by Amy Jarecki
“Och aye, and more were spared than I’d dared to dream.”
“Everyone is saying ye’ll go after Vane straightaway.”
Kennan nodded, a lump forming in his throat. But he’d told her he was a man of the sea—often gone. He mustn’t allow his feelings for her to overpower his resolve—not when there was so much at stake.
“So, when are ye leaving?”
“Dunno. I need to commandeer a ship first.”
“I wouldn’t think that would be easy to do.”
“Nay, but it helps to have—”
“Strong allies?”
“Aye.”
Her bottom lip pouted ever so slightly. “I do not want ye to go.”
“Not to worry, lass. These things take time, and once my crew and I are ready to set sail, you will have endeared yourself to all who walk these halls.”
“Mayhap.” She gestured toward the hearth, the spark in her eyes shaded by the dim light. “Well, there’s work to be done and I mustn’t dally about.”
“Right.” Kennan gripped one of the dining chairs. It didn’t seem right for her to be cleaning soot from the fireplace and setting fires. She ought to be a lady’s maid or a head housekeeper—or attain some lofty position.
He ground his molars.
The lass must start somewhere, mustn’t she? He couldn’t just march up to his stepmother and insist that she create a position for a lass who had never served on a big estate before.
Divana had said herself, she’d never been so comfortable. She had a warm bed, food, clothes, and meaningful work. But somehow, that didn’t seem enough.
He released his iron grip and bowed. “Then I’ll bid you good day.”
Chapter Eleven
Two weeks later
At the side of the keep, Divana cranked the handle above the well until the bucket appeared. After filling two pails, she started toward the kitchen, just as a dozen dragoons rode through the gates. At the sight of the redcoats, prickles fired across her skin. But when she recognized Sergeant Corbyn trotting at the head of the retinue, one pail dropped from her fingertips and washed over the cobblestones.
Divana’s heart nearly hammered out of her chest. Before she was spotted, she quickly turned away. She could scarcely breathe as she darted around the far side of the well and crouched behind it, daring to peek at Corbyn. He sat his horse as if he carried a proclamation from the queen herself.
When the redcoats stopped, silence filled the courtyard. Armed Cameron guardsmen looked on from the curtain walls while an important-looking man strode from the guardhouse and addressed the soldiers. “I’m Lochiel’s man-at-arms. State your business.”
Corbyn glared down his nose at the man. “Kennan Cameron escaped from our quarantine. The man is suspected of contracting an infectious disease. Same with the wench with whom he was traveling. They must be quarantined at once.”
Divana’s fingernails bit into her palms. She’d been quarantined for two miserable years, was that not enough? Besides, two weeks had already passed since they left Hyskeir, and nary a soul had contracted smallpox.
“Why the devil are the queen’s dragoons in my courtyard, led by the navy of all things?” demanded Sir Ewen, hastening down the steps of the keep.
The sergeant shifted his attention to the laird, though he still wore an air of arrogance. “Sir, I demand you turn over your pirate son immediately.”
At the sound of pirate, Sir Ewen stroked the palm of his hand along the hilt of his dirk. “I have four sons, none of whom are pirates.”
“You know to whom I am referring.”
“Do I?” Ewen sauntered up to Corbyn and grasped the horse’s bridle. “Unfortunately, the only son in residence has not yet reached his second birthday.”
“Then I demand you tell me where he is.”
“I beg your pardon, Sergeant, but you are speaking in riddles.”
“Kennan Cameron,” Corbyn bit out. “Where is he?”
The Great Lochiel’s expression turned dark. “I do not care for your tone. And it would be Sir Kennan to the likes of you.”
Corbyn cast his beady-eyed gaze up to the keep. “If he’s here, he’s putting the rest of you at risk.” He eyed the men on the curtain wall, then raised his voice. “Risk of contracting the dread smallpox.”
“Then I applaud my son for staying away,” said Lochiel. “What with a bairn above stairs, it would be unthinkable for any of my kin to deliberately bring sickness into this house.”
“Has he sent word of his whereabouts?”
“He has not.”
“Unfortunate, because there’s also the matter of inciting a riot in Dundee, which Sir Kennan must answer for.”
Divana clapped a hand over her mouth. Och nay!
Lochiel scowled. “So this is your reason for your less than amicable visit. Sources tell me the whole debacle was started on the pier—by government troops no less.”
“What sources?” demanded the sergeant in a very disrespectful tone.
“You’re stepping on thin ice. I suggest you take your retinue and return from whence you came.”
“Cameron may not have come cowering to his clan as of yet, but he will and we’ll be watching until he does.”
“And then what, arrest him for his good health?”
“And rioting, piracy, and anything else I can uncover about his lawlessness.”
“You’re grievously misled on every count.” Sir Ewen thrust up his hands, gesturing to the men watching from the surrounding wall above. “I’d have a word with the Earl of Mar afore you go off incriminating my son for defending his ship, his crew, and his cargo from assault by a disgruntled customs officer intent on padding his pockets by charging duties twice that imposed by the crown!”
The sergeant squared his shoulders. “So say you.”
It seemed as if Sir Ewen had simply put his hand on Corbyn’s wrist, but by the way the dragoon cringed, twisting toward the older man with his face turning red, it wasn’t a friendly gesture in the slightest. “Do not attempt to travel down this road, Mr. Corbyn,” seethed Lochiel. “I can see to it you are demoted to a post cleaning the bilges on Her Majesty’s most worm-infested ship.”
“You are trying to coerce me and put me off the scent, but I’ll not be dissuaded.” As Lochiel stepped away, the sergeant picked up his reins. “We will meet again.”
“I truly hope not. I’ll be having words with the colonel at Fort William anon, mark me.”
Divana ducked behind the well, clutching her chest. Where was Kennan? Had he been listening? As the soldiers rode off, she picked up the full bucket and skirted toward the house. Standing in the kitchen’s doorway, Kennan held up his palm, his face tense.
She thrust her finger over her shoulder, pointing in the direction of Corbyn and his mob of dragoons. “They’re after you,” she whispered, exaggerating the words with her lips.
His second palm joined his first, urging her to stay put. “Wait,” he mouthed in reply.
Once the sound of shod horses faded, he hastened toward her. “Why the devil were you out here?”
It wasn’t exactly the greeting she’d hoped to receive. She’d scarcely seen the man in the last fortnight. Straightening, she raised the bucket. “I was drawing water for Cook.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have been out in the open.” He took the pail and placed a hand on the small of her back, leading her inside.
Cook greeted them with her fists on her hips. “At last, I thought you’d gone all the way to the river to fetch my water.”
Kennan set the bucket on the table. “Henceforth, Divana will not be fetching water.”
“I beg your pardon?” Divana nearly tripped as he took ahold of her hand and pulled her into the servants’ dining hall. Thank heavens it was empty, or else he’d have caused a spectacle. “Did ye hear Mr. Corbyn? He wants to arrest ye—and me as well.”
“He’ll have no luck at Achnacarry. I kent he was fishing when he held us.”
“And n
ow he kens about Dundee.”
His feet planted wide, Kennan pounded a fist onto the table. “Dundee was not of my doing.”
“Aye, but he could make things very unpleasant for you until the matter is settled.” Divana paced, her mind racing—Saint Columba, Corbyn even wanted to arrest her. “’Tis dangerous for us to dally here.”
“Nay, it is the safest place we can be at the moment.”
She gripped the back of a chair, about to crack it over his head. “I wish we had never left Hyskeir.” There they had been equals. There they were free to speak and laugh and tell stories about their lives.
Kennan’s stance immediately softened as he stepped toward her. “Are my kin being unkind?”
She clutched her fingers tightly around the bent wood. How could she tell him of the agonizing love in her heart? “Nay.”
“Are you in want of something?” He stroked a hand down his chin as his gaze roved from her head to her hem. “Och, your shoes. How daft you must think me. Come, we’ll visit the cobbler anon.”
He took her hand and pulled her back outside, of all places. He was too strong for her not to follow, but she made a good show of tugging against him, not quite trying to wrench away. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to be seen out of doors.”
“You must be careful. And no dawdling in the courtyard.”
“What about ye? The soldiers were here naught but five minutes ago, and here we are taking a wee stroll.”
“Wheesht. I can take care of myself.”
“Ye make no sense at all.”
He gave her a sidewise grin. Why did he have to go off and do that? And how did he always manage to turn her heart into a puddle with a glance? He looked like a devil, and a pirate, and too tempting not to embrace. Instead she gripped his hand tighter. “Ye oughtn’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
It took all the fortitude in her being to ease her hand away from his. “Ye ken.”
The ringing of the smithy shop neared as Kennan headed out the postern gate. Clansmen and women lived in the cottages beyond the castle. The tiny village boasted a smithy, a cobbler, a tailor, and a family that sold herbs—at least according to Fiona.
“I want you to be happy here.”
“Who said I wasn’t happy?”
“But you just told me you wished we’d never left Hyskeir.”
Divana stopped. “That’s because—” She looked to the skies with a tsk of her tongue. Why must he make everything so difficult?
“Because?” he persisted.
“Because when we were alone on the isle I could talk to ye any time I wanted—without causing a stir, without it being improper.” She threw her arms out in an arc. “Here I’m merely a lowly scullery maid, not fit to tie your brogues.”
“Hogwash. You are speaking to me now.” His gaze shifted left and then right. “I do not see a guard hastening toward us with intent to throw you in the tower’s goal.”
“’Tis not what I meant, and ye ken it.” She shoved him in the shoulder for good measure. “Do ye not?”
He frowned, a long breath hissing through his lips. “I’ll speak to my mother about promoting you to housemaid.”
“Och aye, that would endear all the servants to me all the more, especially Fiona, who’s worked for your kin all her life.”
His mouth twisted as he took a step back. “Well then, what is it you want?”
“If ’tis not clear, then I’m nay about to tell ye.” Divana pulled on the latch and stepped into the shop—of course Kennan followed. And thank heavens he did. She had no idea what to say to a cobbler, nor could she afford to pay for shoes—not even with the wages she’d received just yesterday.
The shop smelled of leather, salt, and tallow while a man wearing spectacles looked up from a table, hammer in hand. “Sir Kennan, ’tis always a pleasure to see you.”
Kennan made the introductions, and Divana was instructed to sit in a chair while the cobbler traced around her foot.
Oh, how her insides were twisted in knots. She didn’t mind her work at Achnacarry, and all that came with it—most of what came with it. But more than anything she hated the vast divide that had instantaneously separated her from Kennan Cameron.
As the cobbler measured her foot, her hand slipped to her apron’s pocket and smoothed over the figurine he’d whittled in the driftwood. How she longed to watch him across the fire with no one else about. How she longed to hear his stories of sailing the seas. If only she’d realized how precious those days were, she never would have boarded Sergeant Corbyn’s galley.
“Are you looking forward to the Beltane festivities on the morrow?” asked the cobbler.
“I—” Divana bit her lip and glanced at Kennan.
“Of course she is.” Kennan grinned again—that same look as before, except this time he winked as well. Blast it, she liked his attention and didn’t like it all at once. It made her too nervous, too vulnerable, and far too blissful. Curse him! “And I’ll be the first to ask her to dance.”
* * *
Tankard of ale in hand, Kennan stood beside his father, watching the children laugh and dance around the maypole, weaving their colorful ribbons.
“A missive just arrived from Sleat,” Kennan said behind his ale.
Da nearly spilled froth down the front of his doublet. “Why did you not fetch me sooner?”
“I kent you were here—besides, the messenger delivered the note no more than a quarter hour ago.”
“Do not keep me in suspense. What news from the baronet?”
“My old brig, the Lady Heather, is in dry dock in Port Glasgow.”
“Bloody hell. Does he not have another ship?”
“He thought I ought to oversee her repairs—as I’ve done in the past. Said he’d sell her to me with a share of the spoils as we discussed.”
“Are ye certain? Och, I do not recommend traveling to Port Glasgow with that bloodhound sergeant sniffing about.”
“I ken that ship nearly better than the Reel—and Sleat is offering her at a price we’d not see anywhere else. But only I can ensure everything is outfitted to my satisfaction. Besides, I need more men.”
“I don’t like it.”
“And I’m nay about to sail into the choppy Atlantic with a ship that’s not seaworthy.”
Da took a long drink from his ale, his expression grim.
“Do not worry. We’ll ride at night. Sail a Cameron galley from Loch Eil.”
“How many men do you plan to take to Port Glasgow?”
“Lachie Mor, Mr. MacNeil, and a handful of others.”
“You ought to take the Cameron army,” Da said, clapping his hand against his tankard as the maypole dancers took their bows.
“Aye? And that wouldn’t draw attention?” Kennan spied Divana on Fiona’s arm. Holy Moses, she wore a blue gown with a scooped neckline that revealed two lovely, unforgettable breasts. “Nay,” he croaked. “’Tis best to draw as little attention as possible until we’ve had word from Mar.”
“The earl ought to request a pardon from the queen,” Da continued. “After all, she might have lost her throne if it weren’t for the pair of you thwarting King Louis’s attempt to invade.”
Kennan was hardly listening. For the love of God, how did the wee urchin grow more radiant by the day? She wore her hair down, flowing like red silk, and her smile was nearly as bright as the Beltane bonfire itself. “I’m certain ’tis only a matter of time,” he managed to say. “Word is Anne is quite ill.”
“Aye, and all the more reason for Mar to act quickly.”
Kennan sipped thoughtfully, forcing his gaze away from Divana. “Sergeant Corbyn is the least of my worries.”
“Agreed.” Da gave his tankard to a passing footman and exchanged it for another. “Though I’d like to show the festering pustule his place.”
“Perhaps we’ll have the chance afore all this is done.” Kennan finished his drink. “But ’tis Beltane and I intend to enjoy it.”
/> “Good on you, lad. But do not bugger one of my serving wenches or there’ll be hell to pay.”
“Never.”
Kennan strolled around the gathering until he stopped directly behind Divana. In truth, he’d prefer to swing an ax and chop wood for an entire day rather than dance, but he’d made the lass a promise, and he always made good on his word.
Except before he tapped her shoulder, Runner skipped up with his bonnet in hand. “Will ye dance the reel with me?”
Divana turned enough for Kennan to see her face, and she looked terrified. “Och, I’m nay much good at dancing.”
Runner grabbed for her hands and tugged. “Not to worry, I’ll help ye. Besides, ye look too bonny to be standing on the fringes.”
Kennan clenched his fists as he watched the lad drag Divana to the patch of grass they used for dancing. How dare the adolescent slaver all over the woman, telling her she looked bonny? And now she was out there standing in the women’s row, the eye of every male Cameron focused on her wholesome beauty. Damnation, she outshone every woman present.
“Is all well, sir?” asked Lachie Mor, stepping beside him with a tankard of ale in hand.
“Aye, it will be when we set out for Glasgow.”
“Agreed. I think the missus is growing tired of having me home.”
“Tell her to enjoy your company whilst she can. I reckon you’ll be gone for a fair stretch soon.”
When Divana turned the wrong way and stumbled into the lass beside her, Kennan couldn’t help his grin. The poor gel apologized and grew more flustered until Runner locked her elbow with his and rowdily spun her in a circle.
“Smiling at the Campbell lass, are you?” asked Mor.
“She’s not much of a dancer.”
“Nor are you.” The quartermaster laughed. “She’s fetching, I’ll say.”
“Why the blazes is everyone talking about how bonny Divana looks? Good Lord, everyone’s openly gawking as if they’ve never seen a woman before.”
“You like her do you?”
“What has that got to do with anything?”
The damned gap-toothed wastrel shrugged as he started off, wobbling on his bowlegs. “I thought as much.”