Free Foxmask by Juliet Marillier Page B

to say.
    There was still no moon; the small lantern that Thorvald had hung carefully in the bow cast a circle of pale light just sufficient to show how tiny they were, men, woman, frail vessel, in the immensity of dark ocean that surrounded them.
    â€œNot used to this,” observed Sam. “Keeping her out on open sea at night, I mean. No sign of land, any direction, doesn’t feel right. Doesn’t feel comfortable.”
    â€œYes, well, I don’t suppose it was comfort you expected when you agreed to come,” Thorvald snapped, unable to contain the conflict of feelings that was building inside him. “It’s a trip of high risks, a voyage into the unknown, not a—not some sort of family outing up the coast on a fine morning.”
    Sam did not respond to this. Indeed, it had not really been meant for him. Taking his time, he finished his meal, wiped his hands on his tunic, tidied away the loaf, the knife, the oiled wrappings. He moved across to adjust the lantern, and gazed into the sky a while. The stars were almost imperceptible; even so early in the spring, the nights were washed with the pale afterglow of the sun. Eventually Sam turned back to the others.
    â€œWell,” he said quietly, “no two ways about it, is there? Sunup, we put about and head straight back home.”
    â€œNo!”
    It was as if one voice had spoken; Thorvald and Creidhe had rapped out the response in perfect, vehement unison.
    Sam blinked. “One good reason why not,” he said, regarding his companions mildly. “One each.”
    There was an extended pause while Thorvald, scowling, folded his arms and stared out across the heaving ocean, and Creidhe looked down at the water bottle as if it were an object of intense fascination.
    â€œWell?” queried Sam. “There aren’t any, are there?”
    â€œAh,” said Thorvald, “that’s just where you’re wrong. I can see you’re concerned about Creidhe’s state of health, not to mention her safety. I have to say, bearing in mind how long we’ve been traveling and the force of that gale we encountered earlier, that I’d guess we’re a deal closer to our destination than we are to the Light Isles. Isn’t our first priority getting Creidhe to the nearest place of refuge?”
    Sam did not comment. “Creidhe?” he asked.
    â€œShe has no good reason,” Thorvald said, before she could answer. “She shouldn’t be here. It’s as simple as that.”
    Creidhe cleared her throat. “I imagine you made him a promise,” she told Sam. “A good man keeps his promises.” She did not look at Thorvald.
    â€œI did,” said Sam, frowning. “Trouble is, your father’ll kill us if we don’t get you back safe. He’ll probably kill us even if we do. I really can’t understand why you’ve done this, Creidhe.”
    Her voice was firmer now. “I know you’re looking for Somerled. I know you’re heading for wherever he might have gone. I knew you wouldn’t let me come with you. But I needed to come. It’s not something I can explain very easily. It’s more of a feeling, a deep-down feeling. I know I have to be here.”
    â€œI can’t imagine why.” Thorvald’s tone was blunt. “You can’t sail, you can’t fight, you can’t help us in any way whatever. All you’ve done is put yourself in danger and upset your family.”
    â€œIsn’t that what you’ve done?” asked Creidhe quietly.
    There was another silence, during which Sam unrolled two blankets, put one around Creidhe’s shoulders and settled himself among the fish crates.
    â€œAll right,” he said. “My boat, my choice. Only thing is, it’s the wind makes the choice for us at times like this. I’m going to sleep for a bit; the two of you can practice tearing each other to shreds all night if you want, as long