“Is that so?” Vane glared with eyes as black and glassy as obsidian. “By your reputation I would have thought you more callous.”

His reputation? Kennan had done a bit of pirating, but nothing to compare with Vane. “I have no idea to what you are referring.”

“You stole into Versailles and plundered a man’s gold—quite daring of you. But I admire a chap with courage, albeit foolhardy. Tell me, why did you leave him alive?”

The anchor in Kennan’s gut sank to his toes. Dear God, he should have ended the scoundrel’s life in France. Claude Dubois was a traitor and a snake. The man had tricked them all into believing he supported the Jacobite cause. Moreover, the bastard had lied his way into Kennan’s trust and stolen gold intended to support James Stuart’s succession to the throne of Britain. Kennan had merely taken back that which rightfully belonged to the prince.

“Dubois is my Judas? Where is the thief?”

“Waiting to watch you hang.” Dubois stepped out from the crowd, grinning wide as if he were proud of the missing front tooth—the gap left after Kennan had removed the upper central with a pair of tongs. “I’ve been waiting too long to claim my due.”

The French cutthroat had deceived everyone. A spy for King Louis, Dubois had wormed his way into Queen Anne’s court with intent to stage a coup. Had he been successful, all of Britain would currently be a province of France.

“Nothing was your due.” Kennan clenched his fists and took a swing even though the cur was beyond his reach. His effort earned him a yank from the noose. Coughing, he stretched his neck. “You stole the gold not only from me, but from Prince James.”

“You were always inordinately gullible, Cameron.” Dubois threw his head back with a grating laugh. “I had you eating from my hand.”

“And now you’re eating from mine.” Vane gave Dubois a smirk before he thrust up his hands and strutted in a circle. “What say you, men? Hang the Cameron bastard or feed him to the sharks?”

In a heartbeat, the blood thrumming through Kennan’s veins turned as thick as mud. He’d most likely die if he walked the plank, but he’d never survive if he let these bastards string him from the mast. He glanced across the sea. A speck of land darkened the horizon. Was it too far?

“Hang him!” came repeated shouts while Goliath flung the rope over the main boom.

As the accursed beast reached for the rope’s end, Kennan dove for the dagger sheathed at the bastard’s waist, and slashed it across the pirate’s throat. In the time it took to blink, he raced for the plank, loosening the noose and casting it over his head. A musket cracked behind him just as he leaped. The shot seared the outside of his shoulder, tearing through his doublet and shirt, cleaving his flesh.

“Aaaaaaaaaaah!” he hollered, his legs still running as the sea approached.