by Amy Jarecki
The woman harrumphed. “It is not likely any of the miscreants about town would divulge such a thing to me.”
“You have your sources. Do not deny it.”
“But it would be so much more fun if we slipped up the rear steps and started where we left off.”
“Your offer is tempting, madam, but I aim to set sail as soon as my purser has acquired supplies.” Hat in hand, he scooted to the edge of his chair. “Please, Helen. If you harbor any fondness for me at all.”
“Oh, very well, but I cannot guarantee the accuracy of my information. ’Tis months old.”
“Go on.”
“Word is he and his band of pirates have found an oasis somewhere south of here.”
“How far south?”
“No one knows.” She stood and moved to the globe sitting on a table in front of a lace-clad window. Turning it, she pointed. “Here’s Nassau, and if you trace a line south, you run into Cuba, and then Jamaica.”
Kennan studied the line she’d drawn. The area had little in the way of islands—nothing but the larger ones. And he’d spent enough time sailing through the Antilles isles to know there were literally hundreds, many of them away from the trade routes. He tapped the empty sea to the southeast. “What about the cays?”
Something in her eyes flashed, but then she turned and leaned against the table. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
“But you have a fleet of merchant ships sailing these waters. What have your captains reported?”
“I’ve told you what I know. He’s south of Nassau, and I thank God he hasn’t plundered one of my ships of late.”
Kennan bowed. “I thank you, madam. You have been of great service.”
“At one time that meant so much more.” She held out her hand and let him kiss it. “Next time, do not bring the boy.”
* * *
Divana spotted a Bible on a table across from the settee, wandered over to it, and smoothed her hand over the soft leather. She opened the cover and turned the pages until she found one with three large words. “The Old…Te-st-a-me-nt,” she sounded out the letters as Kennan had taught her.
“The Old Testament,” said a man with an unusual accent.
Divana instantly dropped her hands to her sides and skittered away from the table. “I-I was just having a wee peek.”
“Ah, ma chérie, There’s nothing wrong with reading the word of God.”
“Are ye a holy man?”
“I cannot say that I am.” He was heavyset and sweat beaded along his thinning hairline, but he had a friendly smile, though he was missing a tooth right smack in the front. “What is it that brings you to Nassau?”
“I-I’m a cabin boy and my ship arrived this morn.”
“Is that so?”
“Aye.”
“And if I were to venture to guess, you hail from Scotland, do you not?”
“I do. The Highlands.” She pressed her fingers to her lips. Surely it wasn’t wrong to admit she was Scottish.
“Only two ships dropped anchor today. You must have been aboard the Lady Heather.”
Divana didn’t respond.
“You’ve a Scottish captain, no?”
How could she phrase it without reciting Kennan’s name and everything she knew about the Lady Heather, including the fact that the ship was purchased from the Baronet of Sleat? “What with a Scottish cabin boy and a ship named Heather, I reckon that might be a good guess.”
“What business have you in Nassau?”
“I’m attending the captain.”
“I see. He has dealings with Mistress Evans?”
Divana glanced away.
The Frenchman closed the Bible and tapped it. “I can only imagine.”
Needing him to stop asking questions, Divana’s mind raced. “Ah…the captain never tells me anything about his affairs. I just take orders and do his bidding.”
“Oui. I’m sure you do.”
Perhaps she ought to turn the tables and ask the questions. “Where do ye hail from, sir?”
“Have you never heard a French accent?”
“I haven’t heard many accents aside from English—and not all that often.” No, no, no, she wasn’t about to carry on about Sergeant Corbyn and how he’d rescued them from Hyskeir, only to lock them in the room at the mill, after which he badgered Kennan until he shot him and ended up court-martialed at Fort William.
The man bowed, then set his tricorne on his head. “Well, young sir, it has been a pleasure.”
Blast it all, Divana almost curtsied before she managed a clumsy bow. “Good day, sir.”
It wasn’t but a blink of an eye after the man slipped out the door before Kennan came into the entry. “Who was that?”
“He didn’t say his name—just asked what ship I was with.”
“Did you tell him?”
“There was no need. He guessed as soon as I opened me mouth.”
“Bloody meddler.”
“He spoke with a funny accent, said he hailed from France.”
“What?” With the speed of a cat, Kennan drew his dirk and barreled out the door. Dust kicked up around his ankles as he skidded to a halt in the middle of the street. Holding his knife aloft, he turned full circle. “Where the hell did he go?”
Divana joined him. “Is something amiss?”
“I bloody hope it isn’t.” He grabbed her by the wrist and tugged. “I do not trust the French, is all.”
She hastened her step to keep pace with Kennan’s long stride. Good gracious, the Frenchman seemed friendly enough. Must the captain distrust everyone?
"Where are we off to now?" she asked.
"The regisrar's offices. ’Tis where they keep a list of ships that have come into port. And if the clerk has done his job, we'll aslo learn who the masters of those vessels are as well as the contents of their cargo."
Chapter Twenty-Two
Kennan turned the lock on his cabin door while Divana plopped onto the trunk and removed the square-toed shoes he’d purchased for her after they left the useless registrar's offices. The merchant who’d peddled the brogues claimed they’d hardly been worn. Though there hadn’t been time to order a new pair from a cobbler, if Divana had to guess, these shoes had been worn once if ever. The leather was as stiff as oak bark and had already caused blisters on her heels.
She rubbed her foot. “I do not see why sailors have to wear shoes.”
As Kennan faced her, his eyes shone in the lamplight. “Only heathens go barefoot.”
“I’m no heathen.”
He strolled past her, capturing her hand and tugging her along toward his velvet-padded chair. “I do not ken about that. I rather like you with a wee bit of heathen coursing through your blood.”
Divana put up a wee struggle when he sat and pulled her onto his lap—but not too much of a struggle. On the inside she bubbled with anticipation. “How can ye say such a thing?”
He tugged the woolen Highlander’s bonnet from her head and dropped it to the floorboards. “No proper lady can set my blood to boiling like you do.”
“Not even Mistress Evans?” Divana shouldn’t have asked, but she’d been rankled ever since visiting the woman’s home. Good heavens, Kennan had entertained relations with the lady, who clearly was wealthy in her own right. Imagine being a widow and owning a stately home with servants and all.
He grasped her chin, his expression growing dark and serious. “Especially not that woman.”
As she settled more comfortably on his lap, warmth swirled through her insides. Divana had tried to ignore her jealousy when they went to see the woman, but knowing he’d been friendly with anyone had made her inexplicably irritable. “N-n-nay?” she asked. “Can ye tell me why?”
“Let’s just say she enjoys being a widow.”
“How so?”
“Must I spell it out?”
“Please.”
“She has a reputation for setting her sights on younger men…especially younger captains who might be in a
position to help her further her operations.”
Divana blinked, the realization of the extent of Mistress Evans’s scandalous nature sinking in. “Ye mean she beds them and uses them for her own devices?”
“Smart lass.”
When a knock came at the door, Divana flew off Kennan’s lap, clutching her fists beneath her chin.
“I’ve your supper, Captain,” announced the disembodied voice.
“Davy, attend the bloody door,” he growled like a grumpy curmudgeon.
She shook away her alarm and started off. The idea of playing a cabin boy was beginning to wear thin. But at least she was where and with whom she wanted to be. “Straightaway, sir.”
She opened the door wide for the sailor to come in with an enormous tray of cooked pork medallions and gravy, freshly baked bread, and an assortment of interesting fruits. Perhaps playing the role of a lad was a small price to pay for happiness.
Though after Kennan dismissed the sailor and they started in on the delicious meal, a flurry of questions swarmed around Divana’s mind. Kennan had told her about Vane’s attack in the Irish Sea, but he hadn’t said much about what had happened before the attack. And why had he run out of Mistress Evans’s house as if he were about to challenge a hideous scoundrel to a duel?
He pushed a plate of some hard-looking chunks of white toward her. “Remember the coconuts we saw in the market?”
“Aye.”
“This is the fruit. Try some, ’tis delicious.”
She picked up a piece and nibbled. “Och, ye’re right.” Immediately, her mouth watered and she ate the entire slice. “I…um…was wondering…,” she said, wiping the moisture from her lips.
“Yes?”
“Why do ye not like the French?”
He broke the bread and slathered butter over a portion. “’Tisn’t the French as much as one particular Frenchman.”
“Hmm.” She stopped chewing and looked to the windows. “After today I’ve ended up having more questions, as if there are enormous gaps between the things I ken about ye.”
“For instance?”
“Well, how did ye come to befriend Mistress Evans, and how did ye come to be enemies with some man from France, and why the devil was Jackson Vane after ye in the first place?”
Kennan pushed back his chair and strode to the windows. “I reckon it all started with the Duke of Kingston-upon-Hull and his aversion to paying taxes whilst he encouraged the vote in the House of Lords to impose crippling duties on the Scots—duties so high, we had no chance of selling anything to England.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“Believe me it isn’t. ’Tis why so many Highlanders have banded together for the Jacobite cause.”
“To put Prince James on the throne?”
“Exactly. He’s the heir, and as far as we’re concerned, he’s first in line. At least he would be if he weren’t a Catholic.”
“Why does it matter?”
“Because Queen Anne is terrified of popery and has enacted legislation to prevent Catholics from sitting on the throne.”
“That makes no sense at all.” Divana took another piece of coconut. “So, how did ye end up at odds with the Duke of Kingston-upon-Hull?”
“It wasn’t at odds exactly. Word arrived that the duke had captured a Dutch ship that was carrying stolen Spanish gold. The Jacobite loyalists came together and agreed that James—”
“Who is exiled in France, aye?”
Kennan nodded. “That James needed the gold more to support his cause than Hull. So, to make a long story short, my men and I spirited aboard Hull’s ship and took it.”
“An act of piracy?”
“I prefer to say privateering for the prince. Besides, the gold had already been stolen twice over.” Kennan turned away from the window. “Remember the Frenchman I despise?”
“Aye.”
“He had letters which he claimed to be from James—very convincing forgeries, mind you—which claimed he was an emissary from the prince. To avoid suspicion, those loyal to the cause decided to entrust the gold to him—Claude Dubois is his name, and I should have killed him when I had the chance.”
“What happened? Did it have anything to do with your being wrongly accused in Dundee?”
“Dundee was part of it, aye. I think I mentioned the queen’s man was padding his pockets and trying to force me to pay twice the normal duties, for a shipment of tobacco from the Continent. I was arguing my case when one of the soldiers on the pier fired a shot, and a riot broke out. And it so happened on that very pier the Earl of Mar and his wife were searching for me—as well as the gold.”
“Is that how ye came to befriend the earl?”
“Let’s say what happened afterward bonded our friendship.”
“Saint Columba, I wouldn’t have dreamed all this up if I were telling a tall tale.”
“I suppose it seems like quite a jumble now.” Kennan opened the journal on his desk and flipped through the pages. “Anyway, we found Dubois and the gold at Versailles, took the coin to James, where it should have gone in the first place, and he rewarded us each with a portion.”
“Of gold? But I thought Vane stole your silver.”
Kennan closed his journal and poured a tot of rum. “He did.”
“Och nay, ye cannot stop now. I need to ken the rest. What happened to your gold and why did Vane seek ye out?”
“Most of the gold is in a strongbox at Achnacarry—Lochiel is the only man a party to its whereabouts. I took enough to buy silk, coffee, and rum—from Mistress Evans, mind you. But beforehand, we came across a Spanish vessel that had run aground on a reef. When we set foot on her decks, the officers were ready to go down with the ship—but she had silver aboard. After a wee battle, we sent the officers ashore in a skiff and helped ourselves to the silver.”
“You stole it?”
“Let us say salvaged. Besides, no lives were lost.”
“But what about those poor Spaniards?”
“I reckon they’ve found another ship and are somewhere sailing the high seas.” Kennan took a healthy swig. “But when Vane attacked, he knew I had silver aboard my ship.”
“Mistress Evans told him?”
“I never suspected her. She hates Jackson Vane almost as much as I do. But remember I said I never should have left Claude Dubois alive?”
“Aye.”
“He was aboard Vane’s ship when they attacked. Don’t ask me how, but I ken to my very soul someone told Dubois about our plunder and then he found a ruthless pirate to steal it.”
“And so many men lost,” Divana whispered.
Kennan slid into a chair and cradled his head in his hands. “Fifteen good men gone—all because of that bastard.”
Divana moved behind him and kneaded his shoulders. “Their deaths were nay your fault.”
“It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have plundered the silver. Or I should have sailed a more circuitous route home. I should have been more vigilant as we entered the North Channel.”
Divana hated how he tormented himself, thinking of all the things he ought to have done to prevent the attack. But even if he’d stayed on deck throughout the night or sailed a different route, there was every chance the Highland Reel still would have been plundered. “Did ye tell Mistress Evans about the silver?”
“She was the only one. But I gave my men shore leave in Nassau, and somehow the news made its way back to Dubois and Jackson Vane.”
* * *
Kennan closed his eyes, reliving the torture of the battle. As clear as if it had happened yesterday, the gruesome aftermath shredded his gut. He’d never forget the bloody corpses strewn across the deck of his beloved Highland Reel. During the past month he’d tried to block the rage and guilt from his mind and focus on his duty, but retelling the past tore open those wounds and hit him with the force of a mallet.
“Relax,” Divana whispered in his ear as her magical fingers plied his muscles. God, he adored the lass.
> A voice at the back of his mind told him he didn’t deserve her—told him to storm out of the cabin and sleep on the planks of mid-deck. But how would that look to his men? Och, the captain of the ship brooding and thrust from his own cabin?
“Ye’ll soon find Vane and when ye do, I ken ye’ll make him pay for the friends ye’ve lost.”
Kennan balled his fists. “Bloody oath I will.”
She kissed his neck, her fingers sliding down his chest. “How can I make ye feel better?”
The lass had done so much for him—always giving, always helping. “It is I who should be tending you.”
“But I am nothing but a lowly lass.”
“Do you truly think so? How many times have you helped me?”
“Och, but I did no more than me duty.”
“I beg your pardon, but you are gravely mistaken. You gave me shelter after I’d been forced overboard and mauled by sharks. You went without sleep and tended my sickbed after I was shot.”
“Aye, and then I spirited aboard this ship against your wishes.”
“True.” He released his belt. “But I reckon everyone’s entitled to a misstep now and again.”
She slipped her shirt over her head while Kennan unfastened her falls and shoved her breeches to the floor. “Do ye ken what I like most about you being dressed as a lad?”
A coy twinkle sparked in her eye. “Me shapely arse?”
He chuckled. Oh, how she distracted him. “Of course, your shapely arse drives me mad. But the thing I like most is it only takes a few flicks of my fingers to strip you bare.”
Completely naked, she unfastened his plaid and drew his shirt over his head, exposing him where he sat. “Do ye ken what I like most about stripping ye bare?”
“I’ve no clue.”
She took his member between her fingers. “Every time I reveal your manhood, ye are hard as iron.”
He caressed her cheek. “I like how you’ve taken to the sport of the bedchamber.”
She licked him. “So, Captain. What will ye teach me this night, or have we tried every position there is to master?”
An eager moan rumbled from his throat. “I reckon there’s a few yet to go—and even more yet to invent.”
“Oooh, I like your sense of adventure.”