“Perhaps we’ll have the chance afore all this is done.” Kennan finished his drink. “But ’tis Beltane and I intend to enjoy it.”

“Good on you, lad. But do not bugger one of my serving wenches or there’ll be hell to pay.”

“Never.”

Kennan strolled around the gathering until he stopped directly behind Divana. In truth, he’d prefer to swing an ax and chop wood for an entire day rather than dance, but he’d made the lass a promise, and he always made good on his word.

Except before he tapped her shoulder, Runner skipped up with his bonnet in hand. “Will ye dance the reel with me?”

Divana turned enough for Kennan to see her face, and she looked terrified. “Och, I’m nay much good at dancing.”

Runner grabbed for her hands and tugged. “Not to worry, I’ll help ye. Besides, ye look too bonny to be standing on the fringes.”

Kennan clenched his fists as he watched the lad drag Divana to the patch of grass they used for dancing. How dare the adolescent slaver all over the woman, telling her she looked bonny? And now she was out there standing in the women’s row, the eye of every male Cameron focused on her wholesome beauty. Damnation, she outshone every woman present.

“Is all well, sir?” asked Lachie Mor, stepping beside him with a tankard of ale in hand.

“Aye, it will be when we set out for Glasgow.”

“Agreed. I think the missus is growing tired of having me home.”

“Tell her to enjoy your company whilst she can. I reckon you’ll be gone for a fair stretch soon.”

When Divana turned the wrong way and stumbled into the lass beside her, Kennan couldn’t help his grin. The poor gel apologized and grew more flustered until Runner locked her elbow with his and rowdily spun her in a circle.

“Smiling at the Campbell lass, are you?” asked Mor.

“She’s not much of a dancer.”

“Nor are you.” The quartermaster laughed. “She’s fetching, I’ll say.”

“Why the blazes is everyone talking about how bonny Divana looks? Good Lord, everyone’s openly gawking as if they’ve never seen a woman before.”

“You like her do you?”

“What has that got to do with anything?”

The damned gap-toothed wastrel shrugged as he started off, wobbling on his bowlegs. “I thought as much.”

Kennan grumbled under his breath. Everyone wanted to be a smart-arse. Of course. It was Beltane. By the end of the evening the pairing would start—lassie’s choice. His gut clenched. He wasn’t about to let some randy Highlander haul Divana off into the brush and have his way. And Kennan knew it could happen. The ale flowed freely, the weather was fine for once, and the promise of spring was on the air. Hell, it was a recipe for disaster.

As the reel ended, he marched straight up to Divana. If nothing else, it was his duty to protect her, especially tonight. She smiled at him, her face flushed. “Sir Kennan. I’m afraid I’m nay as graceful as the others.”