“Good morn.” Fiona stood in the doorway holding an enormous breakfast tray, but she took one look at Kennan and gasped. “Are you not ready to break your fast, sir?”

“I’m past ready.” He splashed under his arms. “Put the tray on the table in front of the hearth.”

“You’ll not be taking your meal in bed?” asked Divana.

“No, I absolutely will not.”

Fiona did as told, then looked at Divana as if she were shocked—she, the lass who’d been above stairs with Garry on Beltane, the wee harlot.

“Would ye be needing anything else?” Fiona asked.

The two women looked expectantly at Kennan, who, bare chested, faced them with a hand planted on his hip. “It smells delicious.”

“Divana ordered the tray. Since ye were injured, she’s become quite good at ordering everyone about.”

“Fiona!” Divana scolded.

“Perhaps that’s why I’m standing here on my own two feet at this very moment.” Kennan smirked and flicked his hand. “That will be all, thank you.”

Divana headed straight for the table and held the chair. “I haven’t been ordering people about.”

He took the back of the chair and wrested it from her grasp. “Nay? Then I must ask you not to order me about, either.”

“I beg your pardon? I’ve done no such thing.”

He didn’t argue. After all, he must forgive her for her wee tirade yesterday. She’d been exhausted. “I’ll seat myself from here on out.”

“Very well.”

He gestured across the table to the opposite chair. “Join me. There’s enough food here to feed a crew of ornery sailors.”

“One ornery captain is enough,” she whispered under her breath.

“What was that?”

Divana drew in a breath before she sat. “I kent ye’d be hungry, so I asked Cook to send up porridge, eggs, sausages, haggis, and toast.”

He speared a sausage with his fork. “No ale?”

She picked up the teapot and poured. “According to Mistress Ava, tea is better for your constitution.”

He ate the sausage, reached for a piece of toast, and dipped it in the egg yolk. “I generally prefer a pint of ale with my breakfast.”

“I’m only trying to help.”

He didn’t respond as his mouth appeared to be too full.

“Are ye sore?” she asked.

He swallowed. “Been sorer.”

“Good.” Divana wrapped a sausage in her toast. She supposed that was Kennan’s way of saying he was sore but he’d endure. She examined him while she chewed. “’Cause if ye’re feeling as well as ye say, then ’tis nigh time to step outside for some fresh air.”

He saluted with his cup. “Now that’s something I can agree to. This chamber has grown awfully stuffy.”