“Please wake. I’m ever so worried about ye, and I’ve nay the skills to set ye to rights.” She hadn’t been able to save her kin—and it frightened her to her toes to think Sir Kennan mightn’t survive as well. And because she was all but useless as a healer.

If only they weren’t stranded on this godforsaken isle, she might actually be of some help to the poor man. All she managed was to dribble water into his mouth and apply seaweed poultices. She closed her eyes and clasped her hands. “Dear Jesus, if ye have not forgotten me, please, please, please save Sir Kennan. I cannot survive another death. I haven’t been acquainted with him but for a short time, but in me heart I ken he’s a good man—and he said he wouldn’t harm me. And I believe him. I do. Please…do not let him die.”

She opened her eyes, a wee bit blurry with tears. Blinking them away, she smoothed the back of her hand over his forehead just like her ma had done to her when she’d first taken ill. Through her worry, she managed a sad smile. “Can ye believe it? There’s a real live knight in me bothy—a Cameron, no less.”

Aye, in the Highlands, the name Cameron was nearly as feared as Campbell. Though even Divana knew their clans had always feuded through the ages. Presently, Campbells sided with the crown, and Camerons were suspected of being staunch Jacobites. Though Divana cared not for any it. Whoever sat on the throne in London had never affected her one way or the other. Who gave a fig about clan feuds and forays now? Truth be told, now that she was no longer afraid of Sir Kennan, it was nice to have someone here—someone to care for.

Sighing, she pulled the blanket up to his chin and looked toward the doorway. One thing about living on a barren skerry like Hyskeir, simply finding enough food to stay alive was a daily chore. During the past two autumns, Divana had harvested salt from the rocks and dried enough eider duck meat to see her through the winter, but her stores were gone now. So were the ducks until a few days past. She’d spied a flock dallying about, and soon half the shore would be overrun by them…and there would be eggs as well.

Clutching her blanket taut beneath her chin, she collected her slingshot and headed out into the blustery cold. Her feet—wide, calloused, and unseemly—always bore the brunt of the cold. But she’d never owned a pair of shoes. Aye, she’d seen Sir Kennan look at them, and had turned her toes inward while her cheeks had burned something awful. What a fright she must pose to a man like Cameron. Her dress was torn at the elbows and stained, though she did wash it whenever it was warm enough to do so. She owned one petticoat, and that was in tatters. Thank heavens it was hidden beneath her skirt.