With a snarl, Alice grabbed Molly under the arm and hauled her up, as Snarlsson’s crew worked frantically to bring the boat around to get downwind. The sails billowed as they caught the wind, but it was too late. A huge shape cast its shadow over the deck.
Sinclair’s ship had caught them.
Snarlsson shouted orders and the crew broke out muskets and ran to the rail, weapons cocked. The ships drew closer until they were just a few yards away from each other. Both sides began to fire their muskets, the shots ringing out across the ocean, though thankfully neither seemed to have any accuracy in this weather, as most flew wide or splashed into the sea.
Molly took cover by the rail and peered through the gaps, looking desperately for Conall, but in the confusion of smoke and the flashes of gunpowder, she couldn’t make out much on the other vessel.
“Prepare to repel boarders!” Snarlsson shouted.
The ships smashed into each other with a deafening crash, wood splintering and groaning under the force of the impact. Molly was thrown down, her head cracking against the deck. She lay there, dazed and disoriented, as the sounds of battle raged around her.
Men were shouting and screaming, swords clashing, muskets firing. She could see the flashes of steel and sparks, and the air was thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood.
She tried to get up, but her head was spinning and her vision was blurry. She could see shadows moving around her, but she couldn’t make out who was who. She felt someone grab her arm and pull her to her feet, but she tripped and fell again. A hand caught her by the hair and yanked her up again. She stumbled, her chain rattling against the wood, as Alice’s face appeared through the smoke.
“Time’s up,” she hissed.
Alice dragged her to the railing, nearly lifting her off the ground in her rush. Molly tried to fight back, but her head was still spinning from where she had whacked it on the deck. Alice seemed to sense this and tightened her grip on Molly’s hair. She called for two crewmen who came forward and picked up Molly by either arm.
Now she was truly afraid. With the chain still attached to her ankle, there was no way she could survive in the water.
“Stop it!” she screamed. “Get your hands off me! Let me go!”
“Not this time,” Alice snarled.
Molly looked around frantically, searching for any kind of escape. But the ship was chaos, with men fighting and dying all around her. The two burly crewmen hoisted her up onto the rail. Molly tried not to look, but her traitorous eyes swiveled to the dark, thrashing water below. Terror clawed its way up her throat, so sharp she could hardly breathe.
“No!” someone shouted suddenly.
The voice cut through the chaos of battle. Molly turned her head. Conall stood perhaps ten paces behind Alice and her men. He was soaked and dirty, his hair plastered to the sides of his head, his gray eyes looking out from a soot blackened face, but the sight of him made Molly’s heart soar.
“Conall!” she screamed, thrashing in her captors’ grips.
His eyes shifted to her and she saw the same terror in them she’d been feeling only a moment ago. He swallowed thickly, then threw the musket he was carrying to the deck. He held his hands out.
“Dinna hurt her,” he said, his voice a choked whisper. “Please dinna hurt her. I surrender.”
