Kennan’s thoughts muddled and blurred when Divana collected her locks at her nape and tied them in a knot. Wearing rags that barely covered her bones, she’d looked like an urchin—albeit a bonny one. How could he have guessed what loveliness lay beneath?

Kennan stretched his fingers, longing to cup those exquisite breasts and kiss them, worship them, caress them. Succulent pink buds stood proud, made rosier by the cold water. Kennan’s gaze trailed to her waist—it was smaller than he’d imagined—and the flare of her hips so very tempting.

When a flock of eider ducks squawked overhead, her gaze darted upward. Before he was seen, Kennan crouched and backed away. The lass must never know that he’d been watching. Never know how much she’d stirred his blood.

He mustn’t forget the woman had welcomed him into her tiny home and cared for him at his weakest hour. Only an unprincipled rogue would take advantage and force himself upon such an angel. Divana was kind and generous and deserved far better than a privateer who’d lost his fortune—a man who’d sworn an oath of revenge against the vilest pirate on the high seas. Hell, once Kennan left this isle and saw her safely settled, he’d sail away. The voyage might well last for years. He hadn’t yet taken a wife because he still had an adventurer’s spirit. There was no use starting something with Divana he’d never be able to finish.

Chapter Six

April 14th, 1714
One month since the Highland Reel fell victim to Jackson Vane’s pirates

This shovel is nearly rusted clean through,” Kennan said while he tossed a clam into the basket. By the way he moved, he looked as if he’d never been injured.

Divana chewed her bottom lip, gazing longingly at the rusty blade. She hated for things to wear out, because once they were gone, there was no replacing them. “Well, do not break it. ’Tis the only one I have.”

He stretched his back, then crossed his ankles and stood akimbo, leaning on the shaft. “Did you bring it from Connel?”

“Nay.” She walked in a circle while searching the sand for air pockets. She’d spent every night for the past month with this man, she may as well tell him the lot of it. “Men with kerchiefs tied over their faces burst into our cottage at night, forced us out of bed with the points of their bayonets—me uncle in the lead, mind ye, as if he thought we would not recognize me da’s brother with his face covered.” She clenched her fists and let out an angered grunt. “We were lucky to leave with blankets wrapped about our shoulders.”

“Only blankets—no valise, no food?”

“We were at death’s door—scarcely able to hold our heads up, let alone think to ask. None of them reckoned we would live out the week.”

“So, everything here was already in the bothy?”

“Aye.”

“Do you ken who left it?”

“No idea. But I reckon by the long, narrow shape of the shovel, someone most likely came to stay during the summer to collect peat.”