For a split second, Molly had time to register the dark water rushing up to meet her before she slammed into the sea with enough force to snatch the breath from her lungs. Blackness enveloped her.
No! Not like this!
The weight of the chain around her ankle dragged her down as she desperately fought to reach the surface.
***
CONALL SAW MOLLY GOover the side of the ship in slow motion. He saw his hand reaching out to stop her, felt his mouth opening into a howl, felt his heart going doom, doom, doom, in his chest.
And then she was gone.
The world came crashing back in. There was shouting all around him. Snarlsson was bellowing, boots were thumping on the deck, and he thought he heard his father behind him somewhere shouting orders. None of it mattered.
He fought free of the men holding him and climbed up onto the railing, preparing to dive after her.
A powerful blow caught the back of his head and he crashed to the deck. He rolled over with a groan to see Leif Snarlsson, wild-eyed and brandishing a length of metal pipe in one hand.
“You’re mine!” he growled. “My prisoner! And you will tell me everything I need to know about the Order of the Osprey!”
Conall rolled away from him just in time to avoid the pipe as it came crashing down. He scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Snarlsson, knocking him off balance and sending him sprawling onto the deck. The two men wrestled for control of the pipe.
Conall didn’t have time for this. He had to save Molly.
With an almighty heave, Conall managed to wrench the pipe from Snarlsson’s grip and send it clattering across the deck. He leapt to his feet and threw himself to the rail just in time to see Molly’s head break the surface of the water.
“Molly!” he shouted.
Snarlsson slammed into him, trying to wrestle him back to the deck with arms around his waist, but Conall was already moving, already stepping out. His momentum was too strong to be halted. He gripped Snarlsson tightly as they both went plunging over the side of the ship. Conall felt a brief moment of weightlessness before he hit the icy water and sank beneath the waves.
The shock of the cold water was like a punch to the gut. He kicked his feet, felt his foot connect with Snarlsson’s head, and the man’s grip around his waist vanished. He fought his way to the surface. His lungs were burning and his body screaming for air as he broke through. He gasped for breath and looked around frantically for Molly.
He spotted her just a few feet away, treading water and trying desperately to keep her head above the waves. Conall kicked, fighting the sea as he swam over to her, pulling her against him.
“Can’t,” she gasped. “Chain. So heavy. Pulling. Under.”
He took her weight, pulling her arm across his shoulders as he trod water, struggling against not only the waves, but the weight of the chain around her ankle.
“It’s all right,” he gasped. “I’ve got ye. I’ve got ye. We’re going to be fine.”
He looked around for something that would help them stay afloat, but amidst the roiling waves he could see nothing. But then suddenly he spotted a silhouette approaching through the rain that was now falling in a hissing blanket. A rowing boat!
“Help!” he shouted. “Over here!”
He began swimming towards it, dragging Molly with him. Then she suddenly disappeared beneath the water.
“No!” he screamed. “No! Molly!”
He plunged after her, his eyes wide as he peered through the murky depths. She was just below him, struggling to swim back to the surface but could make no headway. Below her, Conall spotted a figure holding the chain with both hands.
Leif Snarlsson, the madman, was trying to drown her.
Cold terror shot through Conall, and with a powerful kick, he propelled himself towards Snarlsson. He grabbed his arms and the two men tussled in the water, Conall desperately trying to prise the madman’s hands from the chain that bound Molly’s ankle. Bubbles escaped Conall’s mouth as they fought and all was confusion.
Finally, he managed to ram his elbow into Snarlsson’s nose and the man’s grip on the chain slackened. Conall grabbed the end of it and wrapped it around Snarlsson’s neck, pulling it tight.
The man choked and spluttered as Conall tightened his grip, his hands scrabbling futilely at his neck. Conall looked into Snarlsson’s eyes and saw his own rage reflected back at him, but the rage in Snarlsson’s eyes quickly melted into fear.
Conall held on, his knuckles white, as Snarlsson’s thrashing gradually slowed and stilled. His lungs burning, his arms trembling, Conall unwrapped the chain from around the man’s throat and the lifeless body of Leif Snarlsson slowly sank into the depths.
