Once he arrived at the precipice, the climb down sharp rocks brought a few more cuts to his feet and hands, and a good scrape to a knee. But the trip wasn’t entirely in vain. The tide was on its way out and, after using a stick of driftwood to dig about the rocks, Kennan found a rusted length of chain and a glass fishing float attached to some netting that hadn’t yet rotted.

The tangled mesh was just a bit of scrap, but Kennan held up the blue glass orb and laughed as if he’d found a treasure. Who would have thought a snarled mop of fishing net would raise his spirits? For the love of God, he’d just lost a king’s ransom in treasure, and now he was thrilled to be able to fix the leaks on the roof of a decrepit bothy on a remote Hebridean isle.

He’d go back, secure the thatch, and then pile the driftwood and pray the rain would stay at bay for the night. Bless it, he needed to find a way home. Kennan chastised himself for allowing himself a moment of good humor. Time was wasting while Jackson Vane and the wretched Claude Dubois enjoyed the spoils of the pirate’s thievery.

Damn them to hell.

After he climbed back up the crag with the wire and netting, a splash of water and a high-pitched squawk rose over the roar of the surf.

Oddly, the noise sounded nearby, but Kennan saw not a thing. Could it have been a duck? A tern, perhaps? Most likely, but Kennan never ignored a twist in his gut, and on an isle this size, it wouldn’t take but a moment to inspect. With luck, someone had seen his beacon and come ashore.

He hastened toward the noise only to stop dead in his tracks. Aye, now he remembered the pool. He’d seen it before. It was supplied with fresh spring water, and a burn from its outlet led to the sea. But when Kennan had ventured past yesterday, there wasn’t a naked woman standing knee deep, bathing.

Gulping, Kennan blinked, his heart stuttering and completely knocked from its rhythm. Like a daft Highlander, he stared, gasped, and damned near drooled. He should have shifted his gaze away and gone about the business of repairing the roof, but how was a man to avert his eyes from a glimpse of perfection? Divana’s long, red tresses contrasted with the smoothest, creamiest skin he’d ever seen. Oblivious to his presence, she scooped water with her hands, then swirled lye soap up slender thighs. Her movement was graceful and feminine, like a swan preening on a glassy pool.

He crouched low behind the seagrass, trying to convince himself to turn away. His heart hammered a wicked rhythm, and something stirred he should definitely be ignoring. How long had it been since he’d enjoyed the company of a woman?

But this was not a woman he ought to begin to consider bedding. To take advantage of her trust would be nothing shy of unconscionable.