Hope surged inside her, but it was short-lived. Snarlsson’s ship swung around, bringing the cannon attached to the stern into range.
Molly went cold. Conall’s fighters had only muskets, not cannon. They wouldn’t stand a chance.
Snarlsson lifted a burning taper. He was going to light the first cannon himself—a sign of how much he wanted to see Lanwick’s fleet destroyed.
“No!” she screamed.
She flew across the deck and jumped on Snarlsson, taking them both tumbling onto the hard boards. Molly fought fiercely, kicking and punching. But Snarlsson was too strong, he easily held her at bay while managing to hold on to the taper with one hand. With his free hand he backhanded Molly, sending her sprawling across the deck.
She scrambled up and lunged for him again but this time she was not fast enough. Two of his crewmen grabbed her.
“I knew I should have had you tied up. No matter. Time to watch our victory and the death of the Order of the Osprey.”
Everything seemed to slow down as Molly watched him touch the taper to the fuse. She saw the tiny flame make its way along the fuse towards the gunpowder. She held her breath. Braced herself for the explosion.
But no explosion came. As the sparks reached the barrel, a loud cough echoed from inside and a puff of white smoke came from the end. Then it went silent.
For a moment, everyone stood frozen in surprise. But then the people aboard Lanwick’s fleet began cheering and Snarlsson snarled with rage.
“Fire! All cannons!”
The gunners on Snarlsson’s ships scrambled to obey, running around the decks lighting the tapers. It didn’t work. None of the cannons fired. Molly stared in shock, unable to make sense of what she was seeing. A second later, she staggered as something slammed into the side of the ship, sending splinters flying.
Flashes of fire were coming from behind them. Molly stared in confusion. Then, as another cannon ball slammed into the side of the ship, she realized what was happening. Earl Sinclair had joined the fight.
And he was attacking Leif Snarlsson.
Chapter 25
Conall stood at theprow of the fishing cog he’d commandeered from a tiny settlement not far from Lanwick and gazed out anxiously over the water. Curtains of smoke were billowing across the waves and all was confusion. He threw up a hand, indicating for his fighters to cease firing their long guns until he could figure out what he was seeing.
He squinted, shading his eyes with a hand. Up ahead, withing firing range of the guns Fiona had managed to get her hands on, was Leif Snarlsson’s fleet. His ships were unlike those usually used in Scotland. Clinker-built like the Norse ships of old, they looked a little like the Scottish birlinn but were narrower, sleeker, built for speed. And each one had a cannon loaded onto the stern.
His stomach clenched at the realization of what his father had done. Those werehiscannons. He’d imported them from god-alone-knew where, the Orient perhaps, and given them to Leif Snarlsson—one of Scotland’s greatest enemies. The depths of such a betrayal left Conall speechless.
And yet...
