“I beg your pardon?” Lachie checked over his shoulder and moved to the rail. “I ought to be kicking her—er—him up the backside. ’Tis what I’d do with any other young whelp stowaway.”

“Aye, but he’s nay just anyone. He’s the son of a clan chief. I’ve given you reason enough for leniency.”

“Bloody hell, did your time on Hyskeir turn ye soft?”

Kennan leaned in and leveled his gaze with the quartermaster. “I’ll bid you remember your place, sir. Mind you, after I plunged into the sea, I fought off a mob of basking sharks with nothing but my hands and a bloody English pirate’s dull-bladed dagger. Got a nice ring of teeth branded on my thigh to serve as a constant memory. And the woman on Hyskeir? If it weren’t for her, there’d be seagrass sprouting from my corpse about now. So, aye, give the lass—er—lad his due.”

Lachie Mor scratched his beard. “Bloody women. They’re why I prefer to be a-sea. Wenches are always causing trouble. Especially that one—and I’m not bloody blind. She has eyes for ye, no question in me mind.”

“Och aye? The woman’s a bloody saint.”

“And I’d venture to guess you’ve a greater soft spot for her than you’re letting on. Ye’d best watch yourself, Captain.”

Kennan gave the quartermaster a playful jab with his elbow. “Mind your own affairs, ye onion-eyed varlet.”

“’Tis exactly what I intend to do—and my affairs concern the orderly running of this ship.”

“I’m glad ye ken your priorities.” Kennan opened his spyglass and raised it to his eye. “Just have a care. We do not need a weeping cabin boy on our hands.”

“God forbid.” The old man tottered back down the steps, grumbling under his breath. “I’ll burn in hell afore we have a ship full of weepy-eyed, lad-impersonating women.”

*  *  *

“Go on, just a bit higher,” said Runner as if they weren’t about to fall to their deaths.

Divana clung to the rigging and glanced downward. Mistake. Her stomach squeezed and turned over—more aptly, it did a flying leap. “But ’tis so far to the deck,” she squeaked, all attempts at sounding like a lad vanishing. “What if a big wave comes and flings us into the sea?”

“Och, I’ve been keeping watch in the crow’s nest for years and I’ve never been flung. Asides, there’s a rope up there to hold ye in.”

Cringing, she slowly shifted her gaze to the offending nest. A barrel sawed in half, it reminded her of a gigantic slingshot—one made for people, especially her. “Are ye certain ’tis necessary to have a lookout up there at all times?”

“Not to worry, Davy,” Runner said with a hint of laughter in his voice. “The captain advised you’re only allowed up the rigging during calm seas.”