The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  Divana closely followed Kennan while he browsed and she stole peeks at the myriad of colorful items. Merchants shouted and dazzled them with beautiful cloth, figurines carved from dark wood in human shapes—but unlike anything she’d ever seen, depicting long faces and noses, enormous eyes, and gargantuan earlobes. Gold jewelry adorned with shiny rocks sparkled in the sun. And the rich aroma of food sizzling on open grills made her mouth water.

  Kennan purchased two helpings of meat on a stick and gave one to Divana. “Are you hungry?”

  She nodded, taking a bite. “Mm, ’tis spicy and sweet at the same time.”

  He pulled the entire portion off with his teeth and chewed. “Do you like it?”

  “Aye.”

  A bit further on, he stopped to talk to a merchant about glass floats and the various vessels that came into the harbor to buy them. Beside his stall, a boy sat with a basket full of beautiful shells twice the size of a man’s fist.

  Divana reached for one. “I’ve never seen colors so bright.”

  “If ye clean dem wit’ salt water, da color don’t fade. But freshwater ruins dem.”

  “Truly? Is that the same with all shells?”

  The boy shrugged. “It works with conchs.”

  She took another and held it up to the sunlight and studied it, vaguely aware that Kennan was no longer right beside her. “Is this one your finest?”

  As she spoke, a hand slid over her mouth—

  No!

  Ice shot through every muscle in her body. It wasn’t Kennan’s hand but one smelling of dirt, the fingers coarse. Divana’s heart hammered as she shrieked into the palm, frantically thrashing, shifting her gaze from side to side.

  “Shut it,” growled a man with a menacing voice as he yanked her away through the shroud of tent linens.

  Struggling against his iron grip, she bit the filthy palm, flailing her fists and jabbing backward with her elbows.

  A brutal hand smacked the side of her head. “Bitch!”

  “Good work, Petey. Bind her wrists and gag her,” said an oily, burlap-faced scoundrel. “Quickly now. The captain’s waiting.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Frustrated as all hell, Kennan glared at the merchant standing across from him. “Why does no one ken a bloody thing about Vane’s whereabouts when he so clearly has every last one of you in his talons?”

  The man squinted. “British patrols come through here oft enough. Ye sound as if you’re one of them, as well.”

  “I’m not with the Royal Navy,” Kennan snapped, turning away before he did something he might regret. “Davy! Let’s head back to the skiffs. Everyone in this town is yellow.”

  He looked left and right, then turned full circle. “Davy?”

  His breath caught in his chest. “Divana!” he shouted.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end while the air suddenly became too heavy to breathe. Where was she? Running, he retraced his steps. She’d been right behind him the whole time. Hadn’t she?

  As he moved, he quickly scanned every stall, every tent, every table.

  When did I last see her?

  The blue glass of a float caught his eye. Yes. She’d been right there. He’d heard her talking.

  “Where is s—he?” Kennan demanded from the merchant who’d sworn he’d never seen a cutter, let alone Vane’s ship.

  “Beg your pardon?”

  “You bloody well ken what I’m asking. The cabin boy who was with me. What happened to him?”

  As his mind raced, a trigger flickered in his head. Something was different about the stall. Something was missing. He squinted when he spotted the empty space. “Where’s the boy with the basket of shells?”

  The man shrugged, feigning complete ignorance. “There are no shells here.”

  “Aye.” Kennan pointed to the empty spot, clearly recalling Divana in conversation with the young man who’d filled the small space between the vendors’ tents. “But there was a lad right there. His basket was full of conch shells.”

  “Mayhap there was, mayhap there wasn’t. I cannot pay a mind to every vagrant who happens past.” The man rolled up a net with floats woven throughout. “If I were a lively boy ashore in Port Royal for the first time, I’d be peeking in the windows of the brothel or hunting for coins on the floor of a tavern—go have a look for your young whelp there.”

  Kennan grabbed the varlet by the collar. “Where’s the goddamned lad with the shells, and don’t tell me you do not ken!”

  All around him, at least a dozen swords hissed through their scabbards.

  “Release him, ye bloody Highlander,” a man with a cutlass growled as he pushed the tip of the blade into Kennan’s neck. “Take your crew and sail back to Scotland. Your kind aren’t welcome here.”

  For a fleeting moment, Kennan considered fighting. If he pulled the merchant over the table and used him as a shield, he’d be able to fend off a half dozen of the men for certain. But ending up bloodied in an all-out brawl wouldn’t help find Divana any faster.

  He pushed the varlet back as he released his fingers and held up his hands. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

  “Is that so?” asked the bully with the cutlass. “Could have fooled the likes of me.”

  Slowly Kennan turned and panned his gaze across the circle of miscreants scowling, their weapons at the ready. “I challenge each one of you to tell Jackson Vane I’ll find him. And when I do, I’ll show no mercy.”

  At the name of the hellion pirate, all eyes shifted. No one wanted to confront Vane. Kennan lowered his hands, affecting a scowl every bit as menacing as that of the man they feared. His fingers twitched over the hilt of his sword while he strode straight ahead, pushing his way out of the circle. The slight breeze rushed in his ears as he listened for movement—listened for one of them to act the hero. When an attack didn’t come, he’d almost wished it had. Dear God, how he wanted to throttle the lot of them.

  Once out of danger, Kennan hastened back to Jack’s Mercantile. Of course, the shopkeeper hadn’t seen Divana, either. A hollow cavern stretched in his chest as time marched on.

  How in God’s name did she disappear? She was never out of my sight. At least not more than a minute or two.

  Kennan ran to the shore, where he found Mr. MacNeil standing over Runner on the beach. Sitting in the sand, the lad had tears streaming down his face. “We were walking side by side when all of a sudden he took off. I chased him. I called him over and over, but he was too fast for me—”

  “The dog?” Kennan asked, but didn’t wait for a response. “We’ve far worse problems than that. Davy’s been kidnapped.”

  “God, no,” said MacNeil.

  “Right under my nose. I reckon everyone in this town is Vane’s man, ’cause no one kent what happened in broad daylight, mind you.”

  “No one here kens anything.” MacNeil kicked the sand. “They’re all scared, if you ask me. Moreover, they certainly aren’t living in luxury.”

  Runner wiped his eyes. “Mayhap Bannock is with Divana.”

  Did she see the dog and run after him? If only it were so—but Kennan hadn’t spotted Bannock anywhere near the market. Stroking his chin, he looked to the horizon. “’Tis nearly dusk.”

  “We have to find her…er…him,” said MacNeil. “If they find out that he’s really a—”

  “There’s no need to say it,” Kennan growled.

  Lachie Mor came tottering up the beach with a band of sailors in his wake.

  MacNeil beckoned them. “So much for nursing an ale.”

  Kennan shook his head and scoffed. What a ragged lot he’d pulled together. “You all had best be sober.”

  “What news?” Lachie asked, his expression growing wary.

  Kennan quickly explained about Divana’s disappearance. “He can’t have gone far. I want men armed to the nines, watching the harbor, searching every skiff that leaves this beach.”

  “Search? By whose authority?” asked a sailor.

  “On
order of Queen Anne of Great Britain.” Tossing out the queen’s name might hold water long enough for someone to make a quick inspection of a wee boat.

  “And keep an eye out for Bannock,” added Runner. “He’s gone missing as well.”

  Standing wide, Kennan thrust his fists into his hips. “We’ll fan out—north, south, and central. Check every room in every tavern and brothel. Mr. MacNeil, post the remainder of the crew on the gun deck and keep lights burning in the portals whilst they’re manning the cannons. If they want a bloody war, I’ll be happy to oblige.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  “Ask no questions. Besides, you cannot expect a straight answer from these worthless asps. If anyone sees him, send a runner—”

  “I beg your pardon,” said a child holding out a missive. “Would ye be Captain Cameron?”

  “I am.”

  Without another word, Kennan swiped the letter from the lad’s fingertips and hastened to open it.

  What he read made the fires of hell swell throughout his chest. I have your woman. And I will continue to take everything you hold dear as long as you pursue me. —Vane.

  Dear God, the bastard already knew Divana was a lass.

  * * *

  The enormous scoundrel pulled Divana down from the donkey and threw her to the sand. She thrust out her bound hands to break her fall, her gaze homing onto two pairs of square-toed shoes with silver buckles. As she scrambled away, her gaze trailed from the shoes all the way up to the faces of the men who wore them, and she immediately recognized the Frenchman from Mistress Evans’s house. He was podgy and vile—how could she have thought him anything but despicable?

  Shifting her gaze, all horrid thoughts of Claude Dubois escalated into a new form of dread. The brigand beside the Frenchman posed the most fearsome picture—a man whose face struck terror in her heart. Cloaked in black, he wore a tricorne low over his brow. Thick, black whiskers hid his expression—but she knew it was menacing. The whites of his eyes glared, piercing through the shadowy light.

  Divana’s mouth grew dry as she realized she was staring into the eyes of Vane himself.

  The big guard stopped her retreat with a boot to the middle of her spine. “That’s far enough.”

  Dubois lunged in, reached around her head, and untied the leather thong from her club. Scowling, he yanked it away, making her hair fall about her shoulders in waves. “See? I knew she was Cameron’s woman as soon as I saw her in Nassau.”

  She eyed him. “Ye sailed here on the Silver Mermaid?”

  “Shut your mouth,” said the lout from behind.

  Flinching, she dodged his vicious boot.

  A low, wicked laugh pealed from the depths of Vane’s throat. “Mayhap you’re smarter than your lover.” Oddly, the rogue spoke with a highborn English accent.

  Her face burned as she clutched her hands to her stomach. “Why are ye doing this?”

  “I own these waters. If anyone is foolish enough to threaten me, he will pay dearly with his life and the lives of all for whom he cares.”

  Divana clutched the slingshot wrapped around her waist. They’d captured her to provoke Kennan? She mustn’t let them think her disappearance would hurt him. “But Captain Cameron doesn’t give a fig about me.”

  “Liar!” Dubois slapped her across the face. “My informant confirmed it. She’s Cameron’s woman.”

  Vane smirked. “No longer.”

  As Divana drew a hand over her burning cheek, her mind raced. An informant? Who?

  Ethan.

  The Frenchman bent downward, thrusting his face an inch from hers. “Your beau stole something from me I intend to reclaim in blood.”

  Divana met his gaze, dropping her hand and squaring her shoulders. “But ye already stole it back when ye and Vane plundered the Highland Reel.”

  “Not by half.”

  “Ye ken he will not come for me.”

  Again Vane laughed. “She does have a backbone, does she not?”

  Dubois snorted, cutting her a menacing glare. “Even if she speaks true, she’ll fetch a high price.”

  The blood drained from her face. “Price?”

  “Shut it,” the big man growled, with another shove of his boot.

  “Yes, you see, Jamaica is quite a large island. There are literally hundreds of places to hide—and by the time Cameron realizes you’re gone forever, you’ll be out of my hair and sold to Joshua Finnes. Perhaps you’ve heard tell of my comrade. He’s the shrewdest slaver on the high seas.” Vane circled his hand over his head. “Prepare to shove off as soon as the skiffs return from supplying the Mermaid.” He started away, then looked over his shoulder. “Petey—guard the prisoner. If anyone comes near, gut them.”

  Divana put her back against a boulder to prevent Petey’s boot from kicking her again. He’d brought her to the southern tip of the shore and, though she heard the roar of the surf, she couldn’t see the water. An enormous fortress of rocks surrounded them, keeping her hidden from view. And the sun had just disappeared in the western sky, the light growing dimmer with her every breath.

  “We’re setting sail on the Silver Mermaid?” she asked.

  The pirate gave her a scowl.

  But when they’d checked the registrar’s records in Nassau, none of the vessels belonged to Jackson Vane.

  “Who owns her?” Divana asked, steeling herself for a strike this time.

  But Petey just smirked. “That’s the amusing part. She’s captained by the illustrious Mr. Dawson.”

  Though the air was as warm the heat from the hearth in Cook’s kitchen at Achnacarry, a shiver coursed down her spine while the wind whipped her hair into her face. “W-where might one find Mr. Dawson?”

  “Hmm.” The man scratched his thatch of a beard. “I reckon he’s in the belly of one of them giant sharks about now—or playin’ whist with the ghost of Jonah, where you’ll be if ye don’t shut your gob.”

  Divana shifted her gaze to the sand and the thong Dubois had viciously ripped from her club. Was Kennan searching for her now? Where were Vane and his pirates taking her? Where would this auction be held? When?

  “Hey, Petey,” said a lanky brigand, his tongue slavering around his lips. “She’s a damned mite prettier with her hair down. What say ye? Let’s ’ave a bit o’ fun afore we sail.”

  The two men ducked behind the rocks—out of sight. “The captain says ’e’s saving her.”

  “For ’imself?”

  “Most likely. But if anyone touches the wench it’ll be me…”

  While the men talked, Divana pulled the slips of parchment from her heel. Perhaps she could find some way to leave a note. She unfolded the first slip, but it had too much writing on it already from all her practice copying out Kennan’s logbooks. And on the second… she was surprised and delighted to see that it was the one where she’d written Silver Mermaid. She could scarcely believe her luck! Now all she needed was a hiding place. Perhaps if she untied her slingshot and placed it and the note with the leather strap sticking out, Kennan or his men might find it.

  From her right came a whine. Then a lick to her wrist.

  “Bannock?” she whispered.

  The dog slurped her face.

  Leaning forward, she searched the sand for the thong and quickly reeled it in with her fingers. “Take this,” she whispered in his ear. Her fingers trembled while she quickly used the thong to secure the message around the dog’s rope collar. “Find Runner. Haste ye.”

  “Avast!” hollered Petey, throwing a rock at Bannock. “Be off, ye mongrel stray.”

  Divana bit her lip and cast her gaze downward. Run, Bannock. Please do not fail me.

  As the pirate moved, she ducked and covered her head. Had he seen her?

  Another brigand stepped into the fortress and beckoned with a wave of his hand. “Petey, bring the wench. We sail.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Baltazar paced in front of the skiffs with a musket slung over his shoulder. He hated being the one left behin
d to guard the boats. When it came to real fighting, the captain always assigned him to something to ensure he kept out of danger. Bloody hell, he was almost seventeen years of age and taller than most of the men on the crew.

  All the rest of them were in the town muscling their way around the taverns and brothels. He ought to be out there looking for Divana, too, not marching around a pair of empty skiffs. He hated tending the stupid boats. Blast it, he could hear the laughter and music above the sound of the surf. Who knew what those heathens were doing with Divana? Surely he’d be able to find her afore anyone else, save the captain, of course.

  “Arf!”

  Baltazar stopped dead in his tracks and peered in the direction of the bark. Through the shadows, an enormous dog raced along the shore.

  “Bannock!” Runner fell to his knees and beckoned the dog into his open arms. He’d only found the big fella two days past, but he clung to him as if he were already kin. A big, wet tongue licked his face. “Where the blazes were ye?”

  Bannock rubbed his neck against Baltazar’s chest, turned in a circle, then yowled while he rubbed his neck again, faster this time.

  “Och, I missed ye, too.” He took the dog’s face between his hands. “Why did ye run away like that?”

  He threw an arm around Bannock’s back, but the dog whimpered and squirmed away.

  “What the—” Runner carefully rubbed his hands over the dog’s coat. “Are ye hurt?”

  But Bannock yipped and persisted to rub his neck on Baltazar’s chest. Then the collar scratched his palms until the coarse rope gave way to something soft.

  Runner tugged the dog closer and examined the rope. “What’s this?”

  Bannock excitedly pawed the sand with his front feet while Runner removed a thong and a bit of parchment. He held it up to the moonlight, and though he was unable to read, he thought he recognized the name of the mermaid ship they’d seen in Nassau—the same one that had set sail just after dusk.