“Aye—I couldn’t have abbreviated any better.”

“And the rest of it?” Pulling the stopper, Da sniffed it. “You washed ashore on Hyskeir. What about the lass? Why have you brought her here?”

“Divana fed me. Took me in when I was at death’s door. During the fighting, I sustained a near-mortal cut across my stomach. Once they caught me, a Goliath of a brute put a noose around my neck. Thank God the bastards decided to toy about afore they strung me up from the Reel’s mast. As I made my escape and leapt overboard, I was shot in the arm, then had a nice disagreement with a mob of sharks. I was half-dead when I crawled onto the shore.” Kennan’s scars throbbed as if he’d suffered his injuries only a day prior. “Divana was living in a decrepit bothy on the isle. I mightn’t have made it back alive if it weren’t for her kindness.”

“Then she’s welcome here.”

“Thank you. She’s had a rough time of it. The bloody Campbells dumped the lass and her kin on the isle to die.” Kennan pursed his lips. The word smallpox had a way of striking fear in the hearts of the toughest of men. Hell, even he had shrunk from the woman when he first discovered the reason for her exile.

“By the marks on her face, I can imagine.” Da poured the whisky, then pushed a goblet to Kennan. “She’s completely healed?” Of course, he knew. He was bloody Lochiel.

He raised the drink to his lips. “I wouldn’t have brought her here if she weren’t.”

“I thought no less.” Glancing aside, Lochiel frowned. “She’s a Campbell, you say?”

“Was,” Kennan clarified, “She cares never to set eyes on her kin again.”

“Good.” The old man sat back and savored a swallow of fine Highland spirit. Kennan, too. “So now you’re home, what do you aim to do?”

“I’d be lying if I told you I hadn’t spent every waking hour plotting revenge.”

Da held his cup aloft. “Hear, hear. Word is Vane is skulking somewhere in the Caribbean.”

“I don’t doubt it. He’s most likely whoring and spending my coin. Dammit, Da, I recovered a king’s ransom in silver, not to mention vast quantities of rum and silks.”

“Then you must go after it.”

“I’d like nothing more, but I need a ship—one with big bloody guns and a crew thrice the size of the last.”

“I’ve thought the same as well.”

Kennan pushed his goblet away. One sip of whisky and his fatigue returned with full force. “Aye, but none of our galleys are large enough for a sea voyage deep into the Atlantic.”

“I’ll write to the Baronet of Sleat. He’s a shrewd businessman. With your proven captainship and the promise of a piece of the spoils, I’d wager he might sell us one of his fleet to further our cause.”

“Sleat, aye?” It had been years since Kennan captained the old brig for the baronet, sailing packing salt up and down the British seaboard and over to the Continent. Hell, he’d even sailed her to Spain. “’Tis worth inquiring, I’ll say.”