Chapter Four'Drop the sail, boys,' Nicolson ordered, 'and row like the devil was poking flaming torches into your arse.'
Nobody questioned Nicolson's order. A white sail would act as a visible target to the Caterans, while the pencil-thin mast might not be seen against a horizon of tossing waves. Prancer would have to rely on muscle and oar power to avoid the Caterans as she crossed the Minch, the stretch of water between the mainland of Alba and the outer islands.
'Sing, lads,' Nicolson ordered, 'but keep it low. Noise carries.'
The iorram sounded again, with the men and Melcorka putting their weight behind the oars at every sixth note and Prancer surging onward across the waves. Staying close to Bradan, little Alva picked up the words and sang along with them, her thin voice piping ab
