Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)

He heard a scuffling behind him, and spun. But instead of Marjorie standing there, it was the wee scullion girl.

His heart fell.

“Where is she?” he asked, and his voice came out as an accusation.

“She went with Fiona. ” The girl spoke quietly, and Cormac had to tilt his head to hear. “They raced off. ”

“Where?” He forced his voice to evenness. It'd do no good to terrify his only source of information.

“I heard… mayhap there was talk of a man, and a ship,” she said, not taking her eyes from her feet.

Cormac's heart stuck in his throat. Could Marjorie have gone to the ship without him?

She could, and she would. She'd been furious with him and apparently feeling more betrayed than he'd ever have imagined.

How had he let it come to this? He needed to find her, tell her the truth, and make her his. If she didn't believe he loved her, he'd show her.

Cormac raced back into the night. He'd destroy that ship, even if it destroyed him in the process.

Chapter 35

Marjorie couldn't just sit by and watch as a dozen or more

of her countrymen were snatched from their families and displaced to a foreign shore where they'd spend the rest of their lives toiling for some plantation owner.

Granted, she wasn't quite sure how, precisely, she'd go about saving them, but she told herself she'd figure it out as she went. And sure enough, though she'd wondered how she was to magically alight on the deck of the Oliphant, the rope ladder was down and waiting when she arrived. “Well, thank you, Jack,” she said under her breath.

It meant someone had arrived before her. The bailie perhaps? She stood completely still, struggling to listen, but the only sound from above was the natural creak and groan of the ship's timber. Whoever the visitor was, they'd gone below.

But surely somebody was on deck. She scanned the railing, knowing there must be at least one sailor on watch. It took a few minutes' wait, but finally she saw him, a tallish figure sauntering toward the rear of the ship. She opened her ears, waiting for the sound of distant chatter, but there was only silence. She'd just have to hope he was the only man on deck.

Though the ladder swayed in the darkness, Marjorie managed to clamber on, and more easily this time. She'd learned the hard way it was best to focus only on the cut of the raw rope in her palms, rather than dwelling on the water that slapped and churned below, now an eerie gun-metal gray in the moonlight.

Hoisting herself over the railing was another matter entirely, though, and she was grateful none saw her shimmying and kicking over. She made it, and sat on deck for a moment with her skirts in a tangle at her knees.

Scooting her back against the railing, she ducked into the shadows to scan for sailors while she caught her breath.

The man she'd spied was now leaning over the aft rail. Even if she squinted, all she could make out were the white stripes of his shirt in the night. She assured herself that, if she remained quiet, he wouldn't spot her either.

She looked to her right and clapped a hand over her mouth in shock. The little moorish boy from before stood there, silent as a wraith. She drew in several unsteady breaths, waiting for her heart to stop thudding in her chest. “You frightened me,” she said in a barely audible whisper.

Before he could open his mouth to speak, Marjorie put a finger to her lips, begging him with her eyes to keep silent. She pulled a bit of hard-boiled butterscotch from her pocket, and sent up a silent thanks to the boys of Saint Machar — because of them, she never left the house without a sweet tucked away in her skirts. She mimicked eating, and he took it hesitantly, sticking the very tip of his tongue out to test it. A sudden smile split his face, white teeth glowing against dark skin. She fought the urge to hug him to her.

The boy nodded to the bow, and she wondered what he thought her purpose there was. She peered into the darkness.

Why would he send her to the front of the ship? It was where the younger boys had been held, in the forecastle.

But the men had been imprisoned aft.

She stood. She needed to find them, free them, and somehow trundle them all down the rope ladder and to safety.

She fingered the hairpins studded throughout her low bun. It'd been years since she'd picked a lock — thirteen to be precise, when last she'd seen the MacAlpin boys, and they'd all played a trick on the maid — but she'd simply have to try her best.

Cormac. Her heart fell. She truly did need his help, needed him. His glaring absence made her feel lonely and uncertain.

The guard's cough broke the silence and shattered her reverie.

She shook out her skirts. She may not have Cormac, but she did have herself, and she needed to pick a direction and move quickly. The watchman leaned on the rail smoking a cheroot, and she imagined she had but a minute or two to find her way to the prisoners.