As the gunshot shattered the quiet of the night, James cursed the foul stroke of fate. He’d intended to commandeer Lachland’s vessel under cover of darkness, employing stealth as a weapon. He’d counted on most of the crew being asleep below deck, unprepared for an attack. Lachland’s demands had been blunt—the sword and treasure bound for London in exchange for Leana’s life. Did the arrogant cur believe Jamie would be so desperate and foolish that he’d raid the transport ship and meekly comply with his instructions? Or was the ransom demand nothing more than an elaborate scheme intended to lead Jamie to his death?

Bugger the luck! His men had holstered their firearms, putting their swords and daggers to use in taking down the crew. The mate standing the watch had succumbed to his blade’s bite without much of a struggle, but another sharp-eyed watchman had spotted his men, putting a bullet in one of Jamie’s most trusted lieutenants and sounding the alarm. Rory had brought the bastard down before he could cause them more trouble. But the alarm had been sounded. Their advantage had been lost.

God above, he had to get to Leana before her captor took out his vengeance on her—retribution intended to cut James to the marrow.

“I’m goin’ below,” he shouted to Rory and his crewmen. “Keep these blighters occupied, if ye will.”

“Aye, we’ve got this. Go to her.” Rory dodged a sword thrust and retaliated with a vicious slice of his saber. “Get the lass!”

James seized the ship’s quartermaster by his shirt. He pressed his sgian dubh to the bastard’s throat. “Where is she? The lass?”

“I dinna—”

James shook him until his teeth rattled. “Tell me!”

“Please…dinna kill me.” The man’s chest heaved with each ragged breath. “The woman…she is below deck. In the small cabin on the starboard side.”

Anger simmered in Jamie’s veins. “Ye stood by while Lachland imprisoned a woman. What kind of man are ye, ye bluidy coward?”

The man quaked against his hold. “I’ll tell ye whatever ye want.”

“No worries, mate. I’ve no intention of spilling yer blood.” With that, he shoved the man. Hard. Bellowing with fear, the quartermaster toppled over the side into the murky water. “If ye can swim, mate, ye can make it to shore.”

Jamie bit off an epithet between his teeth. All hell was breaking loose around him. Rory held off a burly blighter with his sword before tiring of the exercise and putting his pistol to good use, while the other half-dozen men who’d volunteered for this raid cut down Lachland’s crew, one by one. Jamie turned to the ladder leading below deck.

“Where in hellfire do ye think ye’re goin’?” A towering man blocked his path. More than a head taller than Jamie and outweighing him by at least five stone, the behemoth was massive.

Jamie scowled. Just his bluidy luck.

Calculating his options, Jamie sized up his adversary. This was definitely not the time for a fair, honorable fight.

An ugly grin marked the oaf’s blunt features. “Ye think I’m afraid of that knife? I’ll break yer back with my bare hands, mate. And then I’ll toss ye to the sharks.”

He plunged his thick fist at Jamie’s head. Weaving to the side, Jamie dodged the blow. Another brutal punch followed, then another, each intended to send Jamie to oblivion.

With each swift, evasive movement, Jamie led the big man away from the others. The behemoth didn’t appear to know Jamie had a gun, and he intended to keep it that way. He’d end this soon enough.

But first, he needed a clear shot. He couldn’t risk the bullet plowing through the big bastard and into one of his crew.

Pivoting on his heel, Jamie stepped to the side. Step by step, he led the cur to the side of the ship. With his back to the water, the cur would find no retreat.

Shifting his dagger to his left hand, Jamie went for his pistol with his right.

The oaf’s eyes widened. Fear flickered in his pale, bleary eyes.

Jamie leveled the revolver at his chest.

“Bluidy unsportin’ of ye, mate.” The oaf pitched himself over the rail, taking his chances in the churning sea.

Jamie tucked the dagger into a sheath concealed beneath his shirt and stared into the sea. The big man fought the current, but appeared to be losing the battle.

“You should’ve killed him when you had the chance,” Lachland announced as he emerged from the lower decks. His expression unreadable, he held Leana against his body, his arm locked around her slender throat. With his strength, he could snap her neck without breaking a sweat.

Her lower lip trembled with fear she tried to hide. She met his eyes, and he saw the tears she was trying desperately not to shed.

Rage simmered in Jamie’s veins. He fought against it. Emotion would make him impulsive. Foolish. He had to stay in full control and avoid acting from the heart.

“Let her go, Lachland.”

“In time.” Lachland edged toward the side, imprisoning Leana in his arms. Keeping his distance, he used her slender body as a shield. “I was starting to wonder if you were going to come after her. We both know she’s naught to you but a trollop.”

“I should kill ye for that,” Jamie said. “Let her go and I’ll give ye what ye wanted. I’ll take the woman and go on my way.”

“You have the Bloodhead Sword?”

“Aye. It’s yers for the takin’. But first, ye must release her.”

“Prove it to me.” Lachland dug the tip of his dirk against the underside of her jaw. “Show me the sword.”

He slid a jeweled saber from the scabbard at his hip. In the dim light, the ruby-encrusted hilt on the weapon passed down to him through generations of MacDougalls would pass for the Bloodhead Sword—long enough for him to put a bullet between the jackal’s hate-filled eyes.

“Throw it here.” Lachland’s voice was low. Dangerous. He wouldn’t put it past the evil son of a bitch to use the blade on Leana.

“Let the lass go and it’s yours.”

Lachland pressed his knife against her throat. She bit her lower lip, seeming to stifle a cry as her eyes met Jamie’s. “Throw down the sword.”

Jamie released the saber. Metal clattered against the wooden planks.

Holding Leana to his body, Lachland shielded himself, coward that he was. Sheathing the dirk, he dragged her with him as he snatched up the sword.

Jamie leveled his pistol. “Let her go. Now. Before I splatter yer brains all over this place.”

Lachland’s gaze flashed to something—or someone—behind Jamie. “I suggest you come up with a better plan. Or else, another MacArron is going to die.”

Jamie’s pulse thundered in his ears. Rory stood across the deck, blood streaming from a gash over his left eye. A bastard in Lachland’s crew held a pistol to the base of his skull.

Regret etched his brother’s features. “Dinna concern yerself with me,” he said in a voice marked with pain. “Save the girl.”

Lachland’s mouth curved in a serpent’s smile. “Throw down your weapon, and I’ll let one of them live. I’m a generous man—I’ll even allow you to choose.”

Rage and fear filled Jamie’s veins. His gaze locked with Rory’s, and his brother gave a small nod.

“Save the girl,” Rory repeated.

Quick as a snake, his brother whipped around. His fist plowed into his unsuspecting captor’s gut. Seizing the gun, he turned the tables on the cur and pulled the trigger.

“Send Lachland to hell,” Rory cried out.

It was high time.

Damnation, he couldn’t get a clear shot. He couldn’t risk Leana’s life.

Lachland tightened his arm around her throat. With Leana as his prisoner, he couldn’t wield the heavy sword with one hand. But he could still break her neck.

“Have you forgotten, Captain? I still control if she lives. Or if she dies.”

“Take your hands off her.”

Lachland stilled, regarding him without emotion. Suddenly, he twisted sharply to the left, hauling Leana against the top of the railing.

“As you wish, MacArron.”

One vicious shove, and she tumbled backwards over the edge.

Jamie bolted forward, arms outstretched. Desperately, he reached for her.

He was too late.

“Jamie!” Crying out in terror, she plummeted into the darkness below.

Fury unleashed in Jamie’s heart. “You bastard.”

“As I see it, you have a choice. With those heavy skirts, she won’t last five minutes in the sea. You can save her. Or you can kill me.”

“Ye’re wrong.” Rory ran to the edge. “Kill the son of a bitch.” He dove over the side, plunging into the waves.

“I would’ve let you live.” Jamie ground the words between his teeth. “I would have allowed the hangman to do his job.”

Lachland tossed his weapons onto the deck. “I am now unarmed. You don’t have it in you to kill a defenseless man.”

One of Jamie’s lieutenants rushed to his side. “Captain, we’ve secured the ship.”

“Aye. Good work,” Jamie said. “Bind this bastard hand and foot. We will transport him to—”

As the young sailor went to carry out his instructions, Lachland pulled a gun he’d concealed beneath his trouser leg.

With lightning speed, Jamie took aim.

He fired.

Lachland froze. The revolver tumbled from his hand. Shock spread over his features as his hand splayed over the wound.

“I thought it would hurt…to die. But it doesn’t. I don’t feel a bloody thing.”

His head slumped forward. He collapsed. Unseeing eyes stared at the planks beneath his head. His body was wracked with shudders.

And then, he stilled.

Jamie bolted to the rail. From the water below, he could hear Rory calling for Leana as he searched in the darkness.

But there was no answer.

“Summon the others,” he ordered the lieutenant. “Bring every lantern they can get their hands on. I’ll find her. Then I’ll need yer help.”

Casting aside his weapons, Jamie dove into the frigid water.

The cold slammed into him, robbing him of breath. He gasped for air and pushed forward. He had to find her. He had to get to her.

He had to save her.

One by one, his men rushed to the edge. Their lanterns lit the murky sea.

“There!” Rory called. “She’s alive!”

Jamie saw her then. Leana had managed to tread water, barely keeping her head above the surface. Could she see him? Did she know he’d come for her?

Relief pumped through his veins, giving him strength he hadn’t known he possessed. Even as the frigid water set his teeth to chattering, he summoned the will to get to her. Damnation, he would not lose her.

Not now. Not when hope lay within reach.

With swift, sure strokes, he cut through the water. Closing the distance, he pulled her to him. Holding her, he pressed a hand to her sweet face, as if to reassure himself she was real and not a figment conjured by his desperation.

“We’re going to get ye back on the ship.”

“You came for me,” she said, her voice sounding like a whisper against the waves and the wind.

“How could I not? Ye’re in my heart, Leana. Mo cridhe.”