“Forgive me. I was thoughtless to address you without a shirt.” He ought to have put on his doublet as well, but the thought of shrugging into damp leather made him hesitate. The shirt had been bloody painful enough.

Divana drew a hand to her chest and smiled—a quite lovely smile, as if she was truly taken aback by his attempt at thoughtfulness. Most women Kennan knew would have already given him a good chiding about his lack of manners, especially his sister.

Kennan cleared his throat. “Now tell me, where do you hail from, lass?”

“Connel.”

Campbell lands—that made sense. “And where’s your kin?”

“Gone.”

“Still in Connel?”

“Nay. They’re in heaven.”

“All of them?”

“Aye. Ma, Da, me wee brother, Eann.”

He eyed her as he ate another clam. “What happened?”

Wiping her hand across her nose, she looked to the ground. “Th- they sent us here to die.”

Kennan gaped at her while a sickly lump dropped to his stomach. What? He shoved away the wooden cup. He’d heard tell of clans sending away their kin to protect the others. “Smallpox?” he whispered, scarcely able to utter the word. Where had he bloody landed?

She didn’t look up, shame written across her face. “Two years past.”

“God on the cross!” He pushed to his feet, hitting his head on the damned beam. Stars darted through his vision while he tried to shake off his dizziness. “You brought me into a den of death?”

Divana stood as well. A good two heads shorter, the lass thrust her fists on to her hips. “Ye marched in here afore ye were invited—I told ye not to go inside, but ye wouldn’t listen to the likes of me, now would ye?”

Kennan tried to focus on her face, but the damned blow to his head rendered him as dizzy as a mad ewe. How much blood had he lost? He reached for the beam but missed, managing to stumble toward the lass with his hands outstretched. “Why in Hades did you not stop me?” he asked, his voice cracking as he staggered to keep himself from falling on his face.

The wench skittered away, grabbing her blasted shovel. “I kent ye were a scoundrel! Stay back or I’ll thwack ye.”

He almost laughed. He would have if his knees weren’t about to buckle, or worse, he wasn’t about to contract smallpox and die. But no self-respecting Highlander would let a slip of a lass threaten him with a shovel. “You ken I’d seize that damned spade from your fingertips if you gave it a swing.”

She took another step away, putting her back against the wall. “Ye would never!”

“You think not?” Even riddled with wounds, his knees wobbling and weak, a wee lass wouldn’t pose a challenge.

“But ye said ye’re a knight. That means ye live by a code of chivalry—ye’re a queen’s man.”

Indeed, Kennan lived by a code of chivalry, but he’d never call himself a queen’s man. He took a step toward the doorway, but his head swam so much, he was forced to brace himself on the wall. God save him, he was in no shape to go anywhere. “How long ago did your kin pass?”