The man squinted. “British patrols come through here oft enough. Ye sound as if you’re one of them, as well.”

“I’m not with the Royal Navy,” Kennan snapped, turning away before he did something he might regret. “Davy! Let’s head back to the skiffs. Everyone in this town is yellow.”

He looked left and right, then turned full circle. “Davy?”

His breath caught in his chest. “Divana!” he shouted.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end while the air suddenly became too heavy to breathe. Where was she? Running, he retraced his steps. She’d been right behind him the whole time. Hadn’t she?

As he moved, he quickly scanned every stall, every tent, every table.

When did I last see her?

The blue glass of a float caught his eye. Yes. She’d been right there. He’d heard her talking.

“Where is s—he?” Kennan demanded from the merchant who’d sworn he’d never seen a cutter, let alone Vane’s ship.

“Beg your pardon?”

“You bloody well ken what I’m asking. The cabin boy who was with me. What happened to him?”

As his mind raced, a trigger flickered in his head. Something was different about the stall. Something was missing. He squinted when he spotted the empty space. “Where’s the boy with the basket of shells?”

The man shrugged, feigning complete ignorance. “There are no shells here.”

“Aye.” Kennan pointed to the empty spot, clearly recalling Divana in conversation with the young man who’d filled the small space between the vendors’ tents. “But there was a lad right there. His basket was full of conch shells.”

“Mayhap there was, mayhap there wasn’t. I cannot pay a mind to every vagrant who happens past.” The man rolled up a net with floats woven throughout. “If I were a lively boy ashore in Port Royal for the first time, I’d be peeking in the windows of the brothel or hunting for coins on the floor of a tavern—go have a look for your young whelp there.”

Kennan grabbed the varlet by the collar. “Where’s the goddamned lad with the shells, and don’t tell me you do not ken!”

All around him, at least a dozen swords hissed through their scabbards.

“Release him, ye bloody Highlander,” a man with a cutlass growled as he pushed the tip of the blade into Kennan’s neck. “Take your crew and sail back to Scotland. Your kind aren’t welcome here.”

For a fleeting moment, Kennan considered fighting. If he pulled the merchant over the table and used him as a shield, he’d be able to fend off a half dozen of the men for certain. But ending up bloodied in an all-out brawl wouldn’t help find Divana any faster.

He pushed the varlet back as he released his fingers and held up his hands. “I’m not looking for trouble.”

“Is that so?” asked the bully with the cutlass. “Could have fooled the likes of me.”

Slowly Kennan turned and panned his gaze across the circle of miscreants scowling, their weapons at the ready. “I challenge each one of you to tell Jackson Vane I’ll find him. And when I do, I’ll show no mercy.”