Damnation, if it is the last thing I do, I’ll chart these isles and rename them.

Within the next half hour, both the Lady Heather and the Silver Mermaid had tied up either side of the Highland Reel.

Vane had moved to the quarterdeck with his men and wielded a pair of flintlocks. “Cast off now, else you’ll be the first to die, Cameron.”

Thank God that Kennan had convinced Divana to hide in the great cabin.

And because of his wife, he wasn’t daft enough to run over and challenge the lout to a duel, no matter how much he wanted to be the one to put a musket ball between Jackson Vane’s eyes. He stood proud on the main deck while his men held their posts on either side of the Highland Reel. “Throw down, ye bastard. I’ve a dozen muskets aimed at your heart.”

One of the pirates lost his nerve, looking from side to side, the flintlock in his hand trembling. “They’ll send us to Hades.”

Kennan laughed aloud. “You’re already there, ye flea-bitten swine.”

The man took aim and fired, the bullet hitting the bulwark above Kennan’s head.

With the blast, the men opened fire. Clutching his shoulder, Vane dove behind a barrel as the flash from the muzzle of each pistol ignited.

“Take back the Reel!” Kennan shouted, leading the charge across the wooden plank.

The Gaelic cry of the Camerons swelled through the air. “Aonaibh Re Cheile!” They shouted to unite, not to divide, not to conquer, but to defend their honor. Those three words meant more to Cameron men than any others.

Kennan raced up the stairs to the quarterdeck, where he’d spent many a day commanding the seas. The two pirates had met their end, but Vane crouched on his knees, clutching a bloody shoulder.

“Lock him in the jail.”

“Kill me!” Vane shouted, while droplets of spittle dribbled on his black beard.

So now the tides had turned. Vane was alone, wild-eyed and feral. “Och,” said Kennan. “Death would be too good for you.”

The pirate captain turned toward the rail, only to be met with the point of Cuthbert’s sword. “Then toss me over the side. I’ll take my chances.”

“Nay. I’m carting you home. If you survive the journey, you’ll stand trial on British soil.”

“No. Please,” Vane begged. “I cannot go back to England.”

“England?” Kennan chuckled. “I’ll be dumping your bones at Fort William in my beloved Scotland. From there the colonel will most likely grant you a public hanging. You’ve a month or more to ponder how you’ll shite yourself on the gallows whilst Her Majesty’s dragoons heckle from the crowd.”

When the men led Vane away, Divana approached them midship, a loaded slingshot swinging from her grip. She wore the skirt from the burgundy gown but not the garish bodice. Rather, she’d donned a linen shirt and a leather belt, the ensemble reminiscent of a pirate queen. The wind caught her red tresses and they whipped around her like fire, rendering her a fearsome woman to behold.