Kennan fully intended to reclaim his silver as well. With a plan forming in his mind, one day he’d face the pirate and take back his due.

But first Kennan needed to find a way off the island and head for his family lands in Achnacarry. There he’d stand before his father and damn the consequences.

As he stepped outside, the brisk wind served to provide the wakeup he needed. Turning, he caught the flutter of Divana’s skirts before she disappeared over the crag. He’d sailed past this wee isle several times before, but he’d never given it much thought aside from allowing for a wide berth. Many a ship had fallen victim to low-set skerry isles like Hyskeir—in rough seas they were difficult to see. The odds for rescue were slim since Divana had admitted being alone for two years. Any sailor worth his salt wouldn’t give this isle a cursory glance—Kennan hadn’t.

He hissed as sharp rocks prodded the soles of his feet. He’d had to kick off his shoes when he fought the sharks and swam for his life, but he missed his brogues now. Aye, he was soft all right. That slip of a woman had crossed over the stones as if she’d been barefoot all her life. Perhaps she had.

He stopped when he crested the hillock. Divana crouched behind a boulder, swinging a slingshot toward a flock of eider ducks.

Och, so the wee lassie eats more than clams. No wonder her pallet had been peppered with feathers. Doubtless, it looked a fair bit more comfortable than the dirt floor.

With her release, the hiss of her rock cut through the wind as it hurtled toward the duck. Kennan moved closer while he watched the unsuspecting eider collapse. “I’m duly impressed. I do not think I have a man in my crew able to do any better.”

She whipped around, her expression startled, but as soon as she saw him, her lips eased into a lovely smile. “Ye’re awake.”

He liked her smile. It was warm and friendly, and made him grin back. “Aye, though my head feels as though it is filled with wool.”

“I’m nay surprised, ye’ve been asleep for two days.”

Good God, had it been that long? “Then it is past time for me to be on the mend.”

Her brow furrowed. “Do ye mean that?”

“Bloody oath, I do.” He winked, remembering the worry in her voice when she’d prayed over him. “I’m no milk-livered varlet set to spend the rest of my days moaning on a pallet.”

Sighing, Divana drew her hands over her heart. “I’m so happy to see ye aren’t planning to die.”

“Me?” He started toward the flock. “Never—well, not yet anyway.”

She followed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

He picked up the fallen duck and held it aloft while the wool in his head seemed to swell. God’s blood, he hated weakness—especially in himself. “What do you aim to do with this beauty? Soup or roast it over the fire?”