“Outrun them?” Mor asked over the screeching of the booms of all three masts while they swung across the deck.

“Or what?” Kennan slammed his spyglass shut, his gaze scanning the faces of his crew for any sign of a traitor. “If we stand and fight, we’re dead men.”

“But there’s nay time!” MacNeil shouted, his arms shaking as he fought the resistance of the wheel.

Ahead the enemy ships divided, one sailing broadside to port, the other to starboard, and the third making a sharp turn, cutting across the Highland Reel’s bow.

“Lord save us,” grumbled Lachie Mor.

“We’re nearly home, damn it all. By God’s grace I’ll be sitting by my father’s hearth this eve! Fire a cannon from each side and let them know we’ll not surrender without a fight.” Kennan grabbed Runner by the arm and headed aft at a run. “Come with me.”

“Aye, sir.” With a spark in his eyes, the lad grinned as if heading to a gathering filled with bonny lassies rather than sailing straight for certain death. “Are we going to send them to hell, sir?”

“You’d best believe it.” Kennan ushered Runner to one of the skiffs they used to ferry sailors to the shore. “Climb in.”

The boy’s smile dropped like a lead weight. “Beg your pardon?”

“You heard me.”

“Och, what about the battle?”

Kennan patted the side of the boat, a steely edge to his jaw. “Aye, there’s going to be one hell of a fight, but you’ll not be wielding your sword this day.”

“But I’m nearly as big as a man.” Runner—Baltazar his Christian name—tipped up his rain-soaked chin and squared his shoulders while two consecutive cannon blasts from the gun deck shook the timbers. “I’d be milk-livered if I didn’t stand with the others.”

When lightning burst and thunder brayed, Kennan stepped nearer the boy. “Nay, lad. You’ll be alive.”

Before the young whelp said another word, Kennan hoisted the cabin boy into the skiff and swung out the wench. “Row northwest and you’ll hit land. Take a transport to Achnacarry and ask for an audience with Lochiel. Tell him of our adventures. Our fortune. Tell him we nearly made it.”

“All isn’t lost.” Runner’s voice shot up while he gripped the side of the boat. The skiff teetered in midair, dangling over the side of the ship. “We’ve a ferocious crew, sir. We’ll fight them!”

“Aye, we will.” With a swing of his sword, Kennan cut the restraining rope and sent the skiff plummeting to the sea to the tune of Runner’s adolescent shrieks. Nay, it wasn’t pretty, but as captain of the Highland Reel, he wasn’t about to let the boy face certain doom. If they didn’t come out of this alive, at least someone would take word to Lochiel, the great chieftain of Clan Cameron, Kennan’s da.

“Remember!” He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to the boy, praying he’d be heard above the mounting blasts from enemy cannons.