“Of course she is.” Kennan grinned again—that same look as before, except this time he winked as well. Blast it, she liked his attention and didn’t like it all at once. It made her too nervous, too vulnerable, and far too blissful. Curse him! “And I’ll be the first to ask her to dance.”

* * *

Tankard of ale in hand, Kennan stood beside his father, watching the children laugh and dance around the maypole, weaving their colorful ribbons.

“A missive just arrived from Sleat,” Kennan said behind his ale.

Da nearly spilled froth down the front of his doublet. “Why did you not fetch me sooner?”

“I kent you were here—besides, the messenger delivered the note no more than a quarter hour ago.”

“Do not keep me in suspense. What news from the baronet?”

“My old brig, the Lady Heather, is in dry dock in Port Glasgow.”

“Bloody hell. Does he not have another ship?”

“He thought I ought to oversee her repairs—as I’ve done in the past. Said he’d sell her to me with a share of the spoils as we discussed.”

“Are ye certain? Och, I do not recommend traveling to Port Glasgow with that bloodhound sergeant sniffing about.”

“I ken that ship nearly better than the Reel—and Sleat is offering her at a price we’d not see anywhere else. But only I can ensure everything is outfitted to my satisfaction. Besides, I need more men.”

“I don’t like it.”

“And I’m nay about to sail into the choppy Atlantic with a ship that’s not seaworthy.”

Da took a long drink from his ale, his expression grim.

“Do not worry. We’ll ride at night. Sail a Cameron galley from Loch Eil.”

“How many men do you plan to take to Port Glasgow?”

“Lachie Mor, Mr. MacNeil, and a handful of others.”

“You ought to take the Cameron army,” Da said, clapping his hand against his tankard as the maypole dancers took their bows.

“Aye? And that wouldn’t draw attention?” Kennan spied Divana on Fiona’s arm. Holy Moses, she wore a blue gown with a scooped neckline that revealed two lovely, unforgettable breasts. “Nay,” he croaked. “’Tis best to draw as little attention as possible until we’ve had word from Mar.”

“The earl ought to request a pardon from the queen,” Da continued. “After all, she might have lost her throne if it weren’t for the pair of you thwarting King Louis’s attempt to invade.”

Kennan was hardly listening. For the love of God, how did the wee urchin grow more radiant by the day? She wore her hair down, flowing like red silk, and her smile was nearly as bright as the Beltane bonfire itself. “I’m certain ’tis only a matter of time,” he managed to say. “Word is Anne is quite ill.”

“Aye, and all the more reason for Mar to act quickly.”

Kennan sipped thoughtfully, forcing his gaze away from Divana. “Sergeant Corbyn is the least of my worries.”

“Agreed.” Da gave his tankard to a passing footman and exchanged it for another. “Though I’d like to show the festering pustule his place.”