The last rope dropped free. This was it. Time to go home. She placed a hand on the weathered wood of the hull, pausing to glance back at the dark silhouette of the village. Nothing stirred, not even a cat.
Gritting her resolve, she turned away and climbed over the side of the boat and onto the gently bobbing deck. She unfurled the sail with hands that knew every motion by heart and as the sail billowed out and caught the breeze, the boat lurched forward, gliding out into open water.
Molly turned to face ahead, hands on the tiller. Her eyes stung as the cold night air whipped past her face but she ignored it, keeping her eyes fixed on the dark water ahead. The tide was high, just as Gerald had said it would be, which would make the narrow passage easier, but she would still need her wits about her. How many times had her da told her it was dangerous to pilot in the dark? There would be hidden reefs and rocks, not to mention the very real possibility of being smashed to pieces against the walls of the inlet.
But as the boat slipped out into open water, the motion steadied, and with it, Molly’s nerves. Muscle memory kicked in, habits born of years of working a boat just like this. Yes, it might be dangerous, but so was staying here amongst these people. She had to take this chance. It might be her only one.
Tipping back her head, Molly scanned the night sky, orienting herself to the constellations. Her father had taught her to sail by the stars and she was doubly glad of his instruction now, with no compass or modern instruments to aid her. She had found it boring and useless at the time but she promised herself she would thank him profusely just as soon as she got home. She spotted the bright belt of Orion, the pointing arrow of Sagittarius, the ever-reliable twinkle of the North Star. They would guide her home.
Home. The word filled Molly with equal parts comfort and uncertainty. She longed to see her father again, to feel his warm embrace and his deep voice as he told her tales she only half-believed. But then she thought of Conall, his ruggedly handsome face, his calm, capable demeanor, as though he could handle anything. Regret tugged at her. She wished things could have been different. She sighed, the sound lost on the wind.
The village lights faded into the distance as the shoreline receded and Molly found herself alone with the moon, the stars, and the lulling slap of waves against the hull. She checked her heading. A lone seabird cried out overhead, its haunting call echoing her melancholy. Molly watched its graceful flight until it disappeared into the night. She was alone again, with only the push and pull of the waves for company. The boat rose and fell rhythmically, lulling her into remembrance.
Molly thought back to the first time she’d set sail with her father. She was just a wee lass then, frightened yet thrilled by the vast ocean. He had squeezed her hand reassuringly, promising he would never let go.
“My little sailor,” he had called her affectionately.
The memory brought a faint smile to Molly’s lips. She could still feel the comforting warmth of her father’s hand if she closed her eyes.
I’m coming home, da,she thought as she sailed into the blackness.I’m coming.
The sound of the waves changed as she sailed closer to the inlet and the entrance appeared like a jagged slit in the darkness of the night. This was it. Once she was through that entrance, there was no going back.
Molly looked back one final time towards Lanwick but all that was visible now was an inky blanket of darkness.
But then, unexpectedly, a burst of orange light illuminated the sky and Molly gasped in shock. For an instant, she thought it might be a signal flare, but then she saw the tell-tale flicker as the light grew and spread. Cold realization swept through her.
Lanwick was burning.
***
CONALL WOKE SUDDENLY, jerking up from half-remembered dreams. From outside, he could hear the faint sound of waves crashing against the shoreline, but nothing else. Yet his instincts screamed that something was off but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
He pushed up onto his elbows and scanned his room but saw nothing out of the ordinary—just an old blanket hanging from the bedpost, a small wooden dresser, and his battered scabbard sitting in the corner. Everything looked as it should be, and yet that same feeling of unease lingered in Conall’s gut like an unwelcome guest.
He had learned to trust his instinct. It had saved his life on more than one occasion, so he slipped out of bed, his bare feet cold on the floorboards, and buckled on his sword. Everything was quiet. Too quiet.
He crept down the hallway towards Molly’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open with a creak. Her bed was empty, the blankets tossed haphazardly. For a second, he stood and stared, a vein pulsing in his temple.
In a flash, he spun and raced down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The front door of the Trading House was wide open, letting in a cool night breeze. He scanned the empty Trading House, his eyes narrowing as he searched for any sign of struggle or forced entry. But there was nothing.
He raced outside, the night air cold against his skin, and turned in a circle, scanning the darkness. The moon was up, lighting the streets of Lanwick with a pale, cold light, but he saw no sign of Molly.
His eyes sprang to the bay and that’s when he saw it. A small boat, barely visible in the distance, heading towards the inlet. He recognized it immediately. TheMermaid. He could just make out the figure of Molly in the moonlight, her hands working the ropes with ease.
His stomach churned with a mixture of anger and fear. Anger that she was trying to steal his boat—again—and fear that she would end up getting herself hurt.
A growl formed in his throat. Curse the woman! Of all the idiotic, brainless, stupid things to do!
He started for the harbor at a jog, grateful for the moonlight that helped to light his way as he hurried downhill. If he took one of the larger, faster boats, he could overtake her before she reached the inlet. But he was still several streets away from the harbor when a bright light flared along the harbor side. He skidded to a halt, eyes wide. The light spread quickly and he heard crackling and smelled smoke.
Fire. The boats were burning!
He squinted and made out figures down there, silhouetted black against the flames. At the same time, from the village behind, the alarm bell began to clang. Turning, Conall saw more dark figures flitting through the village from the direction of the cliffs. His mouth went dry.
Lanwick was under attack.
He hesitated, torn between his desire to defend the village, and knowing they had to save the boats.
