Chapter Seventeen

Divana stared at nothing while she worked the butter churn—an unending rhythm of up and down. With her mind stuck in a muddled mire, at least the monotony of churning didn’t require her to be terribly attentive. She’d done everything she could think of to convince Kennan to take her to sea, and yet her efforts resulted in failure.

Worse, Lachie Mor had arrived at Achnacarry two nights ago, and since, the castle was in upheaval. Of course the men weren’t allowed inside the castle—they camped in the stables or beyond the wall. But working in the kitchens was like being in the midst of the wars. Cook madly prepared food while stores arrived by the wagonload.

When the crewmen weren’t on the practice field with their captain, they were preparing for the voyage. Every time Divana stepped outside, Kennan was in conversation with his da or Lachie Mor or Mr. MacNeil or even Cook. He was so wrapped up in his affairs, he paid no mind whatsoever to her aside from a smile here, a hello there. And though the great Cameron captain had relegated Divana to the depths of uselessness, Runner, at the age of sixteen, had been promoted to ship’s mate.

“Baltazar,” she said as the boy strode into the kitchens and retrieved a large basket from the table.

“Aye?”

Her hand stilled on the churn. “Do ye ken if Sir Kennan has named a replacement for cabin boy?”

Snorting, Runner looked at her as though she’d grown two heads. “Nay. Not all ships have cabin boys.”

“What about cabin lassies?” she mumbled under her breath while she resumed her rocking, her arm numb from the repetitive movement.

“How is that butter coming?” asked Cook, wiping her hands on her apron while the lad slipped away without answering her question. “Sir Kennan needs it afore they set out to board the Lady Heather.”

Divana’s spine snapped straight. “When are they leaving?”

“Och, have ye not heard the commotion? They’re hitching the wagons now.”

Her gaze shot to the window. “Now? Ye must be jesting!”

“Nay. They’ll be off just as soon as I parcel up the last of the stores. Good heavens, by the list I received from Sir Kennan, he’ll be at sea for months afore he replenishes.”

Divana gripped her stomach. Months before he replenished? How long would he be away? And why hadn’t he mentioned a single word about his departure date to her?

Cook opened the lid and peered inside the churn. “Och, this is fine butter. You’ve an arm like an iron crank.”

Divana swirled the handle around as she pushed to her feet. “Comes from years of practice with the slingshot.”

“I beg your pardon?”