Rónán’s strategic deductions, the way he’d fought during battle with incredible precision, and against every catastrophe kept calm and maintained his focus, reminded Lathir of the galloglass, Celtic fighters whose mere name set fear into their invaders’ hearts.
Mayhap he was of the ferocious ilk? Regardless, ’twas clear why King Robert had selected this brave knight for this critical mission. As much as she hated to be dependent on anyone, especially a man, if anyone could help her find her father, ’twas him.
She pushed to her feet, wiped her brow. “With the challenges we face, once we reach shore, ’tis best if we travel to my home, Wynshire Castle. There I can raise a force to find and free my father.”
“As much as ’twould be best to sail to your home, I dinna trust theAodhto survive another storm. When the opportunity arises, we must run theship aground.”
She nodded, pressing a hand to her stomach. It was inevitable, she told herself, that for their safety, her family’s cog would have to besacrificed.
He stood from a crouch, stretched. “Many years have passed since I sailed these waters. Are you familiar with the Irish currents?”
“Very.”
His expression held none of the skepticism she equated with men who doubted her abilities. Instead, he seemedto accept them.
“To the best of my calculations,” he said, “before the attack, we had rounded the tip of Scotland and were heading west. The question is how far we traveled after.”
She grimaced. “Indeed, until we are again underway, between the local current and the tides, we will be pushed north ornortheastward.”
“Let us mend the sail as best as possible and secure them to the remnants of the mast.” Wood snapped as he started toward the partially charred ladder, began to climb. “As we worked on deck earlier, I noticed the rudderis unscathed.”
“Thank God.” With a sense of renewed hope, she followed him up the ice- and rain-slicked ladder to the top deck and began gathering pieces of rope to make repairs.
Hours later, streaks of orange and red filled the clearing western sky. Wiping her brow, she glanced at the makeshift sail they’d rigged on the remnants of the burned mast. It wasn’t pretty, but it should hold, as should the patches they’d made to the side of the ship using sodden rags wrapped around shards of wood, or whatever could be scrounged to stay the influx of water.
Now, thankfully, they were taking advantage of the stiff breeze and headed west toward her home.
Exhausted and with muscles aching, Lathir climbed down the ladder to the hull. She moved around the charred debris with care to the iron pot straddling the fire on three forged iron rods. How long had it been since she’d last eaten? She couldn’t remember.
She leaned over the water they’d warmed over the fire and splashed her face clean of soot as best she could. Feeling refreshed, however slightly, she collected one of the woolen blankets they’d recovered from the unmarred supplies and wrapped it aroundher shoulders.
The pad of steps on theladder sounded.
She glanced at Rónán as he reached the bottom. “I began to wonder if the rain would ever quit,” she said as he settled beside her. “Not that with the storm dousing any remaining embers amI complaining.”
Lengths of brown hair clung to the side of his face, the invading shadows of the night and the golden flicker of flames casting his eyes in shadows. The hard cut of his jaw reminded her of a pirate, his muscular form that of one seasoned in battle.
He was a man to admire; how could she not? Nor could she begrudge the way he took charge without hesitation. Traits no doubt that had attracted many a lass’s glance. With his confidence and quick decisions, he was clearly a warrior who’d faced many a battle, and a man who would no doubt leave a woman well-pleased.
She frowned inwardly and shook off the intimate musing. Since Domhnall’s death, never had a mancaught her eye.
Grief built in her chest as she remembered her betrothed lying in her arms, blood draining from his chest as he fought to take his last breath. Though two years had passed, she still struggled against the pain of losing a man who was more than a man to wed, but a friend.
Rónán edged closer and lifted his hands near the flames, drawing her attention. “A boon in that, with the destruction and significant portions of the hull charred, if any ship spots us from a distance, they will believe the cog is adrift and unworthy of interest.”
The tang of dried meat and herbs she’d tossed together scented the air as Lathir stirred the bubbling stew, and her stomach growled. “That we are headed toward Ireland iswhat matters.”
“’Tis.” Grim-faced, he lowered his hands.
“Given our current pace, I suspect we are well off the northeast coast. Far away from where you believe they have taken my father.”
“Aye, nor can it be helped. ’Tis a blessing we arestill afloat.”
“’Tis, but I worry we should come ashore in the realm of Tír Kythyr, where our travel will be dangerous.” Lathir filled two cups with stew, handed one to Rónán. “’Twill take us a few days travel on foot toreach my home.”
Without her father, an inner voice whispered. When more fear encroached into her thoughts, she clung to Rónán’s reasoning that if the English had wanted her father dead, they wouldn’t have dragged him onboard their ship.
Was he hurt?
