The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  “I’ve learned how to tie meself in. Me arms are stronger as well.”

  “I could assign you to the galley.”

  She shifted her fists to her hips and gave a saucy snort. “Why didn’t ye do that in the first place?”

  “Galley work is usually reserved for the older sailors, or those with injuries who cannot stand up to the rigors of manning the decks.”

  “So galley work is preferential treatment as well?”

  “If I give the order, no one will balk.”

  “At least not when ye’re nearby.” She twirled to the door. “No sense changing things now. Besides, with Nassau so near, I might actually see something interesting when I’m on watch.”

  On the way out, Kennan patted her backside. “You’re too bonny to impersonate a lad.”

  Divana giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth, praying no one heard. “Sto-op.”

  As they stepped onto the deck, Ethan glared over from his post, manning the crank to the bilge pump. “Mornin’, Captain,” he said, though he was scowling at Divana like he always did.

  Kennan looked to the cloudless skies as he assumed his role, gripping the lapels of his doublet, not giving Divana a second glance. He started up the steps to the quarterdeck. “’Tis a fine morning, indeed.”

  “Davy,” barked Lachie Mor. “Coil these ropes afore you climb the rigging.”

  Divana snapped to attention. “Aye, aye, sir.”

  She always tried to ignore Kennan while she worked, but after last night, she felt as if someone had released a vat of bubbles inside her. She’d slept the entire night in the Highlander’s arms. If only she could dance across the deck and sing! Shout to the skies that she was utterly, inexplicably in love.

  Stealing a wee peek, she found the braw captain had moved to the helm. He was watching her, too, and gave her a nod. Was he thinking about her as well? Thinking about…Saint Columba’s bones, how was she to endure the entire day until they were alone again?

  “Ye are awful friendly with the captain,” said a reedy voice from behind, making prickles nettle Divana’s back.

  She didn’t need to turn to know it was Ethan. If anyone had something awful to say, it always seemed to be him. She gave a sharp nod. “He has been kind, taking me under his wing.”

  “Och, lassie, ye’re no’ fooling me.”

  Her hands froze on the rope as heat flushed through her blood. Lassie? “What are ye on about now?” she barked in her deepest voice. “Have ye gone daft?”

  “I ken who ye are. Figured it out when ye were making eyes at the captain.” He leaned down, the stench of sour breath wafting into her face. “Do no’ deny it, else I’ll make a ruckus, but I remember, I do. Ye’re the kitchen maid from Achnacarry.”

  She wound the rope with vigor. “Ye’re mad.”

  Ethan gripped her shoulder like a vise. “I saw ye churnin’ butter when I went to fetch stores—and ye were talkin’ to Runner.”

  Divana’s mind raced. Pursing her lips, she pushed the varlet aside. “Leave me be.”

  “Tell ye what.” Ethan waggled his brows, shifting his gaze to her breasts. “You give me what I need and I’ll keep your secret.”

  She set to coiling as fast as possible, refusing to respond. This was exactly why Kennan wanted her to impersonate a lad. Disgusting brigands like Ethan were whoremongers of the worst sort.

  He licked his lips. “Worry not, lass. Though I’d be the first in line to sample your wares, I’d be the last to invite the captain’s ire. All I want is your share of the spoils.”

  “What makes you think there will be any plunder?” Runner had mentioned there might be, but there were no assurances, were there?

  “Och, now I ken you’re a bloody female. Ye may have your sights on Lochiel’s son, but the rest of us are here for just rewards.”

  “Even though there may be none?”

  “If the captain doesn’t want a mutiny, there will be.”

  She moved slower, pretending to ensure the rope was tidy. “Are ye saying the men are planning to turn against Sir Kennan?”

  “I’m bloody saying they will if they think he’s lied to them about the likes of ye. If they catch wind of his deceit, they’ll reckon he’s lied about other things as well.” He grabbed her by the wrist and twisted. “And I’ll stir up the crew something fierce if ye spout a word of this to a goddamned soul. Moreover, I’ll make your life so miserable ye’ll wish ye had never been born.”

  “Remove your hand from Davy’s wrist,” growled Lachie Mor, moving to the rail with a dirk in his fist. “Now, I say.”

  Immediately snapping to attention, Ethan released his grip. “Just having a wee chat, sir.”

  “You can talk all you want when you’re not on bloody duty. Now off with you.”

  Before he sauntered away, Ethan gave her a pointed look. “I’m watching.”

  After he’d gone, Divana secured the end of the rope into the coil and hefted it over a belaying pin. “Thank ye, sir.”

  The quartermaster frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. “You never should have stowed away. The sea is no place for a woman.”

  She paced in a circle while she watched Lachie Mor head aft. Blast it all, if it was payment the varlet wanted, then so be it. Divana didn’t give a fig about riches. She’d been poor all her life. She’d scraped and clawed for her daily food. The dearest thing to her heart? The wee carving Kennan had made on Hyskeir. She didn’t need a purse of silver, and a cask of rum would do her no good whatsoever.

  Runner signaled to her from the crow’s nest and, for the first time since she began this voyage, she was overjoyed to climb the rigging. The pox to Ethan and his threats. She might let him steal from her, but she’d never allow him to cross Kennan!

  “What took ye so long?” asked Runner, giving her a hand to scramble over the side of the nest.

  “I had to coil the ropes first.” She brushed herself off. “May I ask ye a question?”

  “Make it fast ’cause I have something to show ye.”

  “Are the men content?”

  The lad gave a lopsided grin. “They’ll be a whole lot more bloody content after a few nights ashore.”

  Feigning an affronted gasp, she shoved him in the shoulder. “’Twas not what I meant—are they receiving a fair wage?”

  “Aye. Anyone aboard who might be unhappy is addled in the mind.” Runner grasped her arm and pointed. “Now look yonder. I waited until ye climbed up so ye’d be the one to holler down to the quarterdeck.”

  Divana shaded her eyes, squinting until she saw the faintest outline of something dark on the horizon. “Saint Columba! Is that what I think it is?”

  “’Tis land, or my name isn’t Baltazar MacGee.” Runner slung an arm around her shoulders. “Ye’d best alert them now, Davy.”

  If she weren’t so high off the deck, she might take his hand and dance a jig. Instead, she cupped her hands over her mouth, careful to keep her voice deep. “Land ho!”

  * * *

  Lachie Mor stepped into Kennan’s cabin. “The skiff is ready, Captain.”

  The ship was always peaceful when at anchor, and more so today, protected in the harbor between Nassau and Hog Island. Seated at his writing desk, Kennan replaced the quill in its holder and wiped the sweat from his brow. “My thanks. I’ll be there directly.”

  At the table, Divana closed the book detailing the types of sailing ships. She’d already learned her letters and taken to reading like a fish to water. Her smile was fresh as spring, and it appeared the sweltering air affected her little. She hopped to her feet. “I’m ready as well.”

  “I think ’tis best if you remained aboard ship.”

  “Stay here? Whilst ye walk on dry land? But I’m not on watch. I-I’ve been looking forward to going ashore ever so much.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “Please, ye cannot expect me to remain behind. I’ve never been anywhere away from the Highlands.”

  Kennan put his tricorne on his head. He hadn’t ment
ioned his misgivings to the lass because she’d be disappointed. “I’m sorry but—”

  “Ye cannot make me miss Nassau. Not when Runner has told me so many stories about the place.”

  Kennan imagined the tall tales the lad had spun. “The isle is not but a den of thieves since the governor’s office was sacked ten years past.” Groaning, he looked to the lantern, gently swaying from its hook in the ceiling. What if she were hurt? He’d never forgive himself. “Besides, I’m nay stepping ashore for pleasure. I’ll not be stopping at the markets or bartering for cloth. I’m seeking information and that is all.”

  She stepped in front of the bloody door and spread her arms as if she could stop him from leaving. “Very well, but I see no reason why I cannot tag along. I promise ye’ll hardly ken I’m about. Besides, ye might need an errand boy.”

  “Not on Nassau. There’s no chance I’ll let you out of my sight amongst those slippery snakes—I wouldn’t trust a one of them.”

  “Did ye say out of your sight?” She beamed—a glorious smile that made the freckles across her nose stretch and her eyes sparkle like a shallow sea. “So ye’ll let me go with ye?”

  Kennan eyed her, a low growl rumbling in his throat. How was a man to resist such a face, especially when those eyes continually bewitched him?

  “Have I ever given ye cause to doubt my loyalty?”

  “Nay.” He tugged down the sleeves of his coat, kicking himself for being so bloody soft. “Come along, then, we haven’t much time.”

  It wasn’t long before his men pulled the skiff onto the beach and Kennan hopped out with Divana and Lachie Mor. It nearly killed him not to carry her through the ankle-deep water, but bare feet and all she leaped over the side of the boat and waded to the shore with the others. Clearly, she’d taken Runner’s lessons to heart. In truth, having the cabin boy with him might make people less suspicious.

  “I’ll head for the taverns,” said Lachie Mor. “See what I can uncover there.”

  Kennan straightened his sword belt. “And I’ll hunt down an honest merchant in this den of thieves.”

  The quartermaster snorted. “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “Perhaps, but I ken someone who isn’t overly fond of Jackson Vane.”

  “I wish ye luck, then,” said Lachie Mor as he headed for the din of the town.

  Kennan placed his hand on Divana’s shoulder and tilted his lips toward her ear. “Stay near.”

  “Who are we going to see?”

  “There’s a woman I can trust.”

  “A woman?” Not one for hiding her emotions, Divana crossed her arms and scrunched her nose. “I thought ye said not to trust anyone here.”

  He headed up the beach toward the market. To be honest, Kennan had his reservations about visiting Helen Evans for a host of reasons. “Let’s just say she hates Jackson Vane as much as I.”

  As they strode along the main street, he saw the place hadn’t changed much since he was last there. Ramshackle wooden shops stood side by side, with the odd two-story brothel, whores adorning their balconies. Sweaty, tanned men strutted in groups—uniformed in black leather vests, and knee breeches of all sorts. They scowled, the skin around their eyes etched from years of squinting in the blistering sun. Every varlet walked with his shoulders back, resting his hand on the hilt of a cutlass or the handle of a flintlock pistol.

  A woman held up a coconut as they passed her stall. “God’s nectar, this is. Only cost ye two pennies.”

  Kennan ignored her while Divana tapped his elbow. “What are those?”

  “Coconuts.”

  “Have ye tried them?”

  “Aye.”

  “I sure am thirsty.”

  He shot her a look. “Wheesht. Remember what I said.”

  As they passed stalls with silks, sizzling sticks of pork, and necklaces made from shells, the lass whimpered. But she didn’t speak until a whore called down from a second-story window. “Two shags for the price of one, gov’ner.”

  “What’s this? Fresh meat?” said another with a howling laugh.

  “Are those jezebels?” Divana asked.

  “Pay them no mind,” he grumbled under his breath, wagering every last one of them carried the pox.

  “Saint Columba,” she whispered, hastening her step. “We’re certainly nay in Scotland anymore, are we?”

  “Are you sorry you came?”

  “Och, nay—’tis fascinating.”

  After they’d passed through the market, the houses became a tad more respectable looking. But most showed signs of disrepair, even after the year or so since he’d last walked these dirt roads, made white by the sand. He spotted Helen Evans’s house up the hill, not far from the governor’s mansion at the top, which stood in ruins with black soot around its hollow windows.

  Kennan’s gut turned over. He didn’t relish a meeting with Helen. They hadn’t parted on good terms after their affair had gone on for too long. He never should have bedded the woman. He’d been heading for Scotland a wealthy man—and she didn’t care to have him leave—or for the fact that he’d earned his fortune. She’d wanted him to join her fleet—become another notch in her bedpost. Fifteen years his senior, the woman preferred men who needed her money, and she expected her lovers to make their home ports in Nassau. Over time Kennan had discovered her affinity for well-bred younger men—and they were in short supply on this godforsaken island.

  As Kennan and Divana ascended the wooden steps to the portico, the door opened and they were met with an enormous grin from Helen’s butler. “Hi-hi, boss.” He wore a red coat with gold trim, topped by a crisp linen neckcloth.

  “Msizi!” Kennan shook the old African warrior’s weathered hand. “I ought to have known you’d still be here.”

  “No’tin’ would take me away from missus.”

  “Good man.” He gestured to Divana. “This is my cabin boy, Davy.”

  Msizi’s reddened eyes shifted to the lass. “A lad ye say?” He chuckled. “Anyone who look like dat aren’t no lad.”

  Leave it to Msizi to take one look and uncover the truth. The man was the only real seer Kennan had ever known. Changing the subject, he patted the butler’s shoulder and gestured inside. “Is Mistress Evans in?”

  “Ya, ya. I reckon she’ll be keen to hear the sip sip from England.”

  “But I’m Scottish.”

  “Ya, ya, boss.” He gestured to a settee in the modest entrance hall. Helen ran her trading company from her parlor, and trade partners never saw more of the house than that.

  Kennan followed Divana to the seat. “I want you to wait here whilst I have a word with Mistress Evans.”

  “She’s married?”

  “Widowed.”

  Divana crossed her arms and her legs, her bare foot swinging to an unheard tempo of a snare. “Are ye certain ye will not need to keep a watchful eye on me whilst ye’re chatting with the widow?”

  “You’ll be safe here, but if you venture outside, I’ll have Lachie Mor take the cat-o’-nine-tails to your backside.”

  She gaped, her lips forming a lovely O. “Ye wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  “The missus will see ye now,” said Msizi as he stepped into the entry.

  Kennan arched his eyebrow at Divana before he stood.

  “Do not ye worry, Captain,” she said, her voice deep enough for an adolescent lad, while somewhere at the rear of the house a door closed. “I’ll be waiting right here.”

  He gave a curt bow of his head. “I’ll see you anon.”

  In the parlor, Helen sat in her wing-backed chair and raised her hand as Kennan entered. “Will wonders never cease? I thought I’d see snow in Nassau before you set foot in my house again.”

  He grasped her fingers and applied a well-practiced kiss to the back of her hand, her skin chilly. Not a stunning beauty, the woman regarded him with icy blue eyes—a gaze holding a world of secrets—wicked things that should be locked away for eternity.

  “I was just
about to enjoy a glass of sherry.” She removed the stopper of a crystal decanter. “Do join me.”

  “Sherry would be lovely, thank you.”

  Helen smirked. “There’s no need to be formal, Kennan. And do have a seat, you’re making my neck sore.”

  He obliged. “You’ve never been one to stand on ceremony.”

  After she poured, she handed him a dainty glass. “If I were, I never would have left England.”

  “Cheers.”

  “Hmm.” The widow watched him over the top of her glass while she sipped. “Msizi tells me you have a cabin boy tagging along with you.”

  Kennan cringed. “Brought him along for errands.” What else had the butler said? But that’s not why he was there. And who gave a rat’s arse if Helen knew Divana wasn’t really Davy?

  “So, tell me. Why are you here…with your cabin boy?” Helen licked her lips and arched her brows. “Not for a rendezvous I’ll venture.”

  He set his glass on the table beside him. “I’m looking for Jackson Vane.”

  “The bane of the high seas, that man.” Her eyes grew distant as she sipped again. At one time she’d been on friendlier terms with Vane. Until the pirate betrayed her—joined together with Anne Bonny and had stolen an entire cargo of silk and tea from one of the lady’s merchant ships. The theft had nearly ruined Helen. Nearly. But the widow sitting before him was as shrewd as they came. “Jackson Vane would murder his own mother and hang her naked body from the old fort if it led to treasure.”

  “I reckon you’re not wrong there.” Kennan eyed her, not wanting to reveal any more of his hand than necessary. “I’ve a bone to pick with him as well.”

  She gasped, her face genuinely shocked—though Kennan had seen her in action before. “Do not tell me Vane got his hands on your silver.”

  Shite—she knew—she’d most likely heard about the Highland Reel as well. “The bastard stole from me, and I’ll not sit idle whilst he gloats.”

  “I see. So that’s why you’re here with your cabin boy, sipping my sherry.”

  “I’ll nay deny it.” He picked up his glass and drank the rest of the sweet wine. “Now tell me, where is Vane hiding these days?”