by Amy Jarecki
* * *
Fiona was a healthy-looking lass with brown hair and rosy cheeks. Thank goodness she was a bit bigger around than Divana, because wearing her stays already made it difficult to breathe.
Divana stood in front of a mirror while Fiona worked a comb through Divana’s hair. “I do not believe I’ve ever seen so many knots.”
“Mayhap we should cut it.”
Fiona gaped. “Cut this bonny mane of red? ’Twould be a sacrilege.”
“I’m sorry ye’ve been tasked with combing it.”
“Nonsense. Mistress Barton excused me from replenishing the water in the bathhouse. For that, I’d comb ten heads of knotted hair.”
Divana couldn’t help but chuckle. Replenishing the water in the bathhouse seemed easy compared to daily survival on Hyskeir. “How long have ye been at Achnacarry?”
“All of my life. My father is the stable master, and Ma is a lady’s maid.” Fiona worked through a clump and started at the ends of another. “I’m hoping to be a lady’s maid one day.”
“For Her Ladyship?”
“Aye, if Ma retires, or for Sir Kennan’s wife—or one of the other sons’ wives. If they would ever grow serious and wed. Since Miss Janet married Laird Grant, there hasn’t been a need for a second lady’s maid.”
Though Divana had spoken to Kennan about his eventual marriage, having someone mention his nuptials as if they were written on the stars and about to happen on the morrow made her hackles rise. She took in a breath and let it out slowly.
Sir Kennan is not for me. How many times must I remind meself of that fact?
Regardless of their differences in station, he’d come to mean so much to her in such a short time. And now that they had been rescued, things would change entirely. He wouldn’t be whittling driftwood across the bothy, his green eyes shifting her way now and again. He wouldn’t be helping her dig for clams or fixing the thatch on the roof. He was the son of a great laird, a sea captain. And by the size of Achnacarry, he was likely one of the most sought after bachelors in the Highlands.
How will I endure it?
She regarded her reflection and turned her chin, running her fingers along the pocked scars. Divana had known they were there, but it had been difficult to picture them. Before she’d been stricken with smallpox, there wasn’t a blemish on her face aside from a splay of freckles across her nose. Kennan would most likely want a wife with creamy smooth skin without a single spot.
Fiona tugged the comb so hard, if felt as if Divana’s hair would come out at the roots. “You’ll be working alongside me to begin with.”
Gulping, Divana tried to smile, though her heart was twisting in a hundred knots. “I should like that.” Hopefully, she sounded sincere. In truth she just wanted to crumple to the floor and weep. So much had happened since they’d left Hyskeir. It was difficult enough not to have Kennan nearby to answer questions or to protect her with his brawny arms. Yes, she wanted to enter into service and make her own coin. She desperately wanted to find a place to call home. But things had changed so fast, it overwhelmed her.
“Tell me, what is your age?” asked Fiona.
Blinking back the sting of tears, Divana cleared her throat. “I reckon I’m nineteen, or near enough. Ye?”
“Nineteen as well.”
“We’re the same age?” Divana’s spirits dove a bit further. “Here ye are in training to be a lady’s maid and I’ve never had a position in a castle afore.”
“You’ll be fine. Besides, you’ll have me to show you what to do.” Fiona tugged Divana’s tresses around to the back and set to braiding. “Now tell me, how long were you marooned with Sir Kennan?”
Divana didn’t miss the mischief in Fiona’s eyes. Though she craved friendship, it was best to keep her feelings under wraps. “I suppose it caused quite a stir when we rode through the gates together looking like a pair of ragamuffins, did it not?”
“Aye, the entire castle is buzzing with gossip.”
“I do not think ’tis nice to gossip.”
“Are you jesting?” Fiona’s comb paused while she laughed aloud. “At Achnacarry life would be ever so dull without it. They’re saying you suffered a dread illness.”
“I did, but I’m well now.”
“So, what happened between you and the Cameron heir?”
“I suppose Ken—er—Sir Kennan is sharing the story with his da as we speak.” Divana took in a deep breath, trying to stretch her annoying stays. “All I ken is he washed ashore after the Highland Reel was lost. Have you not heard the tale from Lachie Mor?”
Chapter Ten
Shaven and dressed in a decent suit of clothes, yet exhausted clear to his bones, Kennan cast a forlorn glance to his four-poster bed before he left his chamber and headed for the library. He’d rehearsed the explanation of the battle in his head a hundred times, but nonetheless, facing his father wouldn’t be easy. What son who’d lost his ship, half his crew, and a fortune could stand in front of the Great Lochiel and hold his head high?
I cannot.
But Kennan must own up to and look his demons in the eye. Only then would he be free to seek the reckoning he craved clear to his very bones. Arriving at the library far faster than he’d intended, he stood for a moment and rubbed his weary eyes.
May as well have it done with.
He opened the door and popped his head inside. “Are you ready to receive me, sir?”
Lochiel put down his correspondence and motioned for Kennan to take a seat across the table. “For a moment I thought you might have fallen victim to your pillow.”
“Nay, though I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it beckoned.” Kennan sat on the edge of the chair, his back erect. “I suppose ’tis best to start at the beginning—confess my sins, so to speak.”
“We’re all sinners, lad.” Da slowly turned the globe and tapped a spot that Kennan was unable to see. “Lachie Mor filled me in on most of it. Vane attacked with three schooners. No captain in all of Christendom would have been able to fend off an attack of that magnitude with one wee ship. You fought until the end—five at once, I’m told.”
Kennan nodded while his father took a breath.
“Vane made you watch your men walk the plank. Runner managed to save many. But they lost you. Afore you met your supposed demise, a mighty gale blew through the channel, the Reel sailed off too fast for the lads to keep her in their sights. Nary a man thought my son had met his end, but they all vowed you were lost at sea.” Da reached for a flagon of whisky and two goblets. “Does that about sum it up?”
“Aye—I couldn’t have abbreviated any better.”
“And the rest of it?” Pulling the stopper, Da sniffed it. “You washed ashore on Hyskeir. What about the lass? Why have you brought her here?”
“Divana fed me. Took me in when I was at death’s door. During the fighting, I sustained a near-mortal cut across my stomach. Once they caught me, a Goliath of a brute put a noose around my neck. Thank God the bastards decided to toy about afore they strung me up from the Reel’s mast. As I made my escape and leapt overboard, I was shot in the arm, then had a nice disagreement with a mob of sharks. I was half-dead when I crawled onto the shore.” Kennan’s scars throbbed as if he’d suffered his injuries only a day prior. “Divana was living in a decrepit bothy on the isle. I mightn’t have made it back alive if it weren’t for her kindness.”
“Then she’s welcome here.”
“Thank you. She’s had a rough time of it. The bloody Campbells dumped the lass and her kin on the isle to die.” Kennan pursed his lips. The word smallpox had a way of striking fear in the hearts of the toughest of men. Hell, even he had shrunk from the woman when he first discovered the reason for her exile.
“By the marks on her face, I can imagine.” Da poured the whisky, then pushed a goblet to Kennan. “She’s completely healed?” Of course, he knew. He was bloody Lochiel.
He raised the drink to his lips. “I wouldn’t have brought her here if she weren’t.”
<
br /> “I thought no less.” Glancing aside, Lochiel frowned. “She’s a Campbell, you say?”
“Was,” Kennan clarified, “She cares never to set eyes on her kin again.”
“Good.” The old man sat back and savored a swallow of fine Highland spirit. Kennan, too. “So now you’re home, what do you aim to do?”
“I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t spent every waking hour plotting revenge.”
Da held his cup aloft. “Hear, hear. Word is Vane is skulking somewhere in the Caribbean.”
“I don’t doubt it. He’s most likely whoring and spending my coin. Dammit, Da, I recovered a king’s ransom in silver, not to mention vast quantities of rum and silks.”
“Then you must go after it.”
“I’d like nothing more, but I need a ship—one with big bloody guns and a crew thrice the size of the last.”
“I’ve thought the same as well.”
Kennan pushed his goblet away. One sip of whisky and his fatigue returned with full force. “Aye, but none of our galleys are large enough for a sea voyage deep into the Atlantic.”
“I’ll write to the Baronet of Sleat. He’s a shrewd businessman. With your proven captainship and the promise of a piece of the spoils, I’d wager he might sell us one of his fleet to further our cause.”
“Sleat, aye?” It had been years since Kennan captained the old brig for the baronet, sailing packing salt up and down the British seaboard and over to the Continent. Hell, he’d even sailed her to Spain. “’Tis worth inquiring, I’ll say.”
Da reached for a slip of parchment. “I’ll write him straightaway.”
Before his father picked up his quill, Kennan placed his hand atop the parchment. “I’m a grown man. The letter ought to come from me.”
Da frowned, but then slid the paper across the table. “Very well. Then I’ll contact your uncle in Glasgow. If Sleat doesn’t bite, Sir Broden may have some ideas as well. After all, ’tis your gold we’ll be spending.”
It was. Prince James had generously paid Kennan for his efforts in taking back a fortune in gold from Claude Dubois at Versailles with the help of the Earl and Countess of Mar. Some of his share he’d spent to purchase the cargo he’d lost on the Highland Reel. The remainder was in a strongbox hidden behind a false wall in his chamber—possibly enough to purchase an old ship from an ally.
“Good thinking.”
“I’m certain it comes as no shock when I say this state of affairs makes me ill.” Da poured himself another dram. “I’ll tell ye true, son, if it didn’t take two years to commission a ship, I’d order one built this very day. No man attacks my kin without paying in blood.”
* * *
Kennan had planned to find Divana after his meeting with his father, but it wasn’t to be. He’d also wanted to meet with Lachie Mor and Mr. MacNeil, but Da had detained him, talking more about Vane and matters at home. Over the course of several hours, they’d managed to consume the entire flagon of whisky, after which Kennan had barely made it back to his bed before the exhaustion of riding all night overcame him.
But first thing the next morn, he woke early and, after visiting the kitchens, found the lass working in the dining hall with Fiona. And it didn’t surprise him to see Divana on her knees shoveling ash from the hearth while Fiona flitted about with a duster.
“There you are,” Kennan said, walking straight toward the Campbell lass.
Fiona gasped, dipping into a ridiculously low curtsy. “Sir! My, you’re up early.”
Looking back at the maid, Divana cringed while she pushed to her feet and attempted a curtsy while brushing the ash from her apron. “Good morn, sir.”
“Ah…” Scratching his freshly shaven chin, Kennan looked between the two. Suddenly everything had changed. He was the master and Divana the servant. Somehow he hadn’t anticipated an instant change in their friendship. But then, why wouldn’t there be? ’Twas the way of things…and he cared for it not one bit.
As she straightened, he leaned in and looked her over from head to toe. Though dressed simply, she looked as radiant as a queen. He’d never seen her hair brushed and flowing about her shoulders like copper silk. Was it the ray of light shining in from the window that made her eyes sparkle, her face glow, her unsure smile absolutely captivating?
“Is something amiss, sir?” asked Fiona.
“N-no.” Still staring at Divana, he wiped a hand across his mouth. “I…ah…wanted to ensure Divana was…uh. Are you well, lass?”
She turned a brilliant shade of scarlet, making her all the more alluring. “Quite well, thank ye. Fiona has been very helpful.”
Kennan’s gaze slipped to the other maid, but not for long. “And you slept soundly?”
“Och, I’ve never been so comfortable.”
“And my mother is taking good care of you?”
Divana folded her hands, appearing more uncomfortable than he’d ever seen her. “I’ve not seen Her Ladyship since she introduced me to Mistress Barton, but ye were right, there’s plenty to eat, and there’s heaps of blankets on our bed—”
“Our bed?” he asked, ready to strangle the fiend.
“She’s sharing with me, of course,” said Fiona.
“Right.” Kennan rubbed the back of his neck. He’d rather thought Divana would have a bed all to herself, but what did he know about the maids’ quarters? “Well, then, is there anything you need?”
Divana chewed her bottom lip as she cast her gaze downward. “’Tis most likely not proper of me to say—’cause I was told not to speak to any of his lairdship’s kin—”
“Unless spoken to,” Fiona added.
“Aye…if ye must ken, these shoes pinch my feet something awful.” A black slipper slid out from beneath her hem.
“Divana!” Fiona chided.
Kennan moved closer for a better look at the offending shoe. “No bother. I asked.” Indeed, Divana’s foot looked a bit cramped—most likely because she’d gone without shoes her whole life. “I will ensure the cobbler fashions a pair that fits.”
Fiona flourished her duster. “Och, that is ever so gracious of you, sir.”
He looked to the maid and she arched her brows, giving a nervous smile. “Would you mind leaving us for a moment?”
“You and Divana?”
“Aye, if you would, please.”
Fiona curtsied. “Very well, sir.” She glanced between them, blinking as if she didn’t know what to make of the situation or if she ought to leave them alone. “I-I’ll just take my duster to the entry if you should need me.”
Divana brushed a bit of soot from her apron. “I’ll be along after I’ve swept the ash from the hearth.”
Once Fiona slipped out the door, Divana threw out her hands. “I am sorry if I was impertinent. But ye asked and I’m just not accustomed to wearing shoes.”
“I thought not, but the cobbler can make you a pair with a wee bit wider fit that shouldn’t pinch so.”
She crossed her arms and paced. “Ye must think me a shrew with such big feet.”
“They’re not nearly as large as mine.”
“That’s because you’re a man.”
“Yes.” And he was ever so aware of it at the moment.
She whipped around and faced him, her eyes ablaze with dozens of emotions—anger, hurt, confusion, and fear. “Things feel different between us now.”
He almost asked, “How so?” But since yesterday morning, things had suddenly grown quite awkward. “Och, there’s no need for you to be formal in my presence. That’s why I sent Fiona away.”
“She has been kind to me.” Divana turned in a circle, making her skirts billow. “She braided my hair yesterday, and this morn when she brushed it, she said it was too bonny to tie back again.” She drew her tresses through her hand. “I hope Mistress Barton doesn’t reprimand me.”
Kennan couldn’t help but capture a lock and twirl the silken strand around his finger. He’d missed her company last night as he lay in his bed, alone in a chamber f
ive times the size of the bothy. The lass was funny and, no matter the hardship she faced, she was always smiling and cheerful. “If she does, I ought to reprimand her back.” He drew the hair to his nose and inhaled. Good God, she smelled like woman and roses. Before his knees grew weak, he released the curl. “Your hair should always be thus unbound.”
Divana chuckled and reached toward his freshly shaven chin but drew her hand away before she touched him. “Ye look so different.”
“So do you.”
“Well, I ought to, I suppose. I had the most wonderful bath in all me days. Though I ken not what I’ll do if Fiona wants her shift and kirtle back because Mistress Barton burned me clothes.” Divana smoothed her hands down her rib cage. “I reckon I wouldn’t mind if she took these stays back, though. They’re miserably uncomfortable. I would have said that first if we were alone.”
He grinned, loving her candidness. Why weren’t more women so blatantly honest about such things? “I’ve oft wondered how women put up with those constricting contrivances.”
“Well, if I must wear them to be able to stay on at Achnacarry, I’ll do it.”
“I’m glad you’re happy here.”
“It is better than Hyskeir.” She blushed and looked to the floor. “Far better.”
“Agreed.”
“But what about Sergeant Corbyn and the dragoons? Are we safe?”
“If you ask me, there’s no safer fortress in all of Scotland than Achnacarry. And as I said before, they had no grounds on which to hold us.”
“Aside from the incident in Dundee.”
“Aye, well, there’s that.” He almost grasped her hand but stopped himself. “But I’ve strong allies. And my father is sending a missive to the colonel at Fort William for good measure.”
“Your da is close with the colonel?”
“They’re on amicable terms.”
“So no one will come and haul us to the pillory?”
“I hope not.” His fingers itched to touch her—to pull the woman into his arms and make promises he couldn’t keep. “Da says this is your clan now.”
“I like that.” With her hands behind her back she swayed, looking coy and ever so kissable. “Yesterday your men seemed overjoyed to see ye.”
