“Do you ken the names of all these sails?”

“I do.”

For the first time since she climbed up the rigging, Divana dared to look beyond the decks. “Oh my, the sea is so vast—and I cannot see another vessel anywhere.”

“Once we enter the trade routes, you see them often enough.” Runner stood, grabbed a rope, and leaned so far out the nest, if it snapped, he’d fall to his death.

“Careful!”

“I can swing down to the decks from here if I want.” Laughing, he hoisted himself out of the nest and swung around the mast. “All ye need to ken when you’re working as a spotter is when ye see a ship, there are three very important things to look for—the type and size of the vessel—so we can gauge how many guns she’s carrying. How low she is in the water—so we ken if her hull’s laden with cargo. And what sort of flag she’s flying. Black flags are the worst, especially if they have a skull and bones.”

She shuddered. “Pirates.”

“Aye.”

She checked the pennant flapping at the top of the center mast. “Kennan flies the Saint Andrew’s cross.”

“He does.”

“Och, I kent it. The captain would never fly a black flag.”

“Not in these waters.”

“What do you mean?”

“The black skull and bones is meant to strike fear in the hearts of sailors when ye aim to take their ship.”

“But Kennan would never take anyone’s ship…”

“Captain, mind you. And not unless they’re his enemy.”

“Like Jackson Vane?”

“You’d best believe it—Davy.” Runner winked. “Are ye accustomed to your new name as of yet?”

She shrugged. “I suppose ’tis not too unlike Divana.”

“Just repeat it over and over ’cause I reckon it’ll be a year or two afore anyone uses your real name again—unless…”

“Unless.”

He twisted his mouth and looked toward the quarterdeck. “Unless someone discovers you’re really a lass.”

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Kennan leaned back in his velvet-upholstered dining chair while Divana sat at the table practicing her letters.

It had been a fortnight since she’d first been brought to his cabin, a fortnight of torture. Torture because at night when they were locked in his cabin, he’d lean over her to teach her something new or to listen to her beguiling voice as she sounded out a word. Every time he was within arm’s reach, she captivated him.

Nights were the worst, having a woman’s scent fill the cabin, calling to him. Yet he’d vowed to protect the lass, not ravish her.