The rest of breakfast was spent in tense silence. Conall was glad when his father pushed his plate away and mumbled something about having business to attend to. He gave a brief nod to them before walking off, calling his attendants.
Conall watched him go. He’d never noticed his father limp before but as he crossed the hall he seemed to be in obvious pain. He was getting old, Conall realized.
Molly looked over at Conall, her expression one of concern. He gave her a tight smile and stood, offering his arm She took it gratefully and they made their way out of the great hall.
Outside, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless blue sky. Conall felt relieved to be away from the oppressive atmosphere of the Pinnacle—it was like being released from a prison cell. He led her down towards the shore where there was a small, single-masted fishing boat moored. He’d already arranged with the boat’s owner to borrow it for the day.
Molly raised an eyebrow. “It looks like a smaller version of theMermaid. No rowing boat today?”
Conall felt a pang at the mention of theMermaid. He was surprised at how much he missed her. Things had been simpler when it was just him, his boat, and the waves.
He smiled wryly. “I dinna much fancy rowing all the way to the new port. Not if I want to be able to walk when we get there.”
Molly hopped into the boat easily, despite her long skirts, and immediately began working the sails. Conall smiled to himself, untied the boat, and jumped aboard. He took his place at the helm.
The sail was unfurled quickly, the wind catching it with ease as they began moving off, leaving behind the Pinnacle and its dark secrets.
As they sailed along the river, they fell into the easy routine they had when out on the open sea. Conall couldn’t help but watch Molly, mesmerized. He wanted to speak to her about their kiss last night but she didn’t bring it up and he didn’t dare mention it for fear of spoiling things. Besides, his encounter with his father this morning had made him feel uneasy and a little out of sorts.
They continued on, entering wilder territory as they sailed further away from civilization. The river became narrower and more treacherous, with swift currents. It took all of Conall’s concentration to keep them on course.
His eyes scanned the banks as they sailed. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was looking for. James had described the new port’s location but the old ferryman had never been there so he couldn’t tell him what it looked like.
But finally, Conall spotted something hugging one of the banks ahead and guessed this must be the place they were looking for.
It was a strange sight; it didn’t look like a typical port at all. For one thing, there were few buildings along the water’s edge and those that were there seemed to be little more than barns, built low and squat so they almost blended into the hillside. Each had a water gate sat at the water line, all closed. It was also deathly quiet here, without any bustle of activity like other ports had. Unease squirmed in his gut. What was this place?
They glided closer to the single dock that hugged the water’s edge. There were no other boats tied up and the silence of the place was deafening. Where was everyone?
Molly deftly jumped onto the dockside and tied up the boat before turning to look over the barns with her hands on her hips. She seemed wary, and Conall couldn’t blame her. There was something decidedly off about this place.
“Wait with the boat,” he instructed her. “At the first sign of trouble, cast off.”
“But—”
“I said wait with the boat. I mean it, Molly. We dinna know what we’ll find in there.”
She got that look in her eyes that she did when she was about to argue but then gave a curt nod. “Fine. But you better be back here within half an hour or I’m coming in after you. Got it?”
Ah, blast it. He shouldn’t have brought her. One thing he’d learned about Molly Anderson was that she did not like being told what to do.
He gave her a small smile. “Aye, I’ve got it,” he said, before taking a deep breath and making his way towards the nearest barn. To his surprise, he found the small wooden door unlocked. He pushed it open and stepped inside.
It was dark and musty, with only a few slivers of light filtering in through the cracks in the roof. Conall could just make out the shapes of crates and barrels stacked against the walls, and he could smell the saltiness of the sea mingled with the sweetness of rotting wood.
“Who the bloody hell are ye?”
Conall turned in surprise to see two men standing behind him in the doorway, silhouetted against the light. They were rough-looking and wore his father’s plaid. “What are ye doin’ here? We’re not expecting a shipment today.”
Conall froze, not sure how to respond. He straightened and fixed the men with a glare. “Why was this door unlocked?”
The men exchanged a glance. One of them laid his hand on his sword hilt. “Who are ye to be questioning us?” His voice was little more than a growl, low and menacing.
Conall wasn’t about to be intimidated by them. After all, when it came to putting people in their place, he’d learned from the best. He narrowed his eyes at them and pulled the cold, expressionless mask across his face that his father used to such success.
“Ye will keep a civil tongue in yer head when ye speak to me,” he hissed. “Or I will remove it.”
The man blinked, a little unsettled by Conall’s threat. “Who...who are ye? Why are ye here?”
