Molly sagged againstthe rail, her heart hammering so hard she felt dizzy and nauseas. She took a shaky breath, trying to calm her rattled nerves. Those sailors had shot at them! And with some kind of musket-type-thing! What the hell was going on?
The man—Conall—approached, his expression grim. “We canna linger here. They’ll be back to search the coast.”
Molly moved her jaw a few times before she worked up enough saliva to speak. “Who were those people? Why were they shooting at us?”
“Raiders and thieves,” he growled, voice tight with anger. “Scourge of the seas. They’d have slit our throats and taken the boat had they caught us.”
Dear God. This was madness, like something out of a nightmare. She glanced at the railing where a musket ball was still lodged. A musket ball! This couldn’t be happening. Fear slid through her belly, as cold and sharp as an icicle.
“What’s going on?” she asked Conall in a shaky voice. “Where’s the motor? The radio? Can’t you call the coastguard?”
Conall’s brow furrowed. “I dinna know those words. Now move yer arse. We have to get out of here before they return.”
He walked off, expecting obedience like any ship’s captain, but Molly didn’t move. She clung to the rail, legs shaky, thoughts racing. She had been so sure he’d stolen her boat. So sure. But...but this boat had no motor, only sails, and the mast that had been snapped on theSelkiewas now miraculously restored. He’d called it theMermaidand those men...those men had...
She felt a hand settle on her shoulder and she looked up to see Conall staring down at her. He had stormy gray eyes that seemed to match the sea. His voice was surprisingly gentle as he spoke.
“Lass. Molly. I know ye are frightened but we have to get moving. I need ye to help me with theMermaid. Can ye do that?”
His grip on her shoulder calmed her a little. She nodded. If she could make no sense of anything else, sailing a boat at least, she could understand.
He squeezed her shoulder. “Then let’s get out of here.”
He strode to the tiller and Molly pushed off from the rail. But as she coiled ropes and trimmed the sails, her eyes kept drifting back to the hole left by the musket ball. Muskets? Why would they have muskets? And why did everything on this boat—the rough spun sails, the wooden tiller, the lack of an outboard motor—all look like something that belonged to another world?
Or another time.
Are ye willing to take the path that will lead ye there? If ye do, then perhaps ye will discover the path ye were born to tread and the one who will walk it with ye.
Nope. Absolutely not. She was not going to entertain such idiotic ideas.
“Keep yer eyes peeled,” Conall called as they glided out from beneath the cover of the cliff. “And holler if ye catch even the faintest whiff of those raiders.”
“Raiders...” Molly echoed faintly. She shook her head. “Where I’m from, we don’t have ships attacking each other, or people shooting muskets. This makes no sense.”
Conall studied her a long moment. “I dinna ken what strange land ye hail from lass, but here the sea is a dangerous place to be.”
His words sent a chill through her. She had heard stories of pirates and raiders on the news of course, but it had always been something that happened to other people, in other parts of the world. Not something that could happen to her, so close to home, on the waters she knew so well.
Conall’s expression softened slightly. “Dinna worry, lass I’ll get ye to safety. Just stay close to me and do as I say.”
Only a short while ago he had been her enemy, the company agent trying to steal her boat. Now he was the one keeping her safe. God help her, this was just crazy.
As they sailed on, Conall kept a watchful eye on the horizon, scanning for any sign of the raiding ship. Molly did her best to help him, trimming the sails and keeping a lookout. But they saw nothing.
Conall guided the boat north at a slow, creeping pace, and Molly’s tension rose with every wave and swell. She didn’t know how long they crept onward for, but eventually they entered an area dotted with little islands that sheltered them from the open sea. The sun, where it broke through the clouds, glinted off the water in a million sparkling droplets, and a gentle breeze rustled through her hair as Molly peered anxiously at the islets, expecting at any moment to see the raiding ship come sailing round the edge of one. But they were alone, the silence punctuated only by the waves lapping against the hull.
“I dinna think they will find us here,” Conall said. “Hopefully they’ve lost interest and gone to look for easier pickings. I’ll take us in to shore.”
Conall turned the boat towards the shore, guiding it towards a shingle beach backed by tall pine trees. The shingle grated as the boat ran aground and Molly doubted she’d ever been so glad of dry land in her life. Now perhaps, she could figure out what was going on and get home.
She jumped into the surf after Conall, the shock of the cold water around her ankles making her gasp. Her feet slid slightly on the shingle and she grabbed the side of the boat to steady her. It was then that she realized something she’d known, deep down, but had been denying to herself.
This wasnottheSelkie. TheSelkiewas painted a bright, cheerful yellow to entice the tourists, but this boat was plain, lacquered wood, not painted at all. It was the same size, had the same sail arrangement, but Conall had been telling her the truth all along. This was most definitelynother boat.
So the question remained: where was theSelkie? And where wasshe?
She couldn’t seem to stop staring at that musket ball lodged in the rail. She wiped a shaking hand across her forehead.
