“Hold your tongue.”

The old quartermaster chuckled but kept his opinions at bay. Aye, Kennan cared what happened to Divana, but that’s where it had to end. The sooner she found another, the better. Why, she wouldn’t be simply courting, she’d most likely find her spouse while Kennan was off chasing Vane—and God only knew how long he’d be away.

The last of the light faded and the men rode quietly, keeping an eye out for soldiers and highwaymen. A weight lifted from his shoulders when the waters of Loch Eil sparkled in the moonlight…right before he saw the glimmer of a musket barrel swing his way.

“Ambu—!” The word hadn’t completely left his lips as the gun flashed. Before the deafening blast touched his ears, the world turned white around him as the musket ball hit and hurled him backward to the ground.

The last thing Kennan heard was Lachie Mor shout, “Ye bloody murdering bastard. He’s carrying a pardon from the queen!”

Chapter Thirteen

Unable to sleep, Divana wrapped a plaid around her shoulders and climbed the stairs to the curtain walls. Atop the ramparts, she could see for miles. Mountains surrounded the castle, and the village of Achnacarry down below was even smaller than Connel. To the north, the River Arkaig rolled toward the loch with a calming and steady hum. When they escaped from the mill at Mallaig, Kennan had taken her along the narrow loch and they’d seen not a soul, as if they were the only two people in all the world.

Divana chuckled to herself. The most exhilarating time of her life had been escaping with Kennan—especially sharing a pony with the brawny knight. She’d never forget how the heat from his body soothed her, protected her, made her feel as if someone in her life actually cared.

But this night she felt neither loved nor cared for. Kennan was off to Glasgow to see about his ship. True, he might come home for a sennight or two, but then he’d be away again, navigating seas unknown in his hunt for Jackson Vane, undertaking a dangerous pursuit of one of the most feared pirates in all of Christendom.

As she sighed, a tendril of breath coiled on the air. There she stood on the wall-walk of a grand castle. Fate had brought her here. And being a scullery maid afforded her far more comforts than she’d enjoyed living with her family in a two-room cottage with its dirt floor. And she wasn’t completely unhappy. Goodness, Divana ought to be content to live and work among Clan Cameron for the rest of her days. Perhaps she would be…if Kennan weren’t so very important to the clan. But one day he would be laird of the castle. One day he would have a wife and family.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she tried to see beyond the dark outlines of mountains. If she left this place, where would she go? What would she do? How would she live? On Hyskeir finding food was a daily chore. It was painfully lonely and ever so cold. Did she truly want to return to such a life?