The Chief (43 page)

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Authors: Monica McCarty

BOOK: The Chief

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Blind
.

His men squirmed a little anxiously in their seats, hands ready at the oars, anticipating his order.

“What happening?” Randolph asked in a high voice, reading the tension.

“Steady, lads,” he said, ignoring the knight. “Almost thereâ¦”

Erik's heart pounded in his chestâstrong and steady. Now came the true test of nerves. God, he loved this! Every instinct flared at the oncoming danger, clammoring to turn, but he didn't flinch.
Not yetâ¦

A few more feet would ensure that the English captainâskilled or nayâdidn't escape the rocky bed Erik had waiting for him.

He was just about to give the order when disaster struck. A rogue wave rose out of the darkness like the jaws of a serpent and crashed against the starboard side of the
birlinn
, pushing them closer to shore, adding another twenty feet to his precisely timed manueuver around the point.

He swore, holding tight to the ropes of the sails. The rocks were too close. He could see the telltale white ribbons of water breaking around the very tip of the submerged peaks.

He didn't have room for the agile turn around them that he'd planned. His only chance now to make it around them was a very risky maneuver directly into the wind.

Now
this was really getting interesting. His pulse spiked with excitement. He lived for moments like these, a true test of skill and nerve.

“Now!” he shouted. “Pull hard, lads.” Domnall made the adjustment with the rudder, the men plunged in their oars at a sharp angle to turn, and Erik fought to keep the sail beating as close to the wind as possible to help carry them out of harms way.

He heard the raised voices on the ship behind him, but was too focused on the almost impossible task before him. The sea and momentum fought to pull them toward the rocks not ten feet to the port side. The men rowed harder, using every last ounce of their conserved energy. Energy the English rowers did not have.

The tip of the boat nudged just beyond the edge of the rocky point.

Only a few more feetâ¦

But the rocks on his left kept getting closerâand biggerâas the
birlinn
carreened toward disaster. He could hear Randlolph alternatively cursing and praying, but he never broke his focus. “Harder,” he shouted to his men, his arms
flexed and burning with the strain of manning the ropes. “Almost aroundâ¦”

He held his breath as the boat edged past the tip of the point, his senses honed on the sounds below the waterline. Then he heard the soft screech. The unmistakable sound of rock scraping against oak would strike terror in the heart's of most seafarers, but Erik held steady. The sound continued for a few more seconds, but did not deepen. They were around.

A big grin spread across his face. Ah, that was something! More excitement than he'd had in years. “We did it, lads!”

A cheer went up. A cheer that grew louder when they heard a cry of alarm go up behind him, followed by a deafening crash as the English boat smashed into the rocks.

Handing the two guide ropes to one of his men, he jumped up on a wooden chest that served as a bench and was rewarded with a clear view of the English sailors scrambling for the safety on the very rocks that had just torn apart their boat. Their curses carried toward him in the wind.

He bowed with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Give my regards to Eddie, lads.”

The fresh wave of cursing that answered him only made him laugh harder.

He jumped back down and cuffed Randolph on the back. The poor lad looked a bit green. “Now
that
was risky.”

The young knight looked at him with a mixture of admiration and incredulity. “You've the Devil's own luck, Hawk. But one day it's going to run out.”

“Aye, perhaps you are right,” Erik gave him a conspiratorial wink, “but not tonight.”

Or so he thought.

B
Y
M
ONICA
M
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ARTY

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