Chapter 24
The unpredictable Scottishweather decided to behave for once and gave these bastards perfect sailing weather: calm seas, a steady wind to drive them where they wanted to go, and perfect visibility. If she hadn’t known any better, Molly would have thought that the traitorous weather was on their side.
She tried to keep track of the route but they sailed out of sight of the coast and once they left the stack behind, there were no landmarks to tell her where they were. All she knew was that they were heading south, recrossing the waters that she and Conall had traversed to reach the Pinnacle although they’d been forced to track much closer to the coast due to the shallow draft of theMermaid.
There was almost a jovial atmosphere on board Alice Brewer’s ship. The crew went about their tasks with a spring in their step and a grin on their faces and Molly could almost taste the excitement in the air. The anticipation of plunder, she guessed.
She hadn’t left her spot by the mainmast. Above her, the black flag snapped but she did her best to ignore it, just as the crew ignored her. Here, by the mainmast, she was out of the way but she could see what was happening aboard the ship.
Leif Snarlsson had not been boasting when he’d said his crews were ready to install the new weapons. Even as they sailed, men were swarming over the emplacements for the new cannons, installing the huge, imposing weapons, and the others were busy checking and oiling the new muskets they’d been given.
The sight of it made Molly sick to her stomach. Her sense of dread increased with every league they sailed.
Up ahead, Laird Sinclair’s fleet of galleys began to slow. Molly squinted into the wind and made out a shoreline in the distance. The vessels were now running almost parallel to each other, with Snarlsson’s ships on one side and Sinclair’s on the other. Molly moved over to the rail and scanned the distant landscape. At the helm, Leif Snarlsson and Alice Brewer conferred in low tones.
The fleet slowed further, moving closer to the shore, which broke up into a series of rocky islets covered in scrubby trees and bushes. The air was thick with the salty smell of the sea and the sound of waves crashing against the rocks. She could feel the tension rising on the ship, a palpable sense of anticipation that made her skin crawl.
She leaned over the rail and looked down. The sea was alive with activity, rocks and reefs seemingly popping up out of nowhere as the ships slowly navigated the treacherous waters. Why had Snarlsson and Sinclair brought the ships in here, where the waters were so dangerous? Oh, of course. Stealth.
They were trying to slip up on their target without being detected, using the jagged coastline as cover from any potential spies. They were moving slowly now, taking care not to make too much noise, as the big ships crawled through the gaps between the rocks and reefs. The crews had fallen silent and Molly wondered whether she should start shouting and screaming, trying to warn whoever they were sneaking up on.
She discarded the idea almost immediately. There was no point in trying to warn anyone. Even if they heard her, there was no way they could escape the pirates’ trap. Molly felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes as she watched the coastline creep closer. She had to do something, anything, to stop this madness. But what could she do?
Up ahead, a craggy headland poked out into the sea and the fleet sailed silently towards it, navigating between the islets dotting the area. Molly glanced back and saw that Earl Sinclair’s fleet of galleys was behind them now, strung out in a line in order to be able to pass through the rocky area. She could see Earl Sinclair himself, standing at the prow of his flagship staring straight ahead.
And then, as they rounded the headland, Molly got her first glimpse of their target. A large town which she guessed must be Thurso filled a horseshoe bay, with buildings clustered together along the sandy beach. Fishing boats bobbed in the harbor, drying nets draped across their decks. Above the town sat an imposing castle fortress, surrounded by high walls and towers. It was clear that the place had not expected visitors but that changed as the fleet rounded the headland.
An alarm bell began clanging from the castle, loud enough to be heard even from this distance.
“Load the cannons!” Leif Snarlsson shouted. “Fire on my signal!”
The crew scurried to obey but before they could load the cannon attached to the bow of each ship, Molly heard a high-pitched whistle followed by a crack, as something hit the railing. Molly spun and saw a musket ball lying on the deck. It had smashed through the top of the rail.
“Ship ahoy!”
Molly turned to see another fleet emerging from their port side, where it had been hidden amongst the islets they’d just sailed through.
The new fleet was smaller than Snarlsson’s and made up of small, single-masted fishing vessels, but all of them bristled with people. And those people were carrying muskets.
Without warning, a volley of musket fire erupted from the tiny fleet, sending smoke and sparks flying. The shots rang out across the water and Molly heard the distinct sound of metal fragments whizzing through the air. She threw herself flat onto the deck as musket balls peppered the boat like hail.
But Leif Snarlsson only laughed. “What do they think they’re doing? Do they really think they can challenge us? Helm! Bring the ship about! Prepare to fire the cannon!”
Molly crawled along the deck towards the stern rail and peered out over the side. The defending fleet was now in full view—a rag-tag bunch of vessels, many old and patched-up boats that looked like they’d been dragged out of retirement for this desperate battle. One ship was slightly larger than the others and seemed to be in charge—and it was heading straight for them.
A man stood at the prow, heedless of the danger. As the little boat came closer. Molly recognized that stance, that confidence. She blinked, certain she was imagining it. No. It couldn’t be. But it was. The dark windblown hair, the broad shoulders, the intense expression.
Conall.
She sprang to her feet and screamed with all her might. “Conall!”
What he was doing here she had no idea, but as her gaze skipped across the rest of the little fleet, things began to fall into place. In one of the other boats she spotted Fiona shouting orders, in another, the two old smugglers who’d helped her guide theMermaidthrough the narrow inlet the night of the raiders attack.
Lanwick! These were the people of Lanwick! Conall had roused them!
