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"William, we need tae be closer tae Scotland. I don't want tae face those Irish. They'll kill us, as sure as I'm standing here, if they get us." John's worries were evident on his face, knowing them from the tales told, of those who were lucky enough to escape and survive.
"I will. I'm just trying tae get the best winds that we can, tae shorten oor trip, or do ye want tae sail longer then ye need tae?" William tried to assure him what he was doing was in their best interest.
He was sailing five miles off the coast of Ireland, approaching Belfast Bay, before he pushed the tiller slightly to port and headed them back towards Scottish land. They passed a tiny speck of land, Mew Island, and paid no mind to it. It would be their biggest mistake not to.
Sitting on the side rails of the birlinn, were Sorley Boy MacDonnell, his brother Colla and son Randal, along with fourteen men that made up the crew. They were biding their time and watching the sea traffic for signs of unwanted English ships and boats. It wasn't hard to see the dark, blue sail with gold stripes and know a royal boat had sailed into unfriendly waters. They liked nothing better than ridding the area of any and all Englishmen and royals.
Therese was first to see the sail behind them and became nervous. William saw the look on her face and craned his head around to look back. At first he didn't see the light blue of the sail, against the backdrop of the sky, then he saw the breaking waves against the bow and knew it was trouble.
"John, we ha'e a problem."
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