Embers spewed in a reckless cloud as timber slammed in a fiery heap paces away.
Gulping a deep breath, she stared at the blazing hull where they’d lain moments before.
He pushed to his feet, pulled her with him. “Let us go.”
“Where?” She fought another a wave of panic. “We are sinking!”
Face streaked with smoke, sweat, and blood, he cupped her chin, his gaze intense. “The ship isna going down, or at least not any time soon.” He released her. “Look around. The storm is quenching the fire.”
Pushing soaked locks from her face, Lathir scanned their surroundings and saw he was right. Smoke billowed skyward, but ice pellets and rain were clearly having a smothering effect.
She swallowed once. Twice. Inhaled to regain control. By slow degrees, relief shriveled beneath an agonizing reality. “T–they have my father,” she choked out, “while we are adrift on a half-burned cog. One—” On an unsteady breath, she took in the charred planks along the hull, then paused on where the fire had burned through the upper deck. “—one that could break apart with the next swell.”
Expression grim, Rónán nodded. “Aye, butwe are alive.”
Her throat clogged with shame at her outburst, by the truth of his statement. “You are right.”
“Lathir, ’tis okay tobe frightened.”
She fisted her hands, nails digging into her palms at the compassion in his voice, the understanding. “I am a warrior, not a weak-kneed fool.”
“You have earned naught but respect in my eyes. Come. Let us determine the cog’s seaworthiness, make repairs where we can, and then decide how to proceed.”
His practical tone soothed her. “You think the Englishwillna return?”
Icy rain slapped the knight’s face as he glanced at the dark churning clouds, then his solemn gaze shifted to her. “With your crew dead, theAodhon fire as the English departed, and a storm moving in, nay doubt they believe that by now wehave perished.”
She nodded at his reasoning as the icy mix slid down her face. “Aye, an assumption we must use toour advantage.”
The howl of wind roared overhead. Waves slammed against the cog, and with each crash, the half-charred vessel groaned beneath the assault.
Soaked, Lathir glanced toward the small boat they’d clung to for a short while. Burned and in pieces, any chance to use it to escape was lost.
Still, she refused to give up hope. Against the odds they’d survived.
Rónán made his way to a pile of upturned buckets, grabbed two. “Help me put out the remaining fires.”
Pushing past the fatigue from the battle, she went to work.
By the time they’d extinguished the last of the flames, the storm had moved out, leaving behind a somber peace. A fitting mood as they’d said a quick prayer for the bodies of her warriors as they’d given them to the sea.
Exhausted, Lathir wiped the icy rivulets from her face. “A barrel of fresh water remains near the bow, and the cooking pot is still hanging mid hull.”
Face marred with soot, fatigue, and blood, Rónán tugged a blackened tarp free from the ties that had managed to survive. He stared at the various crates. “We have ale, salted beef, oatcakes, and bread.”
“And a bag of flour here, and—” She pointed to a thin line with a forged hook that’d been stashed with the provisions. “We can catch fish.”
He nodded. “And have more than enough to survive until we can reach shore.”
“However long that takes. Between the fog and the storm, we dinna know where we are, or where the English have taken my father.”
“Once ashore, it willna take long to discover our location. As for your father, I heard the captain shout that they were heading for Ireland.”
Hope flared even as she pointed out, “Ireland is vast. They could have takenhim anywhere.”
He lifted the container of ale, placed it near the crates of food. “The English control several southeastern ports. It makes sense they would take Lord Sionn to one of those locations.”
“Yes. Of course.” Eager to be on their way, she helped him move the salvageable food stores together, then secured them as best they could beneath the tarp.
