The Highland Rogue

by Amy Jarecki

  Using the palm of his hand, Kennan pushed the gun’s muzzle aside. “Leave her be.”

  The man thrust his weapon in Kennan’s face. “Tupping her, are ye?”

  As Kennan gripped the barrel, it took but a flick of his wrist for him to wrest the damned musket from the bastard’s hands. He whipped the weapon around, moving the butt against his shoulder, only to face four enemy barrels pointed at his eyeballs. It seemed he’d been faced with a similar situation only one month prior.

  Corbyn drew his flintlock and aimed it at Divana’s head, the snake. “Return the musket to the sentinel, or I’ll shoot her dead.”

  Kennan bared his teeth, shifting the firearm toward the sergeant. He nearly squeezed the trigger. Nearly. But on top of everything else, he didn’t need the redcoats chasing him for murder. “Certainly. If you agree to bring a quill, parchment, and a pot of ink.”

  “Word will be sent to your father. Now return the musket before my finger decides to twitch.”

  Chapter Seven

  Clutching her basket to her chest, Divana stood against the stone wall of the small chamber. It smelled of fish and salt and was as cold as the bothy. Things hadn’t changed on the mainland—the soldiers treated them like vermin. At least on the isle, she’d been safe. “We never should have left Hyskeir.”

  Kennan shook the latch. When his efforts proved fruitless, he marched to the window. “We’ll not be here long.”

  Divana set her basket on the floor and joined him. “Nay? The sergeant said it would be at least a fortnight afore the doctor comes.”

  “Wheesht.” Kennan held up his palm, then pointed down below where Sergeant Corbyn and the dragoons were exiting the mill. Divana clapped a hand over her mouth to silence her gasp.

  “Are you truly going to send word to Lochiel?” asked one of the soldiers, his voice muffled through the glass pane.

  Corbyn stopped and looked up toward the window—both Kennan and Divana stepped aside. “No bloody chance. If Lochiel discovers we’re holding his son, he’ll have half the fighting men within fifty miles beating down the door.”

  “But why are you holding them?” asked the surly sentry who’d provoked him with his bayonet. “Clearly, neither one is ill.”

  “Perhaps not, but Kennan Cameron is no saint. Mark me, he’s a Jacobite and so is his backbiting father. Dispatch a retinue to Fort William. I want to know more about our captive before we entertain his release.”

  “And the girl?”

  “She’s a vagrant—a clear victim of smallpox. I don’t give a rat’s arse what happens to her.”

  Ready to scream, Divana drew her fists over her lips as she glanced to Kennan. “I—”

  He held up a finger, silencing her.

  “Nothing a bath and a decent dress wouldn’t fix,” one of the men below continued. “She’s bonny.”

  “Forget the dress.” They all laughed. “A lass like that ought to be naked and across my bed.”

  Shaking her head, Divana covered her ears and backed away from the window. “They’re vile,” she whispered while the horrors of being taken captive and dumped on Hyskeir tormented her mind.

  “Och, lassie,” Kennan growled under his breath. In two strides, he wrapped her in his arms. “Do not listen to those flea-bitten maggots. They have no idea what they’re on about.”

  Scarcely able to breathe, she grasped his waist and clung as if her next breath depended on his protection. It had been too long since another person had touched her with care, had talked to her, had been a friend to her, and now there was a very real threat of losing him. “But they want to arrest ye and—and then those animals will come after me.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. His mouth was warm and soft and ever so comforting. “Nay, nay,” he cooed. “I’ll never allow it.”

  “What if they take ye away?” She buried her face in his chest, wishing his powerful arms would surround her for the rest of her days. How could she ever trust anyone but Kennan? “I-I’m so frightened.”

  “Don’t be. I’ll not allow anything to happen to you.”

  He smoothed a big, solid hand down her hair. Had he any idea of the comfort he imparted with his touch? Divana clung to him tighter. “How do ye ken?”

  Drawing a hand to her cheek, his gentle fingers soothed her as he coaxed her to raise her chin and look at his face. As he focused on only her, his green eyes filled with compassion while the corners of his mouth turned up. “Ye ken you’re not helpless, lass.”

  Trying not to cry, she drew in a stuttered breath. “Against dragoons?”

  “Aye.” He blessed her with a confident grin. “Did you put your slingshot in your basket?”

  “I did. A stone as well.”

  “Then you’re not helpless. You’ve seen what a wee rock does to a duck?”

  She nodded, the sound of his voice giving her strength.

  “Imagine what it would do to a man’s head.”

  She remembered back to her childhood—a Sunday sermon at the old kirk. “Like David and Goliath?”

  “Now you’re thinking.” He brushed her cheek with his finger. “Never forget you have a skill few men can match.”

  When footsteps sounded on the stairs, Kennan lowered his hands and turned his ear toward the door. Divana glanced from wall to wall. Their chamber was empty aside from the straw strewn across the floor and a bucket in the corner. She shuddered to think what it was used for.

  Kennan rattled the latch, giving it a good jerk.

  “Leave the door alone, you swine,” bellowed a guard from beyond.

  “We’re hungry. Haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “You’ll be fed after the rest of us.” The man chuckled. “If there’s anything left.”

  Backing up, Kennan cupped a hand to the side of his mouth and whispered, “We’ll need to be careful what we say.” Then he returned to the window and placed both his palms on the pane. It creaked a bit.

  Divana slipped beside him. “What are ye doing?”

  “’Tis loose,” he whispered.

  She glanced down to the cobblestones. “Jump all that way?” she asked, so quietly, she barely heard herself.

  Kennan pointed up to the exposed beams. “They’ll help us.”

  “How?”

  “Go to the door and listen. If the guard makes a sound, whistle.”

  “I can’t whistle.”

  “Then clear your throat.”

  Divana did as she was told until Kennan took the blanket from her basket. She dashed across the floor and grasped one end. “Ye cannot use that!”

  “Keep your voice down,” he whispered, pulling the sgian dubh from beneath his kilt. “Do you want to remain here at the mercy of Sergeant Corbyn for the next fortnight?”

  Biting her lip, she stared forlornly at her blanket. “Nay.”

  “Then trust me.”

  It wasn’t easy, but she returned to the door and listened while Kennan cut her best blanket—the only blanket she’d brought, the only one she liked—into four lengthwise strips. What was he planning, and how would they stay warm at night? Before she asked, a door down below slammed and another set of footsteps started up the stairs.

  “Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat and flicking her hand at the Highlander.

  Kennan swiftly slid his knife up his sleeve and crammed the blanket pieces into the basket.

  “What have you there?” asked the guard beyond the door.

  “Bread and water for the prisoners,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  “Is that so?” A key scraped the lock. “If it were me, I’d let them starve.”

  * * *

  Even Kennan felt the cold as he rubbed Divana’s arm. With her head nestled against his chest, she’d drifted off to sleep an hour or so past. Moonbeams shone in through the window, illuminating her face. She was so young yet had endured too much suffering. And through it all, she was cheerful, friendly, and as lovely as an angel. In a world filled with scoundrels, she shone as bright and
pure as a primrose blooming in the midst of a mire.

  He brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her temple. “I vow to guard you with my life,” he whispered into her coppery tresses. Her fresh scent reminded him of a newborn lamb and, as Kennan closed his eyes, the need to protect her swelled through him.

  But he knew a lass like Divana could never be more to him than a passing fancy. And the woman in his arms was too precious for anyone to love and cast aside. Kennan was the heir to one of the most powerful chieftainships in the Highlands. Men like him married for lands and titles—to strengthen the bonds between clans.

  Hell, his sister Janet had married into the feuding Clan Grant, and with that single act, she’d put an end to centuries of unrest and boundary battles. Though, in truth, Janet had married for love, and the Grant laird had ultimately saved his life.

  A man can find allies in the strangest places.

  Besides, Kennan couldn’t think of marriage to anyone at the moment. It would be unfair to wed a woman and then take to the high seas for years.

  He smiled at Divana while she slept. Had they met under different circumstances, he never would have come to know her—her strength, her kindness, and her fears. What lass wouldn’t be afraid to face the harsh world after being left to die on a godforsaken island by her own damned clan?

  A light snore came from the other side of the door, at long last. Kennan let Divana sleep for a time while the guard’s snores grew louder. Only then did he squeeze her shoulder. “’Tis time to wake.”

  Moaning, she sat upright and stretched. “Is it morn already?”

  “Nay. Fetch your basket.” He gripped his sgian dubh and ran it around the window’s frame. Placing his palms on the pane, he pressed with alternating force, trying to carefully dislodge it from the sill without sending the glass crashing to the ground below. The blasted thing gave a fraction but was too deep in the grooves to come out.

  “What’s the matter?” Divana asked, looking over his shoulder.

  “She’s stuck.”

  “Do not break it.”

  Kennan clenched his teeth. The window gave more up and down than it did from side to side. “I’m trying my damnedest.” He grasped the lass by the shoulder and urged her to shift to the place where he’d been standing. “I need your help. Put your palms on the pane, push it upward, and hold it there. I’ll see if I can lever it out with my sgian dubh.”

  “What if it breaks?” she asked, moving her hands into place.

  “Then we’ll make a racket loud enough to wake the dead.”

  “Och, that’s reassuring.”

  She raised the glass while Kennan slipped his knife under and drew out, but the blasted glass stuck on the right. “Is it centered?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Move it a hair to the left.”

  As she shifted, he clenched his teeth, drawing the hilt toward his body. Finally, the glass gave way, but before Divana released her hands, the pane plummeted out the window.

  “No!” Kennan shouted in a whisper as he lurched out the hole with his upper body. His heart stuck in his throat as he caught the glass with the tips of his fingers while his sgian dubh clanked on the cobblestones below.

  “Good glory,” Divana exclaimed, her voice hushed but very high in pitch.

  “You can say that again.” Kennan didn’t even breathe as he slowly drew the glass into the chamber and set it on the floor. Staring at each other, they stood motionless, listening until the guard’s snores pealed through the timbers. “Hand me the blanket.”

  After they’d eaten their meager meal of bread and water, he had tied the four strips together, creating a makeshift rope. He swung one end over a rafter beam and tied it firm, then tossed the length out the window. “You go first. It doesn’t reach all the way, but the drop won’t be far once you’ve reached the end.”

  “Are ye certain it will hold?”

  He tested it himself. “If it can hold me, it’ll hold you for certain. Now haste afore someone comes along.”

  “All right then.” She squared her shoulders, clapped her hands to his cheeks, and gave him a kiss on the lips. “For luck.”

  Kennan’s heart decided to leap in fifty different directions as the corner of his mouth ticked up. He cleared his throat and painted on a serious expression. Good God, he mustn’t let on how much her kindly gesture affected him. “You’ll be fine and I’ll be right behind.”

  After she made it safely to the footpath, it took but a moment for Kennan to join her. He retrieved his knife and grasped Divana’s hand. “This way.”

  Together they hastened to the stable of an old crofter—a man he and his father had visited when Kennan was a lad—a man who ought to be trustworthy.

  “I think we should keep going,” Divana said.

  “We need a horse first.”

  “Ye aim to steal a horse?” She yanked her hand away from his. “Nay! If we’re caught, they’ll send us to the gallows for certain.”

  “Not if I pay for the beast.” Walking through the dark aisle, he popped his head into three stalls until he found an old garron pony standing in the shadows. “This fellow will do.”

  Fortunately, the pony’s bridle was hanging on a nail beside the stall. Kennan untied his pouch from around his upper thigh. Once he’d taken to the sea, he’d started the habit of keeping the pouch and sgian dubh lashed to his thigh, certain not only the knife but also the coin would be of use one day.

  Divana’s feet crunched over the hay as she stepped beside him. “They didn’t search ye there, did they?”

  “Nay—’tis why I carry a blade and coin near my loins. A man never kens when his life will hang on a precipice, and with these, I am never penniless or unarmed.” As he shook five coins into his palm, the gold glimmered with the fleeting rays of moonlight. “These ought to satisfy the old crofter.”

  “Saint Columba! Are those sovereigns?” she asked, tracing a finger over a coin. “I’ve never seen one afore.”

  “Aye.” Kennan closed his fist around them, then let them fall into the horse’s grain bucket. For good measure, he removed his clan badge from his shoulder and dropped it in as well. “Five of those beauties will more than pay for this old nag and ’twill keep my da’s friend from hastening to the soldiers.”

  After he bridled the pony, it took nearly no strength to set Divana across his withers.

  “How long will it take us to reach Achnacarry?” she asked as he climbed up behind her.

  He reached around the lass and took up the reins, the familiar stirring coming to life again. He liked having her there where he could protect her from brigands like Corbyn. Where he could hold her close to his body. Breathe in her scent. Feel the shift of her hip against his.

  Kennan shook his head, sat taller, and tapped his heels. “’Tis a good day’s journey, but we’ll be following the glens. The route is more direct, but far less traveled.”

  “Is it faster?”

  “That depends on the weather.” He tapped the reins and headed inland and south, setting a path for Loch Morar, where they’d find no roads and, God willing, no soldiers.

  Chapter Eight

  Swaying with the motion of the horse, Divana curled into Kennan’s warmth. Though it was windy and cold, there was nowhere in all of Christendom she’d rather be. Surrounded by his arms made all the fear of being captured melt away. As Divana rested against his powerful chest, watching the midnight-blue silhouettes of the Highlands slowly pass by, she realized that, together, they could overcome anything.

  Kennan walked the horse along the south shore of Loch Morar while the moonlight glistened off the rippling waves. “You ought to close your eyes, lass.”

  She looked up and met his gaze. Even in the dark his eyes sparkled with kindness. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to sleep.”

  “We still have a long journey ahead.”

  “How far do ye reckon?”

  He inclined his head, his silky beard brushing her forehead. “Just yonde
r is the inlet—from there we follow the glen until we reach Loch Arkaig—Cameron lands.”

  “Then we’re nearly there?”

  “Och, my kin’s lands are vast. Achnacarry sits beyond on the River Arkaig. We’ll not arrive afore midmorning for certain.”

  “I don’t mind.” She shifted her seat a bit, nestling between Kennan’s powerful thighs. A contented sigh slipped through her lips. “Ye’re warm enough to be a brazier.”

  “I’m happy to hear your ladyship approves.”

  “Ladyship?”

  “I’m teasing.”

  “Your mother is a lady, is she not?”

  “She was. My stepmother is Lady Lochiel now.”

  Divana pursed her lips, feeling like a heel. “Sorry.”

  She fidgeted with the horse’s mane while an unpleasant pause swelled through the air. There was one she’d yearned to discuss for sennights. Her mouth grew dry as she ran her trembling fingers through the horse’s mane.

  I need to stop fidgeting and just have out with it.

  “And when ye wed, your wife will be a lady as well?” There. She’d said what needed to be said. But why did she want to leap off the pony and run to the hills?

  “If I ever marry, she will be,” the man said matter-of-factly, as if they weren’t talking about the most important decision of his life.

  She flipped the mane hairs to and fro. “Do ye want to marry?”

  “I haven’t given it much thought, aside from the fact I’m expected to choose a bride one day to carry on with the Cameron line.”

  Divana licked her lips and dared to look at his mouth. Aye, before they mounted the horse, she’d risked all by kissing him. And though she’d said it was for luck, there was no mistaking the charged energy between them. If only he’d see fit to kiss her—really kiss her on the mouth without an excuse. “But ye do not want to?”

  “Grave matters have taken precedence at the moment. A wife brings a great deal of responsibility. Something which I am not at liberty to give.”

  “I wouldn’t reckon she’d be much trouble at all. I think a wife ought to be a help to her husband, nay hinder him.” Smiling, Divana closed her eyes and pictured herself in a garden of roses. Lady Divana. Then she jolted and sat straight.