye would do that for me?”

  “You took me in when I was half-drowned, did you not?”

  “Aye.” She brushed a finger over his beard, the hair soft and curly. “Will I oft see ye there?”

  “Truth be told, I’m not oft home and I—” He pursed his lips.

  “You what?”

  “I’ve a score to settle with Jackson Vane.”

  “But he’s far away. Do ye nay need a new ship?”

  His expression grew distant with his curt nod. “A ship and a crew.”

  “I don’t suppose your da has a spare sea galley he can lend ye.”

  “Do not sound so certain. My da is as shrewd as he is wise.”

  “Nay unlike his son I reckon.”

  “Nay, I’m half the man my father is. Besides, it will take a bigger ship than a sea galley to find that bastard,” Kennan said with a low growl followed by an uncomfortable silence.

  Divana closed her eyes for a time. She preferred not to talk about seeking revenge on Vane or anything to do with Kennan sailing away. He didn’t know that she’d been awake when he pressed his lips to her forehead and vowed to guard her with his life. Did that mean forever or just until they reached Cameron lands?

  She yawned. “Do ye think Sergeant Corbyn kens we’ve escaped by now?”

  “I’m hoping they don’t realize we’re missing until morning.”

  * * *

  “There she is!” Kennan shouted, resisting the urge to demand a canter from the weary garron pony.

  Divana sat taller, the curves of her bottom rocking between his thighs as they’d done so many times throughout the journey. He was exhausted and sore, and yet, his mind had run the gamut of all the positions in which he’d enjoy seeing the lass’s hind end, and none of them had anything to do with riding a horse and everything to do with her riding him. Preferably in a bed—but that didn’t even matter now.

  He’d spent too much time with this woman in his arms. It was enough to torture any man who’d abstained from the sport of the bedchamber for as long as Kennan had done.

  To erase his errant thoughts, he drew in a deep breath of crisp Highland air.

  “Saint Columba,” Divana exclaimed, not masking the awe in her voice. “’Tis magnificent.”

  Kennan never tired of the sight of home. Achnacarry had been the clan seat for generations. The keep in the center of the fortress had been built by the fourth clan chief and nearly every one of his ancestors had added something since—the curtain walls, the east and west wings, the vast stables, the immaculate gardens. Though he knew one day he’d be laird, he had never been eager to assume the title from his da. By the stars, his father might very well outlive him, especially now that Kennan had vowed to go after the most heinous pirate on the high seas.

  Shouts came from the top of the guardhouse, followed by a cacophony of barking deerhounds. Before they reached the gates, the enormous portcullis raised and out ran a pair of dogs, followed by—

  Kennan nearly fell off his horse. “I’ll be damned.”

  “What is it?” Divana asked.

  “A face from the dead.”

  “Huh?”

  Runner charged toward them and grasped the pony’s bridle. “God on the cross, you’re alive!”

  “That fiendish pirate cannot get the better of me.” Kennan pointed ahead, while Runner stood gape mouthed, staring at Divana. “Good Lord, do you see that? Lachie Mor and Mr. MacNeil cheated death as well.”

  “Aye, and nearly half the crew.” The lad gave the lass a grin, then grabbed the pony’s bridle and pulled the poor animal forward until Kennan stopped him under the archway.

  Mobbed by clan and kin, he hopped down and then helped Divana to her feet.

  Lachie gripped his palm in a powerful handshake. “I kent that bastard didn’t send you to hell.”

  “Never!” Kennan craned his neck, looking toward the keep. “Where’s Lochiel?”

  “I’m coming, bless it!” Da marched from the keep with Kennan’s stepmother following closely behind.

  Hastening forward, Kennan shook his father’s hand. “By God, ’tis good to be home.”

  “You cannot ken what a relief it is to see your face, son. The lot of us feared the worst.”

  “But I never gave up hope,” said Lady Lochiel, giving Kennan a kiss on the cheek. She shifted her gaze to Divana. “Who is this?”

  The poor lass clutched her hands over her heart, staring at the ground, her face apple red.

  “Do not be shy.” Kennan stepped back and took her elbow. “This is Divana. If it weren’t for this wee lassie, I would have frozen my bones on Hyskeir.”

  “Hyskeir?” asked Lachie Mor, sounding alarmed—he must have known about the smallpox.

  “I was there a month.” Kennan swirled a calming hand around Divana’s shoulder. “We were rescued more or less by a sergeant who’s a bit too big for his breeches—locked us in the mill at Mallaig. But I wasn’t about to sit on my backside and wait until they decided to release us.”

  “Then are we to expect a visit from the queen’s dragoons?” Da asked.

  Kennan gave a single nod. “I’d reckon so.”

  “’Tis not the first time, the brigands.” Da thrust his thumb toward the keep. “Go have a wash and find some shoes. Then I’ll meet you in the library.”

  Kennan glanced at his shabby attire, but his clothes were nowhere near as badly worn as Divana’s tattered dress. “Lady Lochiel, I’ve promised this lassie she’ll be given a good home with
clothes, shoes, a bed, and all the blankets she desires. Do you reckon you can find a position for her at Achnacarry?”

  “Hmm.” Lady Lochiel frowned, giving the lass an exaggerated once-over. “Very well, if anyone can set the gel to rights, ’tis Mistress Barton. And she can always use another set of hands. Come with me, lass.”

  Divana gave Kennan’s hand a squeeze, her blue eyes filled with trepidation. “Will I see ye later?”

  “Aye. I’ll find you. Now go with my stepmother. Mistress Barton is the housekeeper and there’s none better.”

  The lass gave a nod, but she looked anything other than convinced. And Kennan had deliberately withheld her surname. They’d learn she was a Campbell soon enough, and it was best to have his kin discover what a treasure she was before they started jumping to conclusions.

  Once she’d started away, he grasped Lachie Mor’s shoulder. “How many men survived?”

  “Sixteen, counting you, sir.”

  “Damn.” He’d lost fifteen because of that bloody pirate. The treasure could be replaced, but those men’s lives were gone forever. A fist-size lump stretched in his throat. “It is all my fault.”

  “God, no, sir. You fought with the strength of ten men. Had it not been for you every last one of us would have been cut to the quick.”

  Kennan couldn’t take credit—not when there were so many dead. “Praise the saints you and the survivors are strong swimmers.”

  Lachie slapped the cabin boy on the back. “Perhaps, though the losses would be far worse if Runner hadn’t been there with the skiff. We’d have all met our end if not for him.”

  “The lad said you sent him down afore Vane attacked,” said Da, rocking back on his heels. “Wise of you.”

  Kennan let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank God I did.”

  Chapter Nine

  Divana had never been inside a grand manse, let alone a castle. When she stepped across the threshold, she was immediately transfixed. The entry alone was enormous. Dark paneling stretched to the ceiling, adorned with portrait after portrait of Kennan’s ancestors. The black-and-white-checked marble floor was immaculate and warm to her toes—mayhap because of the enormous logs burning in the hearth, three of which must have measured at least five feet long apiece.

  “There you are, Mistress Barton,” said Her Ladyship, moving toward a woman dressed in black, wearing a white apron and coif. “This is Divana…from Hyskeir. Evidently she’s been tending Sir Kennan whilst he’s been shipwrecked…”

  Divana didn’t hear the rest, for directly in front of her was a life-size portrait of Sir Kennan himself—except he didn’t look like the man she’d come to know. He was dressed in full Highland regalia with a sword at his hip, a dirk sheathed to the right of his sporran, and a musket in his hand. His bonnet was adorned with a plume of grouse feathers. The glint in his eye was fierce as he stared into the distance with a hard set to his jaw.

  “Miss?”

  Divana startled when Mistress Barton touched her elbow.

  “You must have had a terrible ordeal.” The housekeeper’s careworn face expressed concern. “Come along, and you can tell me all about it while we set you to rights.”

  Divana glanced over her shoulder. Lady Lochiel was gone. The men’s voices resounded from beyond the door, yet nothing seemed real. “’Tis as if I’ve stepped into a fairy story.”

  “Aye, there’s something magical about Achnacarry.” Mistress Barton led her through a small doorway and into a narrow corridor painted white. It was stark and nothing like the opulence of the entry. “And once a person enters into service here, they never want to leave.”

  “Sir Kennan said I’d make a good maid.”

  “Have you any experience?”

  “Experience?”

  “Folding linens, making beds, dusting, washing, preparing the table, setting fires.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ve done all that—have done since I was a wee lass.”

  “Wonderful, then I can confidently say that there will be plenty for you to do.”

  Without a word of hello, they walked straight through an enormous kitchen where people worked, chopping and washing and turning a spit in a fireplace large enough to stand in. Herbs hug from hooks on the ceiling, and raw chickens lined a table. A rather plump woman holding a cleaver looked up. “Och, what are ye on about now, Mistress Barton, bringing vagrants through my kitchens?”

  “This is Divana. She’s been shipwrecked with Sir Kennan,” the housekeeper said over her shoulder, then beckoned with her hand. “Do not fall behind, dear. We’re just passing through.”

  They exited the rear door. Outside, the woman strode directly to a stone building with smoke billowing from its chimney. “This is the servants’ bathhouse. Ladies are allowed to bathe before midday, and the lads are allowed in anytime after. I suggest taking your bath first thing when you rise. Besides, it will most likely be your duty to see the water’s changed every morn.”

  “Does Sir Kennan take his bath out here?”

  “Of course not. All members of the family bathe in their chambers.”

  Inside, warm steam enveloped her. Kettles hung suspended from blackened iron hooks over another enormous fire. The Camerons certainly must be wealthy to be able to keep so many fires burning all at once.

  Mistress Barton took a cloth from the shelf and used it to remove one of the kettles. She poured it into the bath, then repeated with a second. “There’s soap on the tray, and drying cloths on the table. Remove your clothes and climb in whilst I’ll find you something suitable to wear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And do ensure you wash your hair, dear. It looks as if it hasn’t been brushed in months.”

  “I didn’t have a brush on Hyskeir—I used me fingers.”

  “Well, that explains it.” The woman placed the empty kettle beside others near the door, then spoke over her shoulder. “Were you alone on the isle before Sir Kennan arrived?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why?”

  Divana chewed her lip. With her next words, she might end up thrown out while the housekeeper barred the gates. But they’d find out soon enough. May as well have out with it now. “Two years past, me uncle took me and me kin there to die. But I didn’t. I was the only one who beat the sickness. Had to bury the others.”

  “Good Lord, you poor child,” said the housekeeper before she stepped out the door.

  Divana stared after her. No yelling? No fear? No being forced up the tower by the point of a bayonet and locked there for ages?

  Mayhap Achnacarry was as nice as Kennan described. And the bathwater looked too tempting to ignore. Divana removed her clothes, carefully folded them, and set them on the chair. As she stepped into the warm water, she sighed audibly. It had been too long since she had enjoyed a tub of warm water. She drew the cake of soap to her nose and inhaled. The scent of roses brought another sigh.

  Och aye, this is heaven.

  Sliding down, she immersed her body and savored the bliss, closing her eyes and stirring the water with her fingers. Fancy that. She could bathe there every morning if she pleased.

  The warmth felt so heavenly, she reclined and let the water ease way the stiffness from sitting a horse for hour upon hour. Goodness she was bone weary. So much so, she wouldn’t complain if they showed her to the barn, gave her a pallet, and told her to sleep until the morrow.

  But Mistress Barton had said she’d return, and Divana didn’t want to appear a laggard—especially not to the woman who oversaw the female servants. She lathered her hair until it was slippery with soap and washed from head to toe, paying special attention to the encrusted dirt on her feet and hands.

  When the water grew cool, she stood. Good heavens, the bath had turned murky brown.

  Grabbing a cloth, she dashed to the hearth and made quick work of rubbing herself dry and wringing out her hair.

  As the door opened, a whoosh of cold air swept inside. “Here we are,” said Mistres
s Barton, sounding official and marching to the chair. “A shift, stays, a kirtle, an apron, stockings, garters, and I hope these slippers fit.”

  Divana stared, gripping the drying cloth in front of her naked body. Stays? She’d never worn them. And the slippers were leather with red ribbons. “I hope I haven’t taken someone’s things.”

  “They belong to Fiona—you’ll be sleeping in a box bed with her. She’s about your size, and I’ve ordered new clothes for the both of you. The mistress doesn’t care to see anyone in her employ dressed in rags.” Mistress Barton gathered Divana’s clothing. “And these are suited for nothing but the fire.”

  “Nay! Those are the only clothes I own—Sir Kennan tore my blanket to escape from the mill, and I’ve naught in my basket but a rock, a slingshot, and a bit of driftwood whittled by…” She didn’t finish. What might the housekeeper think if she knew how much time Divana and Kennan had spent together? They’d slept in a one-room bothy, for heaven’s sake. Even a poor lass like her knew such a thing wasn’t done—at least not among society when there were other places to sleep.

  “Well, then you’ll fare far better here.” The matron offered a warm smile right before she threw the clothing onto the flames. “Come now, pull the shift over your head and I’ll help you with the stays.”

  Divana complied, not certain about anything. Now that she was a servant, would she ever see Kennan? Where was he? Would he set sail soon and forget she’d ever existed?

  The linen shift was soft against her skin without a single hole—and the woolen kirtle was finely woven and warmer than anything she’d ever worn. Real woolen stockings and garters, too. But even with all the niceties, a thickness constricted Divana’s throat. The shoes pinched a bit, though she kept mum and didn’t complain.

  She’d come to Achnacarry because there she’d still be a part of Kennan’s world. But after her bath, she suddenly felt as alone as she’d been on Hyskeir.

  Heavenly Father, please do not let him forget me.