The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  Kennan used the pad of his thumb to test the blade for sharpness. “I wouldn’t expect you to, especially after being stranded on Hyskeir for two miserable years.”

  Bannock moved to her side and rubbed along her thigh. “Ye’ll let him stay, will ye not?” she asked, giving the dog an extra-long scratch.

  “You oughtn’t touch him. He’ll give ye fleas.”

  “But Baltazar has already bathed him.” She parted the dog’s hair in several places, searching for vermin. “Please, Kennan. I like him.”

  He resheathed his sword and set it aside. “Well then. If you like him I suppose he can stay, but do not tell a soul you were the one who convinced me, else they’ll all think you have me wrapped around your little finger.”

  She twirled across the floor. “They already think that.”

  He caught her by the elbow and tugged her into his arms. “Do they now?”

  Divana’s breath caught as those green eyes stared into hers with a hunger she, too, felt deep and low in her body.

  He kissed her while the flames of passion surged, coiling tightly in her loins. Only moments ago she’d been worried about Bannock and ensuring the dog would continue to live in comfort aboard ship. Now she swooned, kissing Kennan as if nothing else in the world mattered. Would it always be like this when in his arms?

  What might happen after they found Jackson Vane and returned to Scotland? She clutched him tighter and deepened the kiss, rubbing her mons across his hardness, her heartbeat racing with his guttural moan. By the saints, she would do everything in her power to make him fall in love with her. And by the end of this voyage, Divana prayed he would.

  * * *

  The sun shone low in the eastern sky when Claude Dubois took a skiff from the Silver Mermaid, which was moored at the tip of the harbor, where she’d be able to make a hasty escape if need be. He disembarked on the beach at Port Royal. Heading into town, he took a parcel of almonds from a merchant and tossed the man a coin, then found Jackson Vane at the rear of a brothel, sound asleep with a buxom woman in his arms.

  “Cannot stay away from the ladies, oui, Captain?”

  Within the blink of an eye, Vane had a dagger at Claude’s throat while the woman on the bed yelped, pulling the linens up to her chin. “You know better than to wake me.”

  “Perhaps.” Claude chewed the almonds in his mouth, albeit gingerly. “But before you kill me, I thought you’d be interested in who’s paid a visit to Nassau and Mistress Evans.”

  Vane lowered his knife and dismissed the wench with a flick of his hand. “Who?”

  “The Highlander—Cameron.” Dubois grinned and pointed to the gap in his front teeth. “The same bastard responsible for this.”

  “Let him search all he wants, he’ll never find Jackson’s Hell.”

  “He won’t need to if you continue dallying here.”

  “What say you?” Distrust filled the pirate’s slitted eyes. “Tell me you didn’t rush aboard the Silver Mermaid and lead him here?”

  Claude popped a few almonds into his mouth and chewed nervously. Though Vane had been eager to learn about the treasure aboard the Highland Reel, their relations had always been tenuous at best. The sooner they dispatched Kennan Cameron, the sooner Claude would take his share of the spoils and return to France.

  “The only Scot I spoke to was the woman dressed in the disguise of a cabin boy—and she is as ignorant as a sea urchin.” Thanks to Msizi for pointing her out. Claude swallowed, the almonds sticking in his throat. “He never saw me. Nor does he know you have any ties with the Silver Mermaid.”

  “And I intend to keep it that way.” Vane shrugged into his black leather vest. “So, you think you’re smarter than me, aye?”

  Claude smirked. “I knew where to find you, didn’t I?”

  “Please, Dubois. You found me because you are one of the few I’ve allowed into my confidence—and you’d best not forget it.” Vane polished his signet ring on his waistcoat. “What about Mistress Evans? What have you said to her?”

  “She knows nothing.”

  Vane brandished his blade in front of Claude’s throat. “And she had best not. That woman has forever been a thorn in my side.”

  Claude glanced at the blade, sweat stinging his skin. No matter. He’d be rid of this madman soon. “How long are you in Port Royal?”

  “I came up for supplies—there’s a lumber shipment here from the Americas. Why? Do you believe Cameron will pay a visit?” He aimed his blade at Claude’s eye. “Have you lied to me?”

  “Bless it, man, sheathe your weapon! You have the Highlander’s ship. What must I do to prove myself?” Claude wiped the sweat from his face. “When I set sail, he and his men were asking questions.”

  “I should have killed the bastard when I had him in my grasp.”

  “And I was hoping you would have.”

  Vane finally sheathed his damned dagger. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He’s the heir to a Scottish lairdship—well-born men set to inherit aren’t suited for a seafaring life.”

  “As I recall, you said the same after he leaped over the rail of the Highland Reel. I caution you not to underestimate Cameron, mon ami. He’s a viper, that one.”

  “Well, then, if he shows his face in these parts, we’ll have to lure him into a trap he’ll never escape.”

  Dubois grinned, rubbing his hands. “And I think I know exactly how to ensure that Highlander will not interfere with us again.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Kennan took his time sailing around the isle of Jamaica before he gave the command to drop anchor in Kingston Harbour. This caution took an extra day. Port Royal had become a lawless haven for pirates since an earthquake had swallowed most of the town over twenty years past. Kennan ducked into his cabin and found Divana clomping across the floor with a limp.

  He stopped midstride. “What have you done?”

  She thrust her finger downward. “These miserable square-toes wore a blister on my heel and it hasn’t yet healed.”

  He kneeled to examine the shoe, cursing that there hadn’t been time in Nassau to engage a cobbler to make a pair to fit the lass. “Rise onto your toes.”

  She grunted as she complied, her heel slipping out. He untied her garter and rolled down her sock, finding a red-raw, popped blister.

  “Och, the heels are not tight enough. I’ll fetch a salve.” He stood and headed for his medicine chest. “Fold up two slips of parchment to use at the back of each. That and my ointment ought to set you to rights at least for today.”

  “I didn’t have blisters when I was barefoot.”

  “Would you prefer to stay aboard ship?” he asked, removing a pot of salve from his cupboard. He knew she’d put up an argument, so he added, “It might be best.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She took a bit of parchment from her growing stack of writing papers and used a pair of shears to cut two strips. “I thought ye said no one can best me with a slingshot. Who else will watch your back?”

  “Lachie Mor with his matched pair of flintlocks, to begin with.” Kennan gestured to a chair. “Perhaps you might be a tad overconfident with that strip of leather.”

  “Och, ye already said I could go and I’m going.” As Divana sat, she tugged the ends of her weapon—it had made a fine belt thus far, and knowing she was wearing it gave him some peace of mind. “I ken, I’m no match for a swordsman or a musket, but me slingshot kept me fed for two years, mind ye. I’m more comfortable with this bit o’ leather than a slew of daggers up me sleeves and in me hose.”

  Kennan rubbed in the salve, then resituated her hose and tied her garter. “Let me worry about carrying the blades. And do not stray from my side—Port Royal is far worse than Nassau.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” she said with a bit of sauce, slipping the paper into her heels.

  After Kennan hid a pair of sgian dubhs in the flashes holding up his hose, Lachie Mor met them at the winch. “I already sent some of the men ahead in one of the skiffs.”
>
  Kennan checked his pocket watch. They’d only been at anchor a half hour. “Couldn’t they wait?”

  “I didn’t reckon it mattered overmuch.”

  Sighing, he looked to the shore. He supposed it didn’t as long as everyone knew they had to be back on deck by dusk.

  “Where’s Runner?” asked Divana.

  Lachie Mor thrust a thumb over his shoulder. “He went on ahead—took the mutt with him.”

  Kennan held the gamming chair for the lass, forcing himself not to take her hand and help her aboard. “Why?”

  “Said Bannock needed a good run.”

  Kennan eyed his man. “You never should have let him bring the dog aboard in the first place.”

  “Me?” asked Lachie Mor as if he’d known nothing about it.

  “Och, let the lad have the wee mongrel. He’s no troub…” Divana’s voice was carried away by the wind and surf while the winch lowered her to the skiff.

  The quartermaster snorted. “I reckon Davy’s a great deal more trouble than Bannock.”

  Kennan fingered the hilt of his dirk and arched an eyebrow. Why Lachie Mor always chanced to make an offhanded remark about Divana, he had no idea. Once the lass had recovered from her fear of heights, she’d proved a valuable member of the crew. Never in his life would he be able to imagine his sister, Janet, keeping watch in the crow’s nest or swabbing the decks for that matter. Such menial labor just wasn’t done by gentlewomen.

  Too right. Before Janet married Robert Grant, Kennan had carried his sister across the muddy street at Inverlochy so her riding habit and boots wouldn’t be soiled. Bless her, Divana would have marched across barefoot and thought nothing of it.

  The idea of the redheaded spitfire traipsing through the Highlands with naked toes had him grinning all the way to the shore. Until Divana climbed over the edge of the boat, shoes and stockings in hand, only to have Bannock charge through the water and nearly knock her arse-first into the surf.

  Lachie Mor scowled. “Keep your footing and be firm with the dog, lad.”

  Kennan climbed out of the boat and steadied Divana by the collar—to help her more than anything, and to keep up appearances. Of course, the daft dog didn’t help matters by running in circles around them, kicking up water. “Runner, put a lead on your bloody stray.”

  “Come behind, Bannock,” the boy called, beckoning from the shore.

  When finally on dry land, Kennan brushed himself off, somewhat surprised that the dog had obeyed without being told twice.

  “You should have left him aboard,” said Mr. MacNeil.

  “Enough. He’s here now.” Kennan looked between his two officers. “One in every four buildings in this crumbling town is a tavern or a brothel—too many for us to visit all. I want you to find a chair and mind your own affairs whilst you nurse an ale and listen to the talk.”

  “Aye, just like afore,” said Lachie Mor.

  “Except…” Kennan gave the quartermaster’s shoulder a shove. “I do not want to hear about being waylaid at a brothel.”

  The man’s face fell.

  “I mean what I say.” When Runner sniggered, Kennan tweaked his ear. “And you pair will come with me.”

  “Me and Bannock?” asked the lad.

  “Bloody hell, I don’t give a rat’s arse about the dog—you and Davy. And there’ll be no dawdling in the market.”

  “Aye, sir.” Tugging Bannock beside him, Runner rolled his eyes at Divana. “He thinks me irresponsible.”

  “Nay, he’s just irritated that Mistress Evans didn’t ken more about the whereabouts of Captain—”

  “Enough.” Kennan sliced his palm through the air. “When that name is uttered, I’ll do the uttering.”

  “Very well, but where are we off to? Another fine house owned by a wealthy widow?”

  “I don’t reckon you’ll find any fine houses here.”

  Nassau was a kindly place compared to Port Royal, with fewer merchants and more scoundrels. But the town still lay in the midst of the trade routes, and thus goods were loaded, unloaded, and bartered here. Kennan stopped outside a shop bearing a shingle that read “Jack’s Mercantile.”

  Divana peered into the window “A haberdashery?”

  Kennan glanced over his shoulder to ensure no one was close enough to eavesdrop. “Word is Vane comes to the port for his supplies. That implies two things.”

  “What would those be?” asked Runner.

  A bell rang as Kennan opened the door. “I’ll tell you later.”

  A shopkeeper stood behind the counter, his beard long and unkempt. He regarded them with steely, untrusting eyes veiled beneath a jungle of eyebrows.

  A true mercantile, the place was lined to the rafters with everything from thimbles and cloth to hammers, and pots for cooking. The only patrons were a pair of ladies carrying parcels, who sidled past them and out the door.

  “Saint Columba,” Divana whispered under her breath as she stared up at a cerulean-blue gown.

  When the man said nothing, Kennan moved nearer. “Are you Jack?”

  “Jack’s dead.” The man’s black eyes shifted between Runner and Divana. “What are ye lookin’ for?”

  “Perhaps a wee bit of information.”

  “You’re on the wrong island.”

  “I think not.” Kennan placed his palms atop the counter. “And I’ll reckon you can help.”

  “Not likely.”

  “I’m looking for a man.”

  “Everybody is lookin’ for someone. If ye’re not here to spend your coin, ye know where to find the door. And your two sidekicks can wait outside with their dog. I don’t allow no sticky fingers in my shop.”

  Kennan motioned to Divana and Runner. “Wait for me outside the door. I won’t be long.” He returned his attention to the shopkeeper. “How much for the blue gown?”

  “Fifty pieces of eight.”

  “Fifty?” Kennan guffawed. “That’s thievery.”

  “’Tis the price of conducting business in the islands. Ye want it or nay?”

  There were a hundred items or more that would cost a penny or less, including a basket full of shiny stones right beside his hand. But Divana wouldn’t be wearing breeches for the rest of her days. When the time came to reveal her true identity, it would be delightful to see her in such a gown—red hair, eyes made bluer by the color of the fabric. “Aye, wrap it up,” he said, tossing a handful of coins on the board.

  The money immediately disappeared somewhere below the counter. Kennan watched as the man retrieved the dress from the nail on the wall. “What can you tell me about Jackson Vane?”

  “He’s a cutthroat pirate.”

  “He is. And I have word he purchases his supplies right here in this very shop.”

  “Ye’re mistaken.”

  “Och aye? He comes to Port Royal for his supplies—thinks he won’t be caught now most of the blackguards have moved on. Now tell me, when was he last here?”

  “Why should I tell ye?” asked the man, heading back to the counter.

  “Because I aim to see him to his grave.”

  “Ye sound awfully confident—especially for a man I’ve never seen nor heard tell of afore.”

  “Do you want to keep your fifty pieces of eight or nay?”

  The man folded the dress and set it in the middle of a square of parchment. “Sometimes Vane sends his men for supplies.”

  “Are any of his men here now?”

  “I can’t say.”

  “Cannot say or will not?”

  Pulling out a length of twine from a spool, the shopkeeper said nothing and set to tying the parcel.

  Kennan took one of the shiny stones and rubbed it between his fingers. “What happened to Jack?”

  “Succumbed to the bloody flux.”

  That wasn’t the response Kennan was hoping for, but he wasn’t finished yet. “You have a nice shop here. It would be a shame if you were robbed of everything you held dear—just as I was.”

  “I have protection.
”

  “From whom? Pirates like Vane? At what cost?”

  “Well, sir, I reckon ye just touched on why my prices are so high. And ye’ll find the same from every merchant in Port Royal. Aye, Vane visits from time to time as ye are aware, but I cannot tell ye the last time I saw the man. And if it is Vane ye want, I wager ye’ll have a long holiday in hell, ’cause that’s where ye’re headed.”

  Kennan picked up the parcel and looked the man in the eye. “I think not. After all, I’m nay the bastard who’s sold his soul for a morsel of false protection.”

  * * *

  Divana gaped at Kennan as he came out of the shop. “Ye’ve a parcel?”

  Kennan scowled. “What of it?”

  When Runner shot her a vexed expression, she couldn’t help but snigger. Aye, the captain forbade them from shopping, while he had quite a sizable bundle under his arm. “Was the shopkeeper of any help?” she asked.

  “Nay. Though he did confirm Vane and his men do come here for supplies.” Kennan led them away. “Runner, how many ships were at anchor in the harbor?”

  “Four, sir. A frigate, a cutter, a schooner, and a galleon looking as if she was full of rot.”

  “And not a one of them belonging to Jackson Vane?”

  “At least none that attacked the Reel, sir.”

  “Och, we’re so close I can feel it in my bones.” He gestured with an upturned palm. “Lad, take your dog down to the wharf and see what you can learn about the ships in port.”

  “Straightaway, sir.”

  Divana gave Bannock a pat before the boy led him away. “Where are we off to, Captain?”

  “Perhaps we ought to pay the market a visit.”

  She straightened, trying not to grin. “More shopping?”

  “Not today. Mayhap we’ll happen upon someone Vane doesn’t own in this pirate cove.”

  She didn’t let her excitement show, but for the first time in her life Divana had a few coins to spend. If only she weren’t impersonating a lad, she’d buy something feminine—ribbons or a necklace, or a bit of lace to make her look bonny for Kennan.

  For a small town, plenty of people mulled about—far more men than women. And everyone looked as if they’d been in the midst of the wars. Children dressed in little more than rags darted between the tents and stalls, chasing each other and laughing.