Kennan stood and wiped his blade on his victim’s shirt, the bile churning in his gut over what he’d heard. “Finnes is a notorious slaver. Word is he used to sail under Vane until he bought his way out. No wonder he’s here.”

The sailor sheathed his weapon. “Do you think Vane’s planning to sell Davy?”

Kennan cringed. He hadn’t told the crew about Divana’s disguise. “The lad’s a lass. I had her dress as a cabin boy for her protection.”

“Och, we all kent that, sir. We just reckoned ye didn’t want us to know ye’d fallen in love with her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Are ye planning to marry Miss Divana?”

Good Lord, how long had they known? The only person he’d been fooling was himself. “Hold your tongue. We’ve only managed step one of the plan. We mightn’t make it through till dark and you’re yammering about bloody weddings?”

“Sorry, sir.”

Kennan pulled out his spyglass and spotted MacNeil and the team across the way. The boatswain used his hands to signal that they were off to cross the sandbank to the north as planned. Panning the glass out to sea, Kennan spotted the Lady Heather making her turn. He used the sun to make a flash that would be seen by Lachie Mor and Runner in the crow’s nest. She’d be crossing through the straits within the hour.

And when she did, Kennan and his band of men would be ready to pounce.

Chapter Thirty

Divana stood against the rear wall of her prison and stared at Dubois, Vane, and the master of the slave ship, Captain Finnes, an older, portly man. The buttons on his waistcoat strained over his rounded belly. Atop his head he wore a tricorne with gold cording. Muttonchop whiskers sprouted on the sides of his face, and his jowls flapped when he talked.

And at the moment, Finnes eyed her from head to toe with a hardened glare. “She’s untouched, you say?”

“I am convinced of it.” Vane leaned his shoulder against the cage. “Besides, who gives a damn? She looks pure, and that’s what will matter when she’s standing on the auction block.”

“The bidding will turn rabid,” said Dubois, rubbing his pudgy hands. Of course he’d say anything if it meant he’d have a chance to ruin Kennan.

Finnes beckoned with his fingers. “Move closer, girl. I want to see what I’m purchasing.”

Divana gripped her arms across her midriff and shook her head. “I’ll never yield to the likes of ye.”

Vane drew his musket and aimed it at her heart. “Move your feet, wench, else I’ll put a ball of lead in your belly,” he said, his face bearing the grin of the devil. “’Tis a slow death, being shot in the gut. Painful as well.”

Clenching her arms tighter, she inched forward to the sound of Claude Dubois’s snigger. She leered at the Frenchman. “How’s the gap in the front of your smile feeling? I never kent Sir Kennan was so efficient with a pair of tongs.”