Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)

She was proud she flinched from neither spittle nor stare.

“She's no' comin' aboard. No womenfolk. ” His eyes lit, glimmering with suggestion. “Not unless she's—”

“No,” Cormac said, his voice sharp. “She's coming aboard or your man sees none of this. ” He lifted the edge of his waistcoat, flashing the coin purse tied there.

Scowling, the man disappeared.

“I wish it weren't this way… “ Cormac muttered.

“I have to come with you. How else to be certain we retrieve the right boy?” She nodded to where the coin purse was nestled beneath his coat. “So,” she said, with a quick change of subject, “I thought you said true Scotsmen carried only sporrans. ”

He shook his head in disbelief. “You're not very afraid, are you?” She inhaled deeply, contemplating his question. “We're close to finding Davie. And when I consider that, I feel bravery enough for the both of us. Right now, the concern foremost in my mind is” — she eyed the side of the ship —

“how precisely are we to” — a rope ladder tumbled over the side — “ah. ” The flimsy ladder swung in the air, and he grabbed the side to steady it. “In the mood for a climb, Ree?”

“Come aboard,” a voice shouted from above. “The both of you. ”

Even with his help, it was a struggle to mount the ladder. Finally, she pulled herself completely onto it.

Between their adventure and the fact that they were about to save Davie, a wave of giddiness overtook her.

Standing on the swaying rope ladder, she looked back over her shoulder and told him saucily, “I don't know if my legs can handle any more strenuous activity. ”

When she glanced up, though, spying some of the ladder's more threadbare footholds, her high spirits flagged.

She glanced back down to see what a fall would look like. A gap between the dock and the side of the ship wavered like a great flapping maw. “Would one survive the fall, do you think, or be crushed between ship and pier?”

“Courage, lass. ” With a wicked gleam in his eye, he placed his hands on her rump and gave her a push up to get her started. “Nobody will be doing any falling this day. And anyhow,” he added with a wink, “as for the strenuousness of the activity, 'tis I who's had the most exacting time of it. ” His ribald comment erased her trepidation long enough for her to scale to the top. He climbed right behind her, helping to guide her up and over the side.

After Marjorie gathered her wits and dusted her skirts, she raised her head to see dozens of gape-mouthed faces staring at her. The stench of unwashed men hit her like a wall. She forced a prim smile onto her face.

Davie. They were so close. And the first thing she would do was give him a bath. Or feed him and then bathe him.

Perhaps she could feed him while he sat in the bath.

She remembered they played a role — she was supposed to be a wealthy woman, generally entided, and keen to hire help. She stood taller, adopting her best haughty mien.

Shading her eyes from the sun, she took a step forward, staring wide-eyed at the dense webbing of lines overhead. It seemed an impossible tangle of ropes and poles. She took another step, watching as a sailor climbed high, edging out along the top of one of the sails to tie something off.

“Mind the boom, mum. ”

Marjorie looked down to see who'd spoken, and she had to bite her lips not to gasp. A young boy stood there, and he was the strangest, most beautiful creature she'd ever laid eyes on. His skin shone dark as ebony, his shy smile baring teeth like small pearls.

She'd heard tell of Moorish folk, and here was one before her, a lad with such a peculiar inner stillness combined with the most incongruous

Scots brogue spilling from his lips. She wanted to ask who he was. Did he remember his mother? Was he safe? “Thank you,” she said simply instead.

She didn't understand this world, didn't want to contemplate boys stolen from faraway lands. She felt Cormac at her back, and something eased deep inside. They were in this together.

There was a shout, and the sailors scattered like marbles, scurrying in dozens of different directions, back to their posts.

Another man appeared before them, and he stood out dramatically from the rest of the crew. Unlike the majority who wore loose-legged sailor slops, this man had donned fine tawny-colored britches and a simply cut black waistcoat. An oily smile spread across his face. “Welcome aboard. I confess, my men are in quite a dither. The last woman aboard was a pretty little native rowed out to us as a gift when we were docked off the coast of Dominica.

You can imagine they wonder if the appearance of another female might mean—”

“Let's just get on with this, then,” Cormac snarled. “We are the Lord and Lady Brodie. ”

“Oh, I know who you are, or you wouldn't be standing here. And you may call me… Jack. ” The man's smile grew broad, but it didn't reach his eyes. He winked, and her skin crawled. “You must understand I'm not in the habit of handing out my Christian name to strangers, no matter how pretty a king's subject she might be. ”