“Forever, if my opinion mattered.” The lad grinned as if he were embarking on the adventure of a lifetime. “But I reckon it’ll take a good six months to a year to find the Reel. And then the captain will have to figure a plan to steal her back. I’m thinking that will take ages, knowing the likes of Jackson Vane. Once we’ve taken the ship, we’ll most likely need to call into port for repairs—which may take a few months, depending on damages and supplies.” He scratched the fuzzy hairs on his chin. “Och, repairs might take an entire year. And ’tis up to God and the wind on how long sailing home will be.” He gave her an assured nod. “Mayhap two years.”

Divana drew a hand over her sinking heart. “Two years?” She’d be an old spinster by then. And what was there for her at Achnacarry? Garry had finally proposed to Fiona, and once they were wed, they planned to move into a cottage in the village. Without Fiona, work would be tedious to say the least.

“Runner, stop your dawdling and help load these planks,” Lachie Mor shouted as he slapped a cat-o’-nine-tails in his leathery palm.

Alone again, Divana wandered through the bustle with hardly a soul glancing her way. Even Kennan stood at the far end of the outer courtyard surrounded by men as he pointed this way and that. True, by the bustle, he had a great deal of responsibility, though she still tried to will him to look her way.

When finally he did, his features grew dark. He uttered something to one of the crewmen and headed her way. “There you are.”

Her stupid heart fluttered. “I thought ye were about to set off without saying good-bye.”

“Never.” He ran a hand across his mouth, shifting his eyes. “The last of the stores came in yesterday afternoon. ’Twas late when we made the decision to load the wagons.”

Her heart sank to her toes. “So then ye’ll be gone for two years or more?”

“Most likely.”

“Ah…” What could she say? He’d made his decision. “Think of me when ye spread butter on your ship’s biscuits. I churned it meself.”

“I will.”

Did he not know she was falling apart on the inside?

“Sir Kennan!” Lachie Mor hollered.

The sea captain looked toward the quartermaster, then back at her. “I haven’t much time.”

“Nay,” she snapped. “I’m certain his question is more important.”

Kennan’s expression grew darker. “It might be more urgent, but not more important.”

“Whatever ye say.”

He brushed his knuckle over her cheek. “I shall miss you, please know that. However…” His jaw twitched.

Did she dare hope? “Aye?”

“I do not want you to worry about me. You’re a beautiful young woman, free to make your own choices, and it is time for you to move on with your life.”