by Aileen Adams
He glanced down at Dalla, his wife, and saw the confidence of her gaze as she stared at Derek. He turned to his brother and realized she was right. How often had he himself felt that way? That he was doing something out of normal behavior, though without any concern or anxiety. Reacting, not over-thinking it. This storm certainly drew forth such feelings, even in him.
He quickly climbed the remainder of the ladder and, legs spread wide against the roll of the ship, arms outstretched against the wind and the heaving deck, made his way to his brother. Hugh latched onto the back of Derek’s coat, then faced him, both of them now grinning, and then he too, started to laugh.
How could he have forgotten how good it was when the two of them stood together? When the two of them were together, nothing could challenge them. They each had their own strengths and weaknesses, of course, but together, they were a force to be reckoned with.
“We have to keep away from the shoals!” Derek shouted, pointing.
Hugh turned to look at the dark outline of the land and sea, saw an occasional dark area, but couldn't tell the difference between the ocean and rock.
It was too dark, the waves spraying huge gusts of salt-laden water over the deck. He felt something tug on his left arm and looked down to find Dalla clutching it tightly, the wind whipping through her hair as she too gazed toward the shoals.
She looked frightened, but not cowed. Her face shone white in the darkness and took on an almost surreal glow when the moon managed to peek its face through the blowing clouds.
“Go down below!” he shouted. “It's not safe up here!”
“I want to stay with you!” she shouted back. “Agnarr is fine now. He's more comfortable, and he's all right!”
Fine? “How did you get—” He shook his head.
He supposed it didn't matter how she had gotten his spirited war horse to calm down. As long as Agnarr wasn't panicking, that was the important thing.
A cry from above startled Hugh, and he looked upward, toward the mast rising and swinging dizzily into the night. Someone was up there?
Derek shouted to the man Hugh could barely see, straddling a small wooden platform halfway up the mast. “Report! What do you see?”
Beside him, Dalla also looked upward, but then quickly down, holding her head in one hand, the other still tightly grasping his forearm. He knew immediately that she was unfamiliar with the deck of the heaving ship.
“Go below!” Hugh shouted down at her again, the wind howling, capturing his words and pulling them away after he barely got them out of his mouth.
She didn't respond, but merely shook her head, tightening her grip on his arm, standing so close to him, her arm was anchored around his bicep now.
He knew arguing with her at this juncture would be pointless, so he allowed her to press against him. He widened his stance a little more and tucked her body in front of his, protecting her, if only a little bit, against the surging force of the sea, the rocking ship, and the occasional spray of seawater. At intervals, the ship's deck dropped from beneath their feet, eliciting a gasp from both of them, but Derek seemed not to even notice.
“Ship following!”
A loud, extensive curse erupted from Derek's throat, and he turned to Hugh. “No one is crazy enough to go out into the storm without a good reason!” He turned his gaze to Dalla, salt water dripping from his hair, then looked back to Hugh. “They must want her quite badly.”
Dalla, eyes wide with fright, gazed between the two of them. “What are we going to do?”
Derek turned to look behind him, and so too did the others. It was then that Hugh saw dim lights, flickering on and off, as the other ship danced on the waves, coming around from the north side of the harbor, following their same tack.
Dalla's uncle Jorstad had either mightily bribed a sailor to take his boat into the sea in pursuit of Derek's, or merely commandeered it; Hugh wasn't sure. Perhaps it was her uncle’s own ship. How else would he have gotten from Norway to Scotland anyway? He quickly turned to look down at Dalla.
“Does your father or your uncle own a ship?”
She stared up at him, and he saw the moment that she realized what he was thinking. Her eyes widened still more, tendrils of hair plastered against the side of her pale cheeks by the salt spray. “Yes, they both do! But Hugh—”
He turned to Derek. “Can you tell what kind of craft they're sailing? Is it faster than yours?”
Derek turned to his brother with a scowl. “I may haul cargo, brother, but my ships are custom-designed, by me no less, to give me speed when I need speed!”
“But Derek—”
“Listen to me!” Dalla shouted over the wind, then ducked her head against Hugh's chest as a wave crashed over the bow of Derek's ship, pelting them with a wash of frigid, salty, foamy ocean spray. The moment it passed, she looked up, staring first at Hugh and then at Derek. They each have one or two cannons aboard!”
“What?” Hugh frowned.
“My father and my uncle both have a ship. They are mounted with cannons!”
“How many?” Derek shouted over the storm.
“One on each side and one in the bow!”
Suddenly, as if to assess the new danger in the pursuit, the three turned to look over their shoulders.
Hugh grumbled low in his throat as he saw the dark outline of a two-mastered ship in close pursuit. They were not that far behind. The ship must have been rounding the small peninsula, even as Derek had prepared his own.
A shout rose from the man sitting on the platform above. “They're closing distance!”
“Trim the sails!” Derek shouted to sailors, a small crew of maybe five.
Nevertheless, they scrambled to follow his orders, though Hugh wasn't sure why. Wouldn't trimming the sails slow them down rather than gain them the speed they needed to outrun the pursuing vessel?
He turned his brother and was about to ask that very question when Derek grinned at him.
“The shoals are just ahead. I know these currents like the back of my hand. With this wind, and the sloppy tide, we should just barely miss the northernmost rocks, but them?” He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “They likely don't know that those shoals are there. They're staying closer to shore than farther out to sea to avoid fighting the open winds. They won't be able to trim their sails in time to avoid them!”
As the sails were pulled in on Derek's ship, Hugh glanced behind and saw that the pursuing ship was gaining.
Then came a flash of orange, followed by a loud boom heard even over the crashing waves.
His heart leapt into his throat just seconds before a cannonball tore through the railing at the stern of Derek's ship.
Dalla screamed.
Derek cursed. “He'll pay for that!” He grabbed the thick, well-worn handles of his ship's wheel and turned it sharply to the right. The wind buffeted the ship, but seemed to, with the new direction, propel the boat forward at an alarming speed.
Dalla clung even tighter to Hugh's arm.
The cannonball had barely skimmed over the surface of the deck, likely a measuring shot, but if Derek didn't get more distance between them, the next one might put a hole right in the middle of his ship. He imagined Agnarr down in the hold, likely terrified, and turned to insist that Dalla go down below decks and comfort him.
Just as he was about to tell her that, she released her grip on his arm, apparently thinking the same thing.
She started for the opening in the deck to go down as another cannonball whizzed over the foc'sle, barely missing two of the sailors.
Derek shouted. Hugh cautioned Dalla to be careful, and all the while his gaze was pulled inexorably toward the shoreline, where only now he saw the white caps produced by waves crashing against previously unseen shoals.
“The shoals!” he shouted to Derek. “The shoals!”
“Aye, brother, I see them!”
Hugh watched as Derek jerked hard on the ship's wheel and the rudder slowly turned the bow of the s
hip away from the shoals. Nevertheless, he felt a rough buffeting further down, and could only pray that the rocks didn't rip a hole in the hull of the ship.
Another boom of a cannon sounded, this time much closer and much louder.
“Down!” Derek shouted.
As one, he and Derek flattened themselves onto the deck as a cannonball shot over their heads, taking a chunk out of the mast and two of the spokes of the ship's wheel before flying over the other side of the ship.
Hugh stared at his brother in dismay. Did he have the gift? How could he have known—
“I did serve in the army for a while, remember?” Derek asked, both of them still flattened on their chests on the deck, their faces merely a hands width apart. “I'll never forget the sound of an approaching cannon shot.”
In the next moment, Derek leapt up, grabbed the ship's wheel, and continued to pull hard around, pointing the bow of his ship out to sea.
A brief flash of lightning illuminated the skies, the roiling waves, the jagged rocky shoals, and in the distance beyond, the landscape of the shoreline. Hugh sat up and watched in dismay, even though he heard the sound of screaming and shouting.
He glanced behind and saw the ship pursuing them lurch dramatically upward, then crash downward.
Then, a sound he'd never heard—it wasn't the thunder, it wasn't the sound of waves crashing against the shoreline.
Derek whooped. “She's on the shoals! She's breaking up!”
Hugh's heart pounded, his face pelted with salty ocean spray, his clothes now drenched in frigid water as he clung to the base of Derek's wheel, staring in horrified wonder as the ship, perhaps only a league distant, came to a sudden and spectacular halt as the rocks of the shoals savagely tore open a portion of the ship's hull. It came to a stop so suddenly that the stern rose slightly before the ship tipped slightly to port, leaning dangerously over the jagged edges of the rocks.
Hugh witnessed figures jumping ship, heard the terrified screams of those trying to leap toward salvation, the calls of the wounded and dying.
He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and noticed Dalla peeking above the deck. She was trying to come topside again.
He shouted at her. “No, Dalla! Stay there!”
A crash of thunder swallowed his words. She kept scrambling upward.
“No Dalla! Stay there!” he shouted again. He released his grip on the steering column and started to scramble in her direction. “Dalla, no! Stay there!”
“Hugh! Hang on! I'm making a sharp turn!”
Hugh glanced at his brother, saw him roughly maneuvering the ship's wheel, legs spread wide, his sailors immediately grasping for ropes, rigging, or something solid to hang onto.
Hugh, on his hands and knees, stared at Dalla, who had continued to climb upward and had just reached her feet and turned to look at the ship splintering onto the shoals.
She stood frozen for several seconds, the wind, the rain, and the waves lashing her.
She turned to him, the smile on her face fading when she realized what was happening.
At that very moment, as she also scrambled for something to hold onto, a wave crashed over the mid-deck.
One moment, she was there.
The next, she was gone.
35
The force of the wave knocked Dalla off her feet and took her over the side. She barely managed to grasp a lungful of air before she went over and was pounded down into the frigid waves, her body spinning, plunging, ever deeper, the current tugging her this way and that, as if it strove to pull her apart.
She didn't know which way was up, which was down. The salt water burned her eyes and she squeezed them shut, her arms reaching out, seeking for something to grasp onto.
Nothing.
The waves carried her where they would. Soon, her lungs began to burn with their need for air. Her ears rang. White stars danced in front of her closed eyelids. This is how it was all going to end? Was this how she would die? In a violent sea, perhaps crushed upon the rocky shoreline or swept out to sea, never to be seen again? No! She had to fight. She had to live. She wanted to—
At that moment, she realized that she wanted to be back at Hugh's side. Desperately.
The water kept pushing her downward, but she cupped her hands and kicked her legs, trying to find a current. Her lungs felt as if they would explode at any moment.
Just a few seconds more!
If she could find the surface, she knew she would have a chance. She didn't know how to swim, but if she could kick her legs and bat her arms enough to keep her head above water, she hoped she could grab another mouthful of air.
Already exhausted, her body battered by the water, she felt herself surge upward, thanks to the waves. Her head broke the surface, but the hair in front of her eyes, the darkness, the height of the waves around her and, a short distance away, a wickedly jagged rock jutted toward her.
She gasped in a quick lungful, sucking in salt water at the same time. Choking, slapping her hands at the water, trying to keep her head lifted, she hoped and prayed that the next wave wouldn't slam her against that rock.
Another wave crashed, pushing her down again. Down, ever downward.
Her air lasted only a few seconds, and once again she began to feel the burning in her lungs. The frigid temperature of the water made it difficult to move, and soon, a sense of lethargy swept through her, making it hard to move. She knew what it was.
A combination of the cold, fatigue, the utter sense of hopelessness. She wouldn't give up, not until the last bit of strength left her body. Weaker than before, she tried to make her way again to the surface, but she couldn't find it. The ringing in her ears grew louder. So too did the harsh pounding of her heart, pumping so hard in her chest she felt it pushing against her skin.
Bubbles began to escape her lips. She knew, instinctively knew, that her struggle was over.
She would disappear, just as her uncle wished, never to be seen again, never to be heard from, and no one would ever know what happened to her. Except for Hugh, and now Derek.
She prayed that they would survive, that Hugh would make it back to his beloved Duncan clan, find happiness—
Something strong wrapped itself around her upper arm. Tugged hard. Then a hand grabbed at her braid, pulling it, propelling her upward. She didn’t fight, didn't struggle. Had her hair become entangled in a piece of driftwood, a piece of wreckage from the other ship? Her brain fuzzy, her thoughts confused, she relinquished herself to her tomb, to the sea. She respected the sea, and feared it as any logical human should.
Suddenly, her face burst from beneath the waves. She swallowed several mouthfuls of water, struggling to open her eyes. Had she been pushed to the beach? Something was still holding her, grabbing her by her hair, pulling her.
She gasped, saw the arm, and knew.
She'd been saved!
Hugh had dived over the side of the ship to save her!
Her hopes soared. Her heart pounded with relief, love, and devotion as she looked—
Not Hugh.
Derek.
She stared, unable to speak as he clasped her braid in one hand, his arm wrapped around her waist, the other powerfully propelling them back toward the rocking ship.
She continued to stare, speechless. He flipped her over, and she now floated on her back on the waves, Derek side-paddling and kicking his legs, taking them back to the ship.
Shouts.
In her peripheral vision, she saw a rope thrown overboard. She turned once again toward Derek.
“I can swim better than Hugh,” he laughed. “And besides, I've never had a sister before. I think you just might be worth saving.”
And then, as blackness, cold, and fatigue raced through her body, she thought she dimly heard the sound of laughter—Derek's crazy laughter.
On the edges of her consciousness, she felt herself flung over a shoulder, her arms and legs dangling limply in the water as Derek climbed the rope ladder that had been flung once aga
in over the side of the hull. Moments later, hands reached down and plucked her from his back. She felt herself floating in a warm grasp, a tight, warm grasp.
“You're all right, you're all right…”
Hugh repeated the words over and over again, hugging her so closely to him that she could hardly breathe. She didn't care, not at all. She felt his head bent close to her ear, his stubbled cheek pressed against hers. Warmth. He was so warm!
Even though they'd both been battered by the cold sea air, he was still much warmer than she.
“Get her below deck,” Derek ordered. “Get her clothes off. There are blankets down there. Put her against that blasted horse of yours if you have to. Keep her warm!”
She was lifted, and then once again carefully lowered down into the hold of the ship. She barely held onto consciousness, her body shivering uncontrollably, her teeth chattering. She didn't even have the strength to open her eyes. She felt herself placed down on a small bed of straw and nearby, a source of heat provided delicious warmth. She reached out a hand, thinking she would make contact with Hugh and instead found herself grasping one of Agnarr's legs. The horse offered a short neigh and then she felt him nuzzle against her arm as Hugh laid her against the gelding's belly and shoulder. She smiled.
“You're going to be all right, Dalla,” Hugh said. “I'm going to get these wet clothes off, and I have a blanket. You'll be warm in a moment.”
She didn't have the strength to protest.
In a matter of moments, she was divested of clothes. She grumbled against the chill, heard Hugh ordering Agnarr to give him some room, and then quickly wrapped her in a blanket, and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her close, allowing her to soak in his heat, and rest against his strength.
She fell into exhausted sleep, but it only seemed like moments before she woke to find herself still lying in the bed of straw, Agnarr close by on his feet, head bent low and his muzzle nudging her shoulder.
She heard a chuckle and opened her eyes, blinking several times. They felt scratchy and tender, most likely from the salt water. She tried to speak, and the raspy sound that erupted from her throat was also likely due to the salt water she had swallowed.
