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with confusion. “He said he did. But he couldn’t have. One little man did not steal me out of my hotel room.” She stepped toward him, her eyes beseeching. “You have to let me go.”
    “Aye.” It was his most fervent wish. “I will set you ashore as soon as we make port. Two to three days unless the winds becalm us.”
    She watched him as if waiting for him to grow a second head. “Just like that?” Her eyes began to sparkle dangerously. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll call the cops, or whatever you call them in Scotland, and have you arrested?”
    The wildcat was back. Her eyes speared him, her ripe mouth beckoned him. Desire hammered him hard. God’s blood. This was the last thing he needed—his body turning traitor.
    He reached for the door. “I will send Hegarty to ye when he awakens.” He had to get away before he forgot he’d once been a gentleman. Before he forgot he wanted nothing to do with her. Before he got sucked, once more, into the prophecy’s hell.
    “Wait! Don’t go!”
    But he ignored her frantic plea and escaped into the sunshine, bolting the door behind him.
     
     
    Brenna heard the click even as she lunged for the door. Grabbing the latch, she yanked, but the door wouldn’t budge. He’d locked her in.
    She whirled and faced the small room, heart pounding. Where was she? What in the hell was going on?
    It should have been a nightmare, just a horrible dream. By all that was logical she should have woken up in the little room in Aberdeen. But she was still on the ship. As was the man with the pale eyes. And her scar . . .
    She sucked in air as panic rattled through her. This couldn’t be happening. She was not in the clutches of pirates.
    Her frantic gaze tore over her surroundings as she searched for a phone . . . or a weapon. The cabin was rustic, museum-like in its simplicity. No electricity, no bathroom, no phone. They were taking their reenactment to the extreme.
    Either they were insane . . . or she was.
    She rubbed the back of her neck and winced as her hand encountered the small welt from the attempted theft of her necklace. The dwarf had tried to steal it.
    Great. The dwarf was a thief, and the captain looked at her like he’d as soon drown her as save her. And they were the good guys.
    She searched the room, trying the desk and the chest at the foot of the bunk, but both were locked. Panic brushed at her nerves. She needed answers, dammit. What is going on?
    Her gaze took in the rest of the room as she searched for something. Anything. Pegs stuck out from the wall with costumes hanging from them. A vivid, sickening memory of the way the crew had looked at her had her grabbing one of the shirts and pulling it on over her T-shirt. As she rolled up the sleeves, she continued her perusal.
    Movement above caught her attention. Hanging from the ceiling were at least two dozen small wooden birds, each one different. Unpainted, roughly carved, and only a few inches long, they hung on thin lines and swayed with the movement of the ship. If she hadn’t been nearly sick with fear, they might have made her smile.
    She walked to the small window and peered out. The glass was coated with sea spray, but not so much that she couldn’t make out the rugged Scottish coastline dotted with small stone houses. She nodded, relieved. They were still close to shore.
    She might yet have a chance to escape.
     
     
    Sweat rolled down Rourke’s shoulder blades as he paced the deck waiting for the English frigate to pass. He’d ordered his crew to maintain their posts, for he could ill afford a battle and would give the English captain no reason to think he wanted one.
    Hegarty bounded out of the hold, his mane flapping like half a dozen sails in the breeze. Rourke watched him skip down the stairs into the galley. Preparing something for the woman no doubt.
    Those eyes of hers flashed in his mind—eyes that were at once vulnerable yet menacing. Eyes that called him to protect her, even as they warned