What did he mean, “blink first”?
Ellie’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. No … he couldn’t seriously mean to—
Oh, but he did. One look at that devilish grin and she knew it was exactly what he intended. Instead of surrendering—as any reasonable person would do when cornered—the pirate captain intended to wage a direct attack, heading right for the English galley and forcingthemto turn to avoidhim. It was a deadly joust of pure masculine bravado, to see whose nerve would crack first.
“You c-can’t be serious,” she sputtered.
He just grinned, telling her he was perfectly serious.
“But what if he doesn’t turn in time?” she demanded. “We’ll all end up in the sea.”
He shrugged. “It’s no worse than what they have planned for us. Besides,” he gave her a wink, “my men know how to swim.”
Which probably wasn’t true for the English. It was one of the ironies of seafaring that most sailors didn’t know how to swim.
He was going to do this.
It was rash. It was reckless. It was aggressive and bold. Something she suspected he was quite often. Ellie stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and unwilling admiration. Who was this man? He was either mad or foolhardy—or perhaps both. Just look at him, smiling as if he were having the time of his life rather than on the brink of death or capture. With his feet braced wide, his arms flexed, and every muscle in his body strained to harness the power of the wind, he looked utterly at ease and in control—as if this were no more than a pleasant afternoon tour around the Isles.
Watching him, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never yield. Confidence and command oozed from every muscular, giant six-and-a-half-foot inch of him. He would go down fighting in a blaze of glory rather than surrender. She could only pray the English captain showed less fortitude.
It was all happening so fast, yet every second passed with torturous slowness. All she could do was watch in mute horror from her position near the stern as the English boat drew closer and closer.
With Domnall manning the rudder, she’d been placed on the floor of the boat, wedged between two oarsmen and ordered to stay low. The man who’d nearly drowned trying to save her—the same dark-haired warrior who’d stepped forward before—was curled up on the floor opposite her.
She bit her lip, feeling a twinge of guilt. Even in the hazy moonlight she could see that he didn’t look well. His face was a waxy gray, and he was shivering uncontrollably. The other men had thrown a few blankets around him but hadn’t had time for much else. Like her, the occupants of the boat were focused on the drama unfolding at sea. Unlike her, however, they seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it. It was clear they trusted their captain absolutely—even if he meant to send them to their deaths.
“Hey, Captain, you think he’ll piss himself before or after he gets out of the way?”
“He’s a damned Englishman,” the pirate responded dryly. “I’m betting on both.”
That set off a back-and-forth fire of jesting and wagering on whether the English would turn to the left or to the right, and whether they would capsize the boat while trying to turn around to come after them.
Ellie would never understand men: how could you jest and wager at a time like this? They’d die going to the bottom of the sea and make a contest of who got there first. Her fingers clenched the edges of the plaid and fur tossed hastily back around her shoulders when she’d emerged from the water. Not much longer …
The boats were drawing together at an alarming speed.
Then, all too clearly, she heard a man’s voice in English call out, “Ready …” He paused, and then shouted, “Fire!”
The pirate captain was ready. “Take cover, lads!”
All around her the men lifted their targes over their heads, forming a protective canopy of wood and leather against the hail of English arrows. A terrifying dull thump made her jerk, but she was relieved to realize it was only the sound of an arrow hitting wood, not bone.
Despite the onslaught of arrows, their boat never slowed. It sped forward. Faster. Closer. Her pulse racing along with it.
Had the English realizedtheywere the ones under attack? She didn’t think so.
The same English voice rang out across the waves, louder this time. “Stop! You’re under arrest.”
The pirate captain laughed, a deep, husky sound that sent a shiver sliding down her spine. “And you’re in my way.”
“Give way,” the Englishman demanded, though his voice had lost some of its certainty.
A few more arrows flew in their direction, but the pirate captain never gave an inch. He held his course steady and true, even when he had to duck to avoid an arrow aimed for his head. “Come now, lads, my sister has better aim than that.”
His voice was so calm! She, on the other hand, was so terrified that she’d forgotten even how cold and uncomfortable she was.
A few seconds later, the English voice rang out again: “Give way, I said! Give way!” Then the sounds of rising panic … swearing … rage. “Now!”
