The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  Damn, damn, damn! Changing course now and heading west would put them off Vane’s trail, but it was the only way to save the ship and the lives of his crew. Once the storm passed, he vowed to navigate every inch of these waters until he found the varlet’s hideaway and rescued Divana.

  I swear I’ll not fail you, lass.

  All hands scrambled to shift the booms and change the heading. Groaning like a dragon awakened from a thousand years of slumber, the Lady Heather began her turn, the wind and waves pushing her leeward. The ship rolled and listed. Foaming seawater crashed over the starboard side.

  A sailor lost his footing and slid across the deck, barely catching himself on the tie-down of one of the skiffs. Kennan’s muscles burned as he held fast to the wheel, watching and willing the man to stay put. If any of his crew went overboard in this torrent, he’d be lost forever.

  Below, Lachie Mor gripped the rail and pulled himself up to the quarterdeck. “Runner must come down from the crow’s nest.”

  As the ship began to climb a thirty-foot wave, Kennan brought the wheel back to center, casting his gaze upward. But there was no sign of the lad. “God’s blood, where is he? Why didn’t you order him down when the storm hit?”

  “It came on too fast.”

  The enormous wave crashed over the bow as if the ship were but a twig floating in the rapids of a raging river. If the lad stayed up there, he’d be thrown for certain. “Call him down and send him below decks!”

  Lachie cupped his hands to his mouth. “Runner!”

  But there was still no sign of the boy.

  Mr. MacNeil blew his whistle in a cadence demanding attention.

  “Runner!” Kennan bellowed.

  The lad finally peered over the edge of the barrel. And Lachie beckoned him down just as a bolt of lightning streaked above the center mast.

  “He’ll be struck for certain!” bellowed MacNeil.

  “Haste ye!” Kennan shouted.

  Nodding his understanding, Runner slipped one of his legs over the edge as the ship jolted, heaving portside. With an adolescent cry, the lad lost his grip and plunged to the deck. Jolting to a sudden stop, the boy dangled, caught by the rope around his waist. Runner scrambled for the rigging, but the erratic movement of the ship’s mast whipped him from side to side, slamming his body against the wooden barrel of the nest.

  Lachie faltered, catching a grab rail before he fell. “He’s trapped.”

  As another rogue wave approached, Kennan turned the wheel right. “Take the helm.”

  “Och, you’re not going up there, are you, Captain?”

  “I’ll not have anyone else risk their lives.” He relinquished the helm to the quartermaster. “Head into the storm—we’ll fare better once we’ve sailed out the other side.”

  As he headed down the steps, he tore off his soaked doublet and cast it away. A swell of water rushed over his feet as Kennan reached the mainmast. He latched onto the rigging and hoisted himself upward.

  The wind’s force was enough to carry him to his death if his grip faltered. And it only grew worse as he ascended. Higher, the ship’s listing felt ten times more powerful than on deck.

  “Hold fast, lad!” He bellowed, peering through the stinging rain.

  Hand over hand, Kennan dragged himself upward, fighting with every bit of strength he could muster.

  As Runner swung past, the lad stretched out his fingers. “Captain!”

  Thank God he was still alive.

  Kennan wrapped his elbow and one foot around the rigging and caught the lad’s wrist. “I have you.”

  “I-I’m sorry, Captain. I n-never fall.”

  “Wheesht, wrap your arms around the ropes. I’ll try to untie you.”

  Moving upward, Kennan clawed at the knot tied at Runner’s waist. His wet fingers fumbled. The coarse rope had cinched too tight. “I need to cut it.”

  The lad’s teeth chattered as rain made his face gleam with a sheen of water. “Careful with your blade, sir.”

  “There’s nay other option.” Kennan drew his dirk, but rather than wield the knife near the lad, he launched himself into the crow’s nest where it would be safer to saw through the hemp. “As soon as you’re free, skitter down to the deck! Ye ken?”

  “Straightaway, sir.”

  Wrapping an arm around the mast, Kennan held tight. He sawed his blade back and forth for what seemed like an eternity. Slice after painstaking slice, the rope began to unravel but refused to give way. Just when he thought it would never cut through, all at once it snapped. The lad’s body plunged downward with a bloodcurdling scream. But years of climbing the rigging had made Runner strong. He caught himself on the lattice rigging, looking up with a grin that expressed both fear and youthful confidence.

  “Go on now!” Kennan bellowed while thunder shook the mast. He, too, needed to descend, but first he took a moment to scan the horizon. Black clouds surrounded them to the east, but to the west, a bit of moonlight lit the gray. As the ship crested a wave, he caught sight of a dark shadow on the water.

  A ship? Here?

  He swiped the rain from his eyes, but his view was blocked by waves and pelting rain. How far off course had they sailed? They shouldn’t come across another ship for leagues unless the vessel had been thrown outside the trade routes. Nonetheless, the churning in Kennan’s gut was not to be ignored.

  * * *

  Divana turned her head away from the bright sunlight as Petey led her onto the main deck. The blackguard had bound her wrists again, leading her with a rope as if she were a goat.

  All hands must have come up top, because the sultry air stank with sour male sweat. The sea of pirates looked on with their mouths agape as if they’d never seen a woman in a garish dress before.

  Claude Dubois stood beside the captain with an ugly smirk. If only the Frenchman knew how much Vane detested him. Divana had seen the entry in the ship’s journal—the captain considered Dubois to be a gluttonous thorn. Aye, he’d been useful in leading Vane to Cameron’s treasure, but since, he’d become “expendable.” So, Dubois wanted to commandeer a slaver ship? In payment for his informant services, Vane had just the vessel for the snake—one with plenty of rot.

  Perhaps ’tis the only decent idea the pirate has ever conceived.

  Jackson Vane glared down on them from the raised dais of the helm. “It appears Captain Finnes has been deterred by the storm. Lock her in the pen,” he boomed, shifting his gaze across the deck. “Guard the wench around the clock. If any man dares touch her, he’ll be shot.”

  Divana didn’t know what revolted her more—being accosted by one of these rank brutes or watching Vane shoot one in cold blood.

  “Hasten your step,” growled Petey. “I have a thirst.”

  By all the ale the man had consumed over the past few days, Divana couldn’t see why he’d be thirsty. More likely, he just wanted his guard duty to be over with.

  The seas had calmed to a gentle roll. The only sign of the ravages from the storm were the piles of seaweed and debris lining the beach. Gulls squawked overhead as they dove and scavenged for food among the rubbish.

  Once seated in the skiff, Divana craned her neck, straining around the oarsmen to see the shore. Beyond the turquoise bay and the white sand, small timber and reed dwellings peppered the landscape, each separated by green brush. The isle appeared to be narrow, cutting through the middle of the sea in a wide arc. It wouldn’t be easy to spot from a distance because it was flat like a skerry with nary a hill of substance in sight.

  A group of women flanked by a few musket-bearing men hastened from the settlement, cheering and waving their arms and weapons, not as if a vile pirate ship had anchored offshore, but…

  Divana squeezed her hands, making the bindings bite into her flesh. Of course they were excited. She’d read the manifest. The people on the shore were part of Jacksons’s Hell and, from what she’d discovered, every last one of them expected riches. Vane had plenty. He’d left her in his cabin for hours before h
e returned and sent her back to her prison cell. But she’d not only read the manifest of the Silver Mermaid, she’d memorized all the places where Vane kept his plunder and more. As she’d searched the trunks in his cabin, she happened upon a false bottom, finding the map of Jackson’s Hell and the tiny string of isles curving northeast, each marked with the location of ships and treasure. She’d taken a slip of parchment and copied it, though in the storm, her writing was blotchy at best.

  Divana had folded her parchment and hidden it in her bodice—right before Jackson Vane pushed through the door and ordered the guard to take her away.

  After they disembarked and waded through the surf to the beach, Petey dragged her to the rear of the village and locked her in a latticework pen covered by a roof of reeds. She grabbed the rungs and shook the rusty cage. “What’s the point of keeping me behind bars when there’s no place to run?”

  The lout jangled a ring of skeleton keys with a hateful grin. “The captain’s nay worried about ye escapin’. ’Tis others sneakin’ in ’e doesn’t want.”

  Bearing down with all her might, she shook the cage again. Drat it, the rusty heap was sound enough. Groaning, Divana paced—all of three steps. Her prison was even smaller than the bothy on Hyskeir, with a dirt floor and not a thing to sit upon.

  Why hadn’t she just told Kennan to leave her on Hyskeir? No, it hadn’t been a happy life, but at least she’d been free.

  Sliding downward, she sat on the ground, crossing her legs and burying her face in her hands. She silently cried and rocked herself, unwilling to give Petey the satisfaction of knowing the despair clawing at her heart.

  And when her tears subsided and her vision cleared, she stared down at a stone—a weighty one nearly as large as her fist.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  We’re following that bloody carrack because you have a feeling?” asked Lachie Mor, his voice shooting up.

  After the Lady Heather came through the storm, Kennan had spotted the ship on the western horizon—and it appeared to have sailed off course by leagues. But there was something about it he couldn’t put his finger on—a feeling he’d never be able to explain to either one of his officers.

  “Aye, and if we hadn’t trusted my gut when we were sailing off Hispaniola, we wouldn’t have plundered the silver.”

  The quartermaster gave the wheel a slight turn. “Oh, to have our reward end up in Vane’s sticky web.”

  Kennan peered through his spyglass. The ship was not only sitting low in the water, she flew no colors. “She’s tacking north.”

  “That would be right. Heading north to marry up with the trade route to the Americas, I’d reckon.”

  “Mayhap you’re right.” Kennan’s gut clenched. He’d swear on his life that ship was up to no good. And if his intuition was worth a farthing, that vessel wasn’t lost. The heavy-built carrack waited out the storm, and once it passed, she unfurled her sails as if she knew exactly where she was heading, and it wasn’t in the direction of the trade routes. “Follow her northward until I give the signal to turn east. I don’t want them thinking we’re on their tail.”

  “The signal? From where?” asked Lachie Mor.

  Kennan pointed up to the crow’s nest. “Your bellyaching has given me enough cause to go up for a better view.”

  “Runner can tell you what he sees. He has the youngest eyes, after all.”

  “Perhaps.” Kennan tucked his spyglass into his belt. “But my eyes have the better experience. Not to mention I’m nay about to lose another ship and crew.”

  Lachie Mor knew the perils as well as Kennan. They were sailing uncharted waters—seas infested by privateers and pirates. Aye, he’d sailed under the same guise as well, but he’d never ventured outside the shipping lanes this far north of Hispaniola.

  The crew on deck heckled him with a few choice phrases.

  “Don’t slip, Captain!”

  “Tell us how the weather is up there.”

  Kennan replied with a vulgar flick of his fingers, bringing on a round of raucous laughter. Though he didn’t manage to crack a smile. He’d never smile again until he found Divana. All the gold in the world didn’t amount to half her worth.

  It was his fault she’d been taken. Disguising her as a cabin boy had done nothing to keep her from the vultures.

  And it is all my bloody fault.

  Reaching over the crow’s nest barrel, Runner offered his hand. “What are ye doing up here, Captain?”

  “Thought I’d get a better look at that carrack before we tack east.”

  “We’re tacking east?”

  He gave the lad a wink. “I wouldn’t want her to think we’re following, now would I?”

  Kennan opened his spyglass and trained it on the ship. “Have ye been able to make out her name?”

  “Nay, we haven’t been close enough.”

  “Ye may have eagle’s eyes, lad, but it would be a mite more convenient if you had eagle’s wings as well.”

  “Aye, sir.” Runner chuckled. “I’ll be sure to request a pair of wings in my prayers this eve.”

  Kennan panned the spyglass west and east of the vessel. “I’d be careful with that—God might mistake your request for angel’s wings.”

  The boy chuckled. “May I ask a question, sir?”

  “You may.”

  “Will we find her?”

  A lead weight sank to the pit of his gut while Kennan turned the barrel to improve the focus. If only there were a stack of Bibles handy, he’d give his solemn oath right here and now. “You’d best believe it. If it takes the next decade, I’ll not lose her to those bastards.”

  “Well, I reckon I’ll stay with ye.”

  Kennan thought better than to ask the lad if he had feelings for Divana. Who wouldn’t? She was selfless and funny and bonny. When she smiled, not only did the room fill with sunshine, everyone’s hearts overflowed with happiness as well.

  He blinked, refocusing the spyglass yet again. “She’s heading to that speck of land yonder.”

  Runner leaned out over the barrel. “Land, sir?”

  “Dead ahead.” He squinted, straining for a better look. “Two specks.”

  “Side by side?”

  “Aye, and a good place for an ambush.”

  Runner shaded his eyes. “I can’t see a bloody thing.”

  “You’ll see it before Lachie Mor turns the ship.” Kennan held out the spyglass, looking the lad in the eye. “This was a gift from my da, and if it should break, it will be sorely missed.”

  “Holy bloody Mary.” Runner turned the telescope over in his hands. “’Tis a fine piece, sir.”

  “Keep your eye on that ship—and the land yonder. I’ll man the helm and sail as close as possible without alarming the carrack. After we’ve given the appearance of sailing past, I want a full report of everything you’ve seen.”

  * * *

  It took less than a day to circumnavigate the islands. Once they had sailed north, Runner reported two ships in addition to the carrack moored in the natural harbor between the two isles.

  And Kennan knew in his bones this den of thieves was inhabited by Jackson Vane. It took every ounce of control he possessed not to sail straight through the narrows with cannons blazing. The only thing that kept him away was knowing the snake expected him to do so. Vane hadn’t stayed alive all this time not to post big guns at opposing sides of the inlet that were powerful enough to sink intruders. And shallows on the north side prevented any ship from mounting a northerly attack. Aye, the blackguard had found himself a sea fortress, and the only possible way for Kennan to save Divana was to hold on to his wits and outsmart the devil.

  He tried not to dwell on what the bastard might be doing with the bonny lass. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face. Why had they taken her and not him? The lass had never done anything to hurt a soul, yet most of her life had been fraught with misery. She’d been raised so poor, her family couldn’t afford shoes. When she fell ill and needed mercy, her clan ha
d sent her to Hyskeir to die. But no one could bring Divana Campbell to her end. She was a fighter from the top of her luxurious red locks to those tough feet that hated shoes. She deserved to be put on a pedestal and worshipped. She deserved to be queen of the high seas and have all those bloodthirsty bastards kiss her bare toes.

  God, he missed those toes. Her smile, her teasing, her presence in his chamber. Kennan hadn’t allowed himself to consider what life might be like without her. However, now the thought terrified him to his core. She’d become a part of him—a far better part. He loved her more than the sea, his ship, and his every worldly possession. Bugger clan alliances and Lochiel’s expectations. If he must search the rest of his life, he would find Divana and make her his wife and then face his father’s ire.

  God save him, Divana meant more to Kennan than the very clan he was born and bred to lead.

  Before he climbed down the Lady Heather’s portside rigging to the waiting skiffs, he grasped Lachie Mor’s shoulder. “MacNeil and his crew ought to be moving into place on the western isle.” They’d seen no sign of habitation on the smaller side, so Kennan had sent a party of men to take the cannons there. “I’m allowing myself three hours to reach the cannons on the eastern side. Once I give the signal, sail through. If you’re fired upon, fire back, but I’m guessing the battle will be ashore—that’s where I expect our gunners to set their sites.”

  The quartermaster gave a wink. “We’ll blast them off the island.”

  “I need your sword as much as your cannons. When you do fire, make sure it is not aimed at any of my crew, including Divana Campbell.”

  “Aye, aye, sir. I’ll do my best to shoot only pirates.”

  “Good man.”

  Though the sea was calm and the skiff’s crossing smooth, Kennan still clamped his jaw so tightly, his teeth ached by the time they stood on the shore. Sixteen men faced him. “We’re heading around the southern tip single file. Affix bayonets and have your muskets charged. If you fire your weapon, everyone on the island will ken we’re here. This is the battle of your lives, men. Aye, ’tis said Vane’s treasure is vaster than the queen’s coffers. Remain vigilant and you will survive to enjoy the spoils!”