But when the blast of cannons shook the ground, she gripped the bars and looked toward the sound. Her pulse raced. Her breath swelled in her chest as one thought consumed her mind. Kennan!

“What the—” said Petey. He hopped to his feet and gaped in the direction of the blast.

Moving like a cat, Divana tugged the slingshot from beneath her skirts and scooped up the rock. It took one forward lunge to slip her arm out the latticework and hurl the stone straight at the base of Petey’s skull. The brigand dropped to his knees and froze for a moment, near enough for Divana to reach the keys on his hip—right before he fell on his face.

Muskets cracked above the shouts of men while the cannons continued to boom. Whoever had come to do battle was an enemy of Jackson Vane and thus a friend of hers.

* * *

A fly landed on Kennan’s nose while he hid in the brush, waiting for his chance to attack. Blowing upward, he didn’t dare swat the annoying insect away. The mosquitoes and midges were sucking his blood like vampires as well, yet one errant twitch might draw the attention of the blackguards only paces away. Gulls screeched overhead while the hammer from a smithy shop clanged.

Laughter came from the center of the village, if a man could denote such a civilized name to this mishmash of run-down huts. Though he’d oft been called a pirate, Kennan had never considered himself low enough to be one. Not like these disgusting louts. They were lazy, rank barbarians without a scruple among them.

Kennan’s sweaty fingers slipped on the oiled steel of his musket. He scanned the positions of his men. All were ready. Even MacNeil’s party had moved into place, each one of them dying to scratch the welts forming on any exposed skin.

Where the hell are you, Lachie Mor?

The thought had barely skimmed through his mind when the blessed sound of cannon fire reverberated across the isle.

Pushing to his feet, Kennan raised his musket to his shoulder and took aim. “Fire!”

Crack, crack, crack! The battle began. Stunned pirates darted about the hellhole, grappling for their weapons. Kennan ran forward with his bayonet, taking out a brigand wielding a pair of flintlocks.

“Reload,” he shouted while the Lady Heather continued to pummel the shore with cannon fire.

Attacked from the flank, Kennan spun, crashing the butt of the musket into the forehead of his assailant. Drawing his sword, he swung the blade in a figure eight, his gaze darting through the mayhem. Where is Divana?

Pulling his dirk, he surged forward, taking on pirate after rotten pirate.

Brigands materialized from nowhere as he battled onward, thrusting with his dirk, defending with his sword. Three men ambushed him head-on, making him blindly step backward. God only knew what was coming from behind.

“I’ll send ye to Hades now, Cameron,” growled a deep voice. By the hairs prickling on Kennan’s nape, he had a fraction of a second to turn. He sliced his sword, driving two away and cutting down a third.