Kennan pointed up to the exposed beams. “They’ll help us.”

“How?”

“Go to the door and listen. If the guard makes a sound, whistle.”

“I can’t whistle.”

“Then clear your throat.”

Divana did as she was told until Kennan took the blanket from her basket. She dashed across the floor and grasped one end. “Ye cannot use that!”

“Keep your voice down,” he whispered, pulling the sgian dubh from beneath his kilt. “Do you want to remain here at the mercy of Sergeant Corbyn for the next fortnight?”

Biting her lip, she stared forlornly at her blanket. “Nay.”

“Then trust me.”

It wasn’t easy, but she returned to the door and listened while Kennan cut her best blanket—the only blanket she’d brought, the only one she liked—into four lengthwise strips. What was he planning, and how would they stay warm at night? Before she asked, a door down below slammed and another set of footsteps started up the stairs.

“Ahem,” she said, clearing her throat and flicking her hand at the Highlander.

Kennan swiftly slid his knife up his sleeve and crammed the blanket pieces into the basket.

“What have you there?” asked the guard beyond the door.

“Bread and water for the prisoners,” said an unfamiliar voice.

“Is that so?” A key scraped the lock. “If it were me, I’d let them starve.”

* * *

Even Kennan felt the cold as he rubbed Divana’s arm. With her head nestled against his chest, she’d drifted off to sleep an hour or so past. Moonbeams shone in through the window, illuminating her face. She was so young yet had endured too much suffering. And through it all, she was cheerful, friendly, and as lovely as an angel. In a world filled with scoundrels, she shone as bright and pure as a primrose blooming in the midst of a mire.

He brushed the hair away from her forehead and kissed her temple. “I vow to guard you with my life,” he whispered into her coppery tresses. Her fresh scent reminded him of a newborn lamb and, as Kennan closed his eyes, the need to protect her swelled through him.

But he knew a lass like Divana could never be more to him than a passing fancy. And the woman in his arms was too precious for anyone to love and cast aside. Kennan was the heir to one of the most powerful chieftainships in the Highlands. Men like him married for lands and titles—to strengthen the bonds between clans.

Hell, his sister Janet had married into the feuding Clan Grant, and with that single act, she’d put an end to centuries of unrest and boundary battles. Though, in truth, Janet had married for love, and the Grant laird had ultimately saved his life.

A man can find allies in the strangest places.

Besides, Kennan couldn’t think of marriage to anyone at the moment. It would be unfair to wed a woman and then take to the high seas for years.

He smiled at Divana while she slept. Had they met under different circumstances, he never would have come to know her—her strength, her kindness, and her fears. What lass wouldn’t be afraid to face the harsh world after being left to die on a godforsaken island by her own damned clan?