She told him about being ambushed by Sergeant Corbyn at the bend in the road before they arrived at Loch Eil. “The next day your father rode to Fort William and insisted the colonel put the varlet behind bars.”

“And did he?”

“Aye, he’s faced a court-martial as well. He’s headed for the gallows, where he belongs.”

Kennan scowled. “Unfortunate. I’d like to challenge the fiend to a duel of swords.”

“I think with your feud with Jackson Vane, ye’ve enough enemies ye’re hankering to fight.” She gave him a bannock, and Kennan craned his neck to see what else she might be hoarding on the table. “A missive arrived just this morn, and Lachie Mor reported he has things in hand in Glasgow.”

“A missive? I want to see it straightaway.” Damnation, why must his head pound so?

“I’ll fetch it for ye, but your da has read the contents and said Lachie estimates the repairs will take a month. He’s already working to recruit seasoned sailors to fill out the crew.”

“A month, aye?”

“Aye. That means ye’ll at least have a bit o’ time to rebuild your strength. Ye need to be able to use your arm if ye’re planning to confront a rascal like Vane and his mob of pirates.”

Kennan gulped down a bite of bannock, though he had no appetite. “I can heal along the voyage.”

“Och, I wouldn’t be putting the cart afore the horse about now. Ye cannot fool me. Ye nearly fell on your face when ye tried to stand.” She shook her finger under his nose, looking as if she wanted to thrash him. “I’ll tell ye true, ye ungrateful mollusk, I’ll thwack ye with the fire poker if ye do anything to hurt yourself again. After all the time I spent tending your bedside, the least ye can do is have a care for your damned self!”

Kennan winced at her curse. She’d never before uttered a foul word. She was madder than a mother badger protecting her young—or him to be honest. And why shouldn’t she be? She’d been tending him without sleep for three days. That would make anyone irritable.

He patted the bed beside him, the fog in his mind clearing a bit. “Did my father mention if Lachie Mor is satisfied with the refitting progress?”

She sat. “Aye, he said they’re ahead of schedule.”

“And he’s already interviewing the men we need?”

“See, ye’ve nothing to worry about with Lachie and Mr. MacNeil taking up the reins—naught but healing.”

He hoped the quartermaster wasn’t keeping the purse strings too tight. He’d best be hiring able sailors and enough of them to fight an army.