As the sky lightened and morning wore on, the tension in the cave grew palpable. Molly didn’t seem to be able to sit still and paced constantly, going down to the boat, walking along the beach, constantly scanning for signs of Conall.
I will find you. I promise.
What if he didn’t? What if he couldn’t? Molly’s stomach felt as though it had been tied into a knot, a cold, hard dread growing inside her with every hour that passed. The villagers were mostly quiet, their faces drawn with worry and fear. Fiona went amongst them, sharing a joke here, some encouragement there, and everywhere the chief went, the tension eased a little.
Molly wished she could emulate Fiona’s easy manner. She wished there was something she could do to ease the villagers’ minds, but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know these people, didn’t know their ways or their customs. All she could do was wait, and hope that Conall and the others would come.
The following day dragged interminably but finally the sun began to sink into the sea. As night began to fall, Molly took her turn at watch duty at the cave mouth. She sat with her back against the rocks, staring out at the dark sea. She could hear the rustling of movement behind her, the soft breathing of the villagers as they slept, but she was alone with her thoughts, and they were not comforting.
Suddenly, a noise interrupted her thoughts: the crunch of footsteps on sand. She sprang to her feet, grabbing a stout branch she’d picked up from the beach to use as a weapon. The villagers scrambled awake and gathered at the entrance, make-shift weapons at the ready. If those raiders had found them, the villagers wouldn’t go down without a fight.
But instead of raiders, Conall and the other men stumbled into the cave, battered and bruised but alive. The villagers let out a cheer and rushed to their loved ones, embracing them and thanking the heavens.
A wave of relief washed through Molly as Conall made his way towards her.
“Molly,” he said. “I knew ye’d get them here safely.”
Molly’s chest tightened at his words. “I didn’t do it alone. Fiona and the villagers helped.” She looked around at his bedraggled group of fighters. “How did you get here?”
“By trekking all afternoon on paths that goats would fear to take,” Conall replied with a wry shake of his head. He looked exhausted. His hair was matted to his face with sweat and his clothes were scuffed and dirty.
“What happened?” Fiona demanded, pushing to the front of the milling crowd. “What about the raiders?”
“We pushed them back. Most are dead or taken prisoner. Those that weren’t, we drove back to the cliffs.” His words belied the tension in his body, the weariness that seemed to come off him in waves. “Gerald and his men hold the village but I dinna think those raiders will be back any time soon. They’ll need time to regroup before attacking Lanwick again.”
Fiona’s eyes flashed. “We willnae be caught unawares like that again. We’ll fortify the cliff paths, lay traps for anyone coming that way. Lanwick will be impregnable.”
“That might keep ye safe for a while,” Conall replied. “But not forever.”
Fiona frowned. “What are ye saying?”
“It would be better if ye all leave Lanwick for good.”
There was a chorus of angry muttering from behind them at this.
“Leave?” Fiona growled. “Allow those bastards to drive us out? Never! We can rebuild the houses that burned, replace the ships that were destroyed.”
“And how about the lives that were lost?” Conall snapped. “Ye were lucky this time: one of the boats escaped the flames. If Molly hadnae taken everyone to safety, who knows how many lives might have been lost? Perhaps all of them. And none of those raiders had these new long guns. If they had, it would be a different story we are telling now. They willnae make that mistake again. The next time they come against ye, they will be better armed, better prepared.”
“And so will we!” Fiona retorted. “What’s the point in being a smuggler if ye canna lay yer hands on what’s needed?Wewill have long guns.Wewill have cannon. The next time they come against us, they will have a rude awakening!”
Conall shook his head. “And then what? Ye kill some of theirs. They kill some of yers. And on it goes until the Highlands are awash with blood. Dinna ye see this is what our enemy wants? Dinna ye see this is his plan? Flood the Highlands with weapons and let us kill each other? Then he can just sweep in and claim what is left!”
Molly had no idea who Conall was talking about but Fiona clearly did. Her eyes blazed and a tiny vein throbbed in her temple.
“I swore to help the Order fight the Disinherited and the Unseelie,” she said, her voice low and throbbing with anger. “But not at the expense of my people’s lives. What kind of chief would I be if I did that?” She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Conall. This is how it must be.”
Conall held Fiona’s gaze for a moment longer and then sighed. His shoulders slumped and he wiped a hand across his face.
What was Conall not saying? What did he know that she didn’t? Molly wanted to ask, but the expression on his face stopped her. He looked furious.
The villagers began to disperse, heading back into the cave to rest and recover, but Molly didn’t move. She stood there, watching as Conall leaned heavily against the cave wall, his eyes closed. She felt a sudden urge to reach out and touch him.
“Conall, I—” she began.
He flung out a hand to stop her. “Dinna say anything,” he said, his voice tight and tense. His wolf-gray eyes were full of an emotion she couldn’t quite place, a mixture of hurt and anger.
Without another word, he stalked out into the night.
