The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  “Do ye not remember being shot?” Divana set the cup on the table. “Ye were thrown from your horse as well—sustained quite a nasty bump to the back of your head.”

  “Och, that explains the endless throbbing.”

  It took a great deal of strength to pull himself up against the headboard, but he bore down and tried not to grunt. “I remember now. The men and I were headed to Glasgow.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “But everything after that is mired in blackness. Tell me, where’s the Lady Heather?”

  “Why, Lachie Mor and the men went on to Glasgow to oversee her refitting, just as ye’d planned.”

  “No, no, no. There is too much to be done. I must be there as well.” Kennan pushed away the bedclothes and moved his feet over the side of the bed.

  The lass jammed her fists into her hips. “Ye’ve been on the brink of death for three days and ye’ll set foot out of that bed over me dead body.”

  “I’ll not allow a woman to tell me—” His bloody knees buckled as he took his weight onto his feet.

  “Nay!” Divana caught him under the arms—uncannily strong for a wee lass. “How dare ye give me such a scare when I’ve had naught but a wink of sleep in three long days, worrying about whether ye’ll live or die.” With a gentle push she coaxed him to the mattress. “Back in bed with ye afore me heart fails.”

  “But you don’t understand,” he said, his voice cracking with the dryness.

  “I understand everything quite well. Now if ye’ll lie back, I’ll tell ye why.”

  Kennan eyed her. “Good God, I must regain my strength at once.”

  “Agreed, but ye’ll accomplish nothing by falling on your bonny face.” She shoved a lump of cheese into his hand. “Eat this, ye surlyheaded boar.”

  He took the food and clipped a bite, reaching for the water on his own. “I’m listening.”

  She told him about being ambushed by Sergeant Corbyn at the bend in the road before they arrived at Loch Eil. “The next day your father rode to Fort William and insisted the colonel put the varlet behind bars.”

  “And did he?”

  “Aye, he’s faced a court-martial as well. He’s headed for the gallows, where he belongs.”

  Kennan scowled. “Unfortunate. I’d like to challenge the fiend to a duel of swords.”

  “I think with your feud with Jackson Vane, ye’ve enough enemies ye’re hankering to fight.” She gave him a bannock, and Kennan craned his neck to see what else she might be hoarding on the table. “A missive arrived just this morn, and Lachie Mor reported he has things in hand in Glasgow.”

  “A missive? I want to see it straightaway.” Damnation, why must his head pound so?

  “I’ll fetch it for ye, but your da has read the contents and said Lachie estimates the repairs will take a month. He’s already working to recruit seasoned sailors to fill out the crew.”

  “A month, aye?”

  “Aye. That means ye’ll at least have a bit o’ time to rebuild your strength. Ye need to be able to use your arm if ye’re planning to confront a rascal like Vane and his mob of pirates.”

  Kennan gulped down a bite of bannock, though he had no appetite. “I can heal along the voyage.”

  “Och, I wouldn’t be putting the cart afore the horse about now. Ye cannot fool me. Ye nearly fell on your face when ye tried to stand.” She shook her finger under his nose, looking as if she wanted to thrash him. “I’ll tell ye true, ye ungrateful mollusk, I’ll thwack ye with the fire poker if ye do anything to hurt yourself again. After all the time I spent tending your bedside, the least ye can do is have a care for your damned self!”

  Kennan winced at her curse. She’d never before uttered a foul word. She was madder than a mother badger protecting her young—or him to be honest. And why shouldn’t she be? She’d been tending him without sleep for three days. That would make anyone irritable.

  He patted the bed beside him, the fog in his mind clearing a bit. “Did my father mention if Lachie Mor is satisfied with the refitting progress?”

  She sat. “Aye, he said they’re ahead of schedule.”

  “And he’s already interviewing the men we need?”

  “See, ye’ve nothing to worry about with Lachie and Mr. MacNeil taking up the reins—naught but healing.”

  He hoped the quartermaster wasn’t keeping the purse strings too tight. He’d best be hiring able sailors and enough of them to fight an army.

  Kennan fingered a wisp of her hair as he’d oft done. It was silky and feminine and felt like peace—smelled of serenity as well. Of course serenity wasn’t a fragrance, but her flowery scent was more than fragrant. It calmed the beast in his soul.

  “Thank you for tending me.” He brushed a finger over her cheek and along the scarred flesh on her jaw. “The few times I woke, you were always here, were you not?”

  She nodded, a tear slipping from her eye. “I would never leave your side and let ye die.”

  “You’re an angel. Far too good a woman for the likes of me.” He grinned, making his lips crack. As he wiped away her tear, he ground his molars. “I’m too cantankerous to die—especially now. There’s far too much life remaining that must be lived.”

  Her teeth flashed white with a smile as she wiped her eyes. “Now that is what I wanted to hear ye say.” She stood. “If ye promise to stay abed, I’ll fetch your missive from the table.”

  Before Kennan answered, the door swung open. “Praise God and all the saints!” boomed Da as he strode inside. “I was afraid you’d never wake.”

  “Ye ken no one can keep me abed for long.”

  “Never could.”

  Divana gave Kennan the letter—addressed to him but already opened.

  Da leaned over the bed. “I hope you don’t mind I took the liberty of reading Lachie Mor’s note.”

  Kennan unfolded the parchment. “There are no secrets between us.”

  Da patted Divana on the shoulder. “This lass hasn’t left your side. I reckon she ought to head for her chamber for a good night’s sleep.”

  Kennan looked to the window and then to the mantel. Eight o’clock. Divana should go no matter how much he wished for her to stay.

  “If ye wouldn’t mind, I’d like to make up a pallet in here,” she said. “Sir Kennan has only just opened his eyes, m’laird. I reckon ’tis still too soon to leave him alone.”

  * * *

  At the sound of creaking floorboards, Divana roused from a deep sleep and sprang from her pallet. “Ye should have awakened me!”

  Wearing only a plaid tied around his hips, Kennan gave her a sidewise glance from the washstand. “Why? You were sleeping peacefully.”

  “But ye might have fallen.”

  “’Tisn’t my legs that are sore, lass.” He winced when he tried to pick up the ewer with his left hand, then switched to his right. “I’ve been downtrodden enough times to ken the only way for a man to regain his strength is if he pushes himself.”

  She supposed he was right. After all, he’d pushed himself a great deal on Hyskeir. Most likely, she’d do the same. “What can I do to help?”

  “I’m starved.”

  “Good.”

  “Hmm?” he asked, splashing his face with water.

  “Last eve I ordered—”

  “Good morn.” Fiona stood in the doorway holding an enormous breakfast tray, but she took one look at Kennan and gasped. “Are you not ready to break your fast, sir?”

  “I’m past ready.” He splashed under his arms. “Put the tray on the table in front of the hearth.”

  “You’ll not be taking your meal in bed?” asked Divana.

  “No, I absolutely will not.”

  Fiona did as told, then looked at Divana as if she were shocked—she, the lass who’d been above stairs with Garry on Beltane, the wee harlot.

  “Would ye be needing anything else?” Fiona asked.

  The two women looked expectantly at Kennan, who, bare chested, faced them with a hand planted on his hip. “It smells delic
ious.”

  “Divana ordered the tray. Since ye were injured, she’s become quite good at ordering everyone about.”

  “Fiona!” Divana scolded.

  “Perhaps that’s why I’m standing here on my own two feet at this very moment.” Kennan smirked and flicked his hand. “That will be all, thank you.”

  Divana headed straight for the table and held the chair. “I haven’t been ordering people about.”

  He took the back of the chair and wrested it from her grasp. “Nay? Then I must ask you not to order me about, either.”

  “I beg your pardon? I’ve done no such thing.”

  He didn’t argue. After all, he must forgive her for her wee tirade yesterday. She’d been exhausted. “I’ll seat myself from here on out.”

  “Very well.”

  He gestured across the table to the opposite chair. “Join me. There’s enough food here to feed a crew of ornery sailors.”

  “One ornery captain is enough,” she whispered under her breath.

  “What was that?”

  Divana drew in a breath before she sat. “I kent ye’d be hungry, so I asked Cook to send up porridge, eggs, sausages, haggis, and toast.”

  He speared a sausage with his fork. “No ale?”

  She picked up the teapot and poured. “According to Mistress Ava, tea is better for your constitution.”

  He ate the sausage, reached for a piece of toast, and dipped it in the egg yolk. “I generally prefer a pint of ale with my breakfast.”

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  He didn’t respond as his mouth appeared to be too full.

  “Are ye sore?” she asked.

  He swallowed. “Been sorer.”

  “Good.” Divana wrapped a sausage in her toast. She supposed that was Kennan’s way of saying he was sore but he’d endure. She examined him while she chewed. “’Cause if ye’re feeling as well as ye say, then ’tis nigh time to step outside for some fresh air.”

  He saluted with his cup. “Now that’s something I can agree to. This chamber has grown awfully stuffy.”

  She used the wee spoon from the salt cellar to sprinkle her egg. Truly, she hadn’t expected Kennan to agree so readily. After all, he must not only walk down three flights of stairs, but also climb them on the way back. And there was no chance he’d allow one of the men to help him unless he was out senseless.

  What might they do that wouldn’t be too taxing? Of course, if she asked him, he’d insist on some activity requiring such an outlay of exertion, he’d collapse…However, if that happened, the guards would be able to carry him above stairs. She took a bite of egg. “The lilacs in the garden are in bloom.”

  “Ah yes. They were planted by my mother, God rest her soul.”

  “Then I’m certain it would please her to have ye enjoy them.”

  “You’re right.”

  Divana nearly dropped her fork. He’d agreed without so much as a single objection. Perhaps the knock on the head had done him some good. “I’m glad of it.” She sat a bit taller. “I think I like ye better when ye agree with me.”

  His tongue slipped to the corner of his mouth, licking a morsel there. “Is that so?”

  Her gaze slipped from his eyes to the tawny curls on his chest. Heavens, the man clearly had lost little strength in the past three days. How did he manage it? Always to look so braw no matter his state?

  “There’s a clean shirt, hose, and kilt on the trunk. I’ll visit the privy whilst ye dress.” Lochiel had brought in a new doublet for Kennan as well, but she wasn’t going to suggest he try to put it on. Not when his shoulder looked like a gnarled patch of angry and swollen flesh. Goodness, he still had red marks where Mistress Ava had applied the leeches.

  Divana made quick work of tending to her needs and, when she returned to Kennan’s bedchamber, he was dressed and seated at his writing table. His quill fluttered through the air with strokes of his pen.

  “What are ye writing?”

  “I need to dispatch a letter to Lachie Mor. Let him know I’m healing well and thank him for stepping up his effort—ensure he has enlisted all the men we need—skilled men of fine character.”

  “I’m certain he’ll appreciate hearing from ye.”

  “He’s a good hand.”

  Divana looked longingly over his shoulder, wishing she’d learned to read. “Ye should be proud to have Lachie Mor do your bidding.”

  “I am.” He rested the quill in the holder and sanded the parchment. “I’ll just seal this and then we can pay a visit to the garden.”

  She didn’t know whether it was the food or the fact that she’d agreed with him, but choosing to let him set the pace for his recovery seemed like the right thing to do. Though once they’d started down the spiral stairs, she wondered if her judgment had been sound. Kennan’s face grew drawn and pained as he cradled his left arm.

  Divana stopped at the first-floor landing. “Let me go fashion a sling.”

  He scowled. “I do not need a bloody sling.”

  “Very well then.” She gave him a squint. “Ye might try stepping up your pace. Ye’re lagging.”

  “Bloody miserable taskmaster,” he mumbled from behind as she started off.

  Grinning, she purposely pattered down the steps at a quick tack, then feigned amusement as he lumbered after her. But he didn’t complain, just gestured forward. “Lead on.”

  “Aye, master.”

  He grumbled again, but this time she didn’t catch what he’d said. It didn’t matter. He was hurting yet determined to keep going. No matter how much she cringed on the inside, she wouldn’t let him see anything but a bright and cheery face.

  “Here we are,” she said, sliding onto a bench amid a sea of lilac. She didn’t pat it. She didn’t suggest he sit beside her. She merely smiled and took of deep breath of the heady fragrance on the air.

  Kennan more or less collapsed beside her, his chest heaving. “Damnation.” Several minutes passed before he spoke again. “Forgive me for being a cantankerous grumbler. I shouldn’t have barked at you this morn.”

  “Apology accepted. I imagine I’d be doing a fair bit of grousing if someone shot me in the shoulder.”

  “It is not you with whom I am angry.”

  “I ken.”

  He lumbered to his feet, cupped a clump of lilacs, and inhaled. “Ma loved to sit here on fine days and read.”

  “I’ll wager she was an extraordinary woman.”

  “None better.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  He plucked the bunch he’d been admiring. “Every day.”

  “I miss me kin as well, especially me ma.”

  Turning, he sat again, but this time he presented her with the lilacs. “For you. These blooms are as bonny as your smile.”

  Her heart swelled as if dozens of butterflies set to flight, levitating her chest and limbs. As she breathed in the scent, Divana knew without a single doubt there was nothing she wouldn’t do for this man.

  Chapter Fifteen

  You’ve managed to live nineteen years without riding a horse?” Kennan asked as he and Divana walked into the stables. Three days had passed since he’d barely made it to the garden before collapsing on the bench, doing his best to act as if he hadn’t needed to catch his breath. Nonetheless, his strength was returning, albeit far too slowly for the likes of a sea captain. He pushed himself every day, refusing to give in to the pain. Thank God the throbbing in his head had finally eased, and his shoulder was mending, or so Kennan ventured to believe.

  “I’ve been on the back of a horse afore—like when we rode from Mallaig, but me da couldn’t afford a mule let alone a pony—very few crofters in Connel have the coin to buy horses.”

  “Then ’tis about time you learned.”

  Garry met them with a pitchfork in hand. “’Tis a fine day for riding.”

  “Indeed,” said Kennan. After they’d agreed to a wee riding lesson, the lass had packed a satchel with bread and cheese, and Kennan had added a b
ottle of wine and two wooden cups that wouldn’t break—they weren’t even chipped. “Please saddle your most even-tempered gelding for Miss Divana and put a halter and lead line on him.”

  “Straightaway.” Garry gave Divana a once-over—taking a bit too long for Kennan’s taste. “Sidesaddle?”

  Unsure, she shifted her gaze to Kennan. “Ah—aye?”

  “Aye,” he clipped, stepping between the lass and the stable hand. Good Lord, her skirts would hike up to her knees or further if she sat astride. It was already difficult enough to keep his emotions in check, but if she trotted around the round pen bare legged, she’d have every young buck in Achnacarry hankering to bed her—especially Garry it appeared.

  “Shall I saddle yours, sir?”

  “Yes, but I’ll not ride until Miss Divana has been comfortable in the round pen.”

  As Garry set to task, Kennan stroked the nose of a horse watching them with his head poked over the door to his stall. “All horses have different temperaments, but I’ve found they’re likely to be less ornery if you use a light touch.”

  She patted the sorrel’s neck. “Ye mean pet them?”

  “Petting never hurts. But when riding sidesaddle, you kick with your heel and tap with your crop—start lightly. Only use as much pressure as you need to move the beast along.”

  “Truly? What about spurs and all that?”

  “You’ll not need spurs today. In fact, when I see how they can be misused, I wish they’d never been invented.”

  “Here we are,” said Garry, leading an old gelding up to the mounting block. “This fella is as gentle as a lamb.”

  Kennan offered his hand and helped Divana step up, relishing the feel of her cool fingers tickling his palm.

  But the lass wasn’t looking at him. She eyed the stable hand rather intently. “Have ye convinced Fiona to marry ye yet?”

  Garry blanched. “Er…ah…nay.”

  “I wouldn’t dawdle about. She’s a good lass and deserves better I reckon.”

  Kennan gave the lad a pointed frown. “Do we need to have a conversation?”