by Amy Jarecki
Kennan fully intended to reclaim his silver as well. With a plan forming in his mind, one day he’d face the pirate and take back his due.
But first Kennan needed to find a way off the island and head for his family lands in Achnacarry. There he’d stand before his father and damn the consequences.
As he stepped outside, the brisk wind served to provide the wakeup he needed. Turning, he caught the flutter of Divana’s skirts before she disappeared over the crag. He’d sailed past this wee isle several times before, but he’d never given it much thought aside from allowing for a wide berth. Many a ship had fallen victim to low-set skerry isles like Hyskeir—in rough seas they were difficult to see. The odds for rescue were slim since Divana had admitted being alone for two years. Any sailor worth his salt wouldn’t give this isle a cursory glance—Kennan hadn’t.
He hissed as sharp rocks prodded the soles of his feet. He’d had to kick off his shoes when he fought the sharks and swam for his life, but he missed his brogues now. Aye, he was soft all right. That slip of a woman had crossed over the stones as if she’d been barefoot all her life. Perhaps she had.
He stopped when he crested the hillock. Divana crouched behind a boulder, swinging a slingshot toward a flock of eider ducks.
Och, so the wee lassie eats more than clams. No wonder her pallet had been peppered with feathers. Doubtless, it looked a fair bit more comfortable than the dirt floor.
With her release, the hiss of her rock cut through the wind as it hurtled toward the duck. Kennan moved closer while he watched the unsuspecting eider collapse. “I’m duly impressed. I do not think I have a man in my crew able to do any better.”
She whipped around, her expression startled, but as soon as she saw him, her lips eased into a lovely smile. “Ye’re awake.”
He liked her smile. It was warm and friendly, and made him grin back. “Aye, though my head feels as though it is filled with wool.”
“I’m nay surprised, ye’ve been asleep for two days.”
Good God, had it been that long? “Then it is past time for me to be on the mend.”
Her brow furrowed. “Do ye mean that?”
“Bloody oath, I do.” He winked, remembering the worry in her voice when she’d prayed over him. “I’m no milk-livered varlet set to spend the rest of my days moaning on a pallet.”
Sighing, Divana drew her hands over her heart. “I’m so happy to see ye aren’t planning to die.”
“Me?” He started toward the flock. “Never—well, not yet anyway.”
She followed. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He picked up the fallen duck and held it aloft while the wool in his head seemed to swell. God’s blood, he hated weakness—especially in himself. “What do you aim to do with this beauty? Soup or roast it over the fire?”
“Can ye fashion a spit?”
“Is there any wood about?”
“Bits of driftwood along the shore.” She took the duck by the legs and gave it a once-over. “Are ye feeling well enough to be up and about?”
“Yes on both counts.” He tried not to sway where he stood, but he did, nonetheless. “The sooner I rebuild my strength, the sooner I can leave this island.”
“Oh?” Another shadow of sadness darkened her crystal-blue eyes. “And how do ye intend to go? Swim?”
Kennan stumbled as he began to follow her back to the bothy. “The thought has crossed my mind.”
“I cannot.”
“Can’t swim?” He almost offered to teach her before he caught himself. Once he left this little rock, he’d most likely never see the lass again. And he most certainly didn’t plan to be here more than a few days. “Tell me, on a clear day, can you see the isle of Rùm?”
“I think so.” She pointed—in the right direction. “I can see a slip of land over there.”
“Good, then we can signal them with a fire.”
She stared out across the rough seas, scraping her teeth over her bottom lip. “I doubt they will come.”
“Because of the smallpox?”
Fear filled her eyes as she nodded, telling of the horrors the poor lass had endured. “They abandoned me,” she whispered.
“But that was quite some time ago. Perhaps they’ll be curious if they see a fire,” he said, trying to sound encouraging.
By the shake of her head, she wasn’t convinced. “What will ye burn? The peat won’t last if we build a bonfire. I’ve been careful to ration it.”
“But there’s driftwood, you say?”
“Aye, though ’tis of no use for a fire—’tis too smoky.”
“Smoke might draw more attention.” Kennan offered a reassuring smile. “That’s what we’ll do, collect a pile of driftwood and dry it in the bothy.”
Divana stopped outside the doorway and snatched the eider from his grasp. “Och, ye’ve only just arrived. Can ye not leave matters be?”
He scrubbed his face with his knuckles. Why was she acting so testily? What else was she afraid of? “I haven’t grown ill.”
“Nay, ye have not, have ye?” she said, pushing through the sealskin shroud.
Kennan followed. “Do you not want to leave this isle?”
“I’d like nothing more,” she sniped as if growing angrier by the moment.
“Then we shall build a beacon and burn it as brightly as we can.”
“We?” She set the duck on a rock near the firepit and straightened, brushing her hands down her shabby dress. “Do ye mean to say ye’ll take me with ye?”
“Och, lass. I’d nay leave a soul, man or woman, stranded on a barren isle.”
Chapter Five
It didn’t take long for Divana to grow accustomed to having a guest. She’d been ever so lonely, engaging in conversation with someone other than herself raised her spirits higher than they’d been in over two years. As the days passed, Sir Kennan grew stronger and his beard fuller. Though he had a dagger, it wasn’t sharp enough to shave. But Divana didn’t mind.
This evening, she sat weaving a basket from reeds she’d been soaking when he came inside, his arms laden with driftwood. How he managed to carry such a heavy load with wounds still healing amazed her. He complained not once, though at night his grunts and moans disclosed the pain he must be feeling.
He shook a bit, flinging droplets of water. “’Tis raining.”
She pointed her reed upward at the leaking roof that had started dripping in the corner. “I ken.”
“Och, I’d best see to repairing that on the morrow.”
He turned in a circle, then set to stacking the pieces atop a pile already half-dry.
“I do not ken where ye’ll put any more. The bothy is already so full, there’s hardly room for us to sit.”
He grinned over his shoulder. Goodness, with the beard and a lock of hair dangling over his eye, he looked wild and dangerous. Yet Divana’s stomach fluttered all the same. Her silly stomach had been doing a great deal of fluttering of late, and it had nothing to do with hunger.
“They’ll nay come if we do not make a fire large enough to broadcast our presence,” he said, carefully placing the last stick on top of the heap, then held his palms out while he backed away. Thank heavens the stack held.
“Surely the folk on Rùm have seen the blaze these past three nights. And last eve was so clear—mayhap the clearest night in months.”
He brushed off his hands, wincing as he sat on his pallet—aye, he was still in pain for certain. “No one’s paid us a visit, have they? We must keep the flame lit until someone grows so curious, they cannot help but sail across the channel and investigate.” He winced again. “It could take months.”
Divana wove her reed through the basket’s spokes. “Aye, they’ll arrive with muskets at the ready, knowing how fate enjoys torturing me.” She had been afraid when Kennan first built the signal fire. Aye, she’d dreamed about being rescued. But now that there was a chance of it, she feared they’d come and taunt her—mayhap even try to kill her.
“They may ha
ve muskets, but I’ll talk them out of firing.”
Under, over, under, over, she worked the next reed. “Aren’t ye the confident one?” She puzzled, though. Hadn’t he been overrun by pirates? What kind of talking had he done then?
“I have to be.” He picked up a piece of driftwood he’d been whittling and examined it. “The captain of a ship must maintain order—and with that comes knowing what to say and when to say it.”
Divana’s hands stilled. “Captain, did ye say?” He hadn’t spoken much about his past or what had happened—wounds and all. And after listening to his tormented moans in the night, she hadn’t pressed him.
Sir Kennan’s grin was replaced by a shadowy grimace—one that spoke of the horrors he must have faced. But Divana was no stranger to horrors. She’d lived with the memory of the ravages of smallpox for the past two years.
“Aye,” he replied, setting to work by the light of a tallow candle as if he’d said everything there was on the topic.
But Divana needed to learn more. “What happened?”
He pursed his lips and inclined the dagger as if he were carving something very intricate. “You do not want to hear it.”
Another reason she hadn’t asked about his past was because his conversation was empty and haunted, just like this one. He didn’t want to talk about the ordeal. She wove the reeds for a time, chewing the inside of her cheek before she regarded him across the fire. “If someone comes and takes us off this isle, where will ye go?”
“Home to begin with.”
“What’s it like?”
The grin returned as he held out the figurine—taking shape and looking like a person. “Achnacarry is a village and a fortress, built by my ancestors to protect and defend Clan Cameron.”
“Are ye related to the clan chief?”
“He’s my da.”
The basket slipped in her fingertips. She’d been taking care of the son of a chieftain? And there she sat in tatters. What must he think of her? “Good heavens. A knight and the son of a chieftain?” she said, unable to hide the wonder in her voice. “Do ye have many brothers and sisters?”
“Two younger brothers who are in St Andrews at university, a sister who married the laird of Clan Grant, and a wee half brother who’s only two.”
Divana grasped another reed and wove it through the tines even faster. “Then ye’re the heir?” she whispered.
He scraped his knife, a roll of driftwood curling from the blade. “Last I checked, though the Great Lochiel may reconsider when he discovers I’ve not only lost my ship and my crew, I’ve lost most of my bloody fortune.”
“Oh, dear.”
He tossed the figurine toward the firepit, but it bounced on a rock and landed at Divana’s feet. She picked it up and held it to the light. He’d been carving a woman with long skirts and hair. “This is good.”
Saying nothing, he stabbed the knife into a driftwood log.
Bless it, no matter where Divana tried to steer the conversation, it seemed to make him more distant. She set the figurine beside her. “At least ye have kin to return to.”
A grimace crossed his face as if her words had delivered a slap. “Forgive me. The ordeal that landed you on this isle must have been harrowing, indeed.”
She hated to think on it. Perhaps that’s why she’d let Sir Kennan be and hadn’t pestered him. Still, the sickly churning of her insides brought by his words made prickly heat spread down her arms. “Aye,” she whispered. It seemed it was her turn to grow quiet.
“Death is never pretty.”
The threat of tears burned the backs of her eyes. “Watching your kin die rips your heart out and throws it to the sea forever.”
He was quiet for a time, then took a deep breath. “Pray tell, what is your age?”
Divana wasn’t certain. Poor folk in the Highlands never paid much mind to birthdays—though she’d heard tell of expensive gifts given by the wealthy—by people the likes of Kennan’s kin. “I reckon I’m nineteen, near enough.”
“You do not know?”
“Why?” She reached for another reed. “’Tis easy to lose count.”
“How old were you when you came to the isle?”
“Seventeen, near enough.” Why didn’t he let it rest? Divana busied herself weaving the reeds. Why should he care about her age? She was fully grown and marriageable—not that she ever dared to dream she’d find a husband. “What is your age, sir? Ye may be a captain, but ye do not appear to be much older than I.”
“Oh, how wrong you are, lass. I’m eight and twenty. Nearly a decade your senior.” He stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “What about your clan? Campbell is a powerful name in the Highlands. Do you have an auntie or an uncle who will take you in?”
She never wanted to see another hateful soul from Connel again. Her hands stilled as she remembered the day, fevered and so ill she couldn’t sit up, yet they’d heartlessly poked and prodded and forced Divana and her family out into the cold air and onto a galley. “No one who would want me.”
“What did you do afore you came to Hyskeir?”
“We had a wee croft that took most of our time. ’Twas me uncle who insisted they take us away—sent us to die with naught but the clothes on our backs, he did.” She stared at her hands, her face growing hot. But every day since the fever cleared, Divana had yearned to leave the isle—of finding a caring family to take her in, mayhap employ her as a servant. She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. Kennan spoke well of his family, and his da was the chieftain of Clan Cameron. Dare she ask? Taking a deep breath, she let out with it. “If we are rescued, will ye let me follow ye to your lands?” Every muscle in her body tensed as she waited for his reply.
He frowned, stroking his fingers down his beard as if he hadn’t thought of what might happen to her once they reached the mainland. “My life is complicated…”
Her heart raced. Once they left the isle, she would need to earn coin. “I-I’d be no trouble. I can cook and clean and mend and tend sheep.”
Chuckling, he tossed a square of peat on the fire. “Not to mention dig clams and kill eider ducks with a slingshot from twenty paces.”
Divana sat taller. “See? I ought to be of use to ye…or…or someone.”
“Hmm.” He looked aside, frowning again. “Mayhap you’d make a fine scullery maid at Achnacarry.”
“Truly?” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Do ye think I could be a servant in a grand castle?”
“I cannot see why you wouldn’t do well. After all, you’ve just given me a summary of your virtues. I’m certain my stepmother would find a position for you…” He turned the bird over the fire, his makeshift spit managing to hold steady without dropping their dinner into the flames like it did the first time they tried to roast a duck. “At Achnacarry you’d have a fine bed, clothes, and you’d never want for another meal.”
Honestly? He’d do that for her? She could stay with the family and earn her own coin? “What about shoes?”
“All our servants wear shoes.”
Heat rose to her cheeks and she covered them with cool fingers, hoping he wouldn’t notice if she was blushing. “I’ve never owned a pair.”
“No shoes?” he asked as if being barefoot were a sin, though few of the crofter’s children in Connel were able to afford them. “Well then, I reckon you’ll be happier at Achnacarry than anywhere you’ve lived in all your days.”
Divana held up her basket and pretended to examine it, though she was hiding her smile. If Sir Kennan’s bonfire did indeed bring a ship, she’d no longer be alone. She’d live and work in a castle. At Achnacarry, mayhap she’d even chance to see Sir Kennan from time to time…at least when he wasn’t away being a sea captain.
* * *
One side of the bothy was hewn from the steep wall of the bluff, while the other three consisted of stones bonded together with crumbling mortar. In truth, if Divana stayed on Hyskeir another year, the walls would likely fall to pieces around her. The ro
of had all but blown away, and Kennan lay on his aching belly, pushing twisted clumps of thatch into any crevice that looked as if it might spring a leak. But with every shove, the existing thatch crumbled a bit more.
I should have left the bloody roof alone.
There was nothing on the isle to use for proper repairs. The fact that Divana had survived alone this long was a miracle, if not a testament to her resourcefulness. He pushed in another clump of twisted thatch, and a gust of wind caught the miserable thing and blew it to the ground.
“Fie!”
There had to be something on this godforsaken isle he could use to tie the thatch down. Aye, he might braid the seagrass into a rope, but they’d most likely see a boat from Rùm before the plant dried and was ready to use. While scavenging for driftwood, he’d spotted bits of rubbish washed up on the shore. Perhaps if he scouted about, he might find some wire or a length of rope that wasn’t so eaten away by salt water it was useless.
He’d collected the driftwood on the northern tip, but on the south shore, there was a wee cove where bits and pieces of castoffs from ships were more likely to gather. Unfortunately, his feet didn’t seem to be growing any tougher. So, as he’d done since the surf spat him out on this blessed isle, Kennan treaded lightly over the jagged stones. Yesterday he’d walked the circumference of the isle, a trek that took about an hour. He’d spotted the cove but hadn’t ventured down to the water because the rocks were jagged and filled with nesting ducks.
Divana said the eiders all arrived within a few days. Good timing, he reckoned, because it took an awful lot of clams to sate a man’s hunger. Not to mention the poor lass looked as if she needed a month of feasting to add some meat to her slender bones.
Once he arrived at the precipice, the climb down sharp rocks brought a few more cuts to his feet and hands, and a good scrape to a knee. But the trip wasn’t entirely in vain. The tide was on its way out and, after using a stick of driftwood to dig about the rocks, Kennan found a rusted length of chain and a glass fishing float attached to some netting that hadn’t yet rotted.
