Page 10 of Breath From the Sea
Chapter Three
The wind from the English Channel blew over Antónia in scents of sun-warmed wood, freshly woven ropes, and baking canvas. The floors of the ship’s deck shined from being freshly swabbed. The salt-sprinkled mist brushed her skin, but did little to cool her heated flesh. She closed her eyes and breathed it all in, trying to wash the memory of the English captain from her mind.
But such a deed was harder to accomplish than she could have imagined.
Titus Graves was not the first man she’d ever kissed. Nay, there had been at least a dozen before him. Lovers, too. But none had kissed as he did. With such passion. Such skill. She’d been swept up in it, the heat, the desire. She might have accused him of being a magician if she believed in such things as magic.
Bloody blazes! Why did he have to go and kiss her? Life was glorious, or it had been until that moment. She’d been so close to recovering the bloody Lucius Ring from him.So close.
Now, she’d have to figure out another way to board his ship or else follow him at distance as he embarked toward France. And only an hour in which to figure it out. She wanted to take him out by sea, not by land. She was a pirate and pirates had the best advantage at sea.
Antónia had grown up hearing about the ring. The blasted thing. And she’d wanted it. She’d yearned for it. Wondered every time a lover broke her heart if she would have known better had she been in possession of it.
Her grandmother had gotten close at some point, touched it even, when a lady and her husband had been aboard a ship full of nobles from Scotland that the O’Malleys had plundered. The woman had begged and begged and told Antónia’s grandmother the story behind the ring, of a woman named Theodosia and her lover, Lucius. The woman sobbed and sobbed, and lamented that if she lost it, she’d be lost forever, and her love would die. Granuaille, though she smirked at the story now, had given in, letting the ring go.
Granuaille had just given birth to Uncle Tibbot and was not in her right mind she said. A little more emotional than usual, and a lot more sympathetic to lovers. She’d lost the ring, but never given up on it, sharing her wish to find it with Antónia.
And then Antónia had spied it at the queen’s palace.
When she’d heard the queen’s request of Captain Graves, Antónia had stalked the English Channel. Waiting. And she couldn’t believe that she’d not had to wait long. Upon leaving court, she’d asked someone of inconsequence which ship belonged to the captain, and at the quay it had not been hard to have someone point her in the right direction. She’d memorized his sails, the length of his ship, not to mention the name. TheHMS Lionheart.
The ring had been rumored to be kept under lock and key within the Tower of London overnight, beside all those other precious gems Antónia would love to get her hands on. Patiently, she’d waited for the captain to get his act together. She would have boarded ship after ship—stealing their goods, and especially their wine, until she came upon him, had he not hurried up. But, they just so happened to pass a ship leaving the harbor that morning, carrying a wayward seaman cast out by his captain for some crime, she’d not cared to ask what, and he’d told her the ring would soon depart London.
Captain Graves. What luck was it that the same man who’d taken her men into custody before would now be the one carrying the ring she desired to steal? Graves was often sent out to sea to monitor pirates and bring them to justice. He didn’t seem to remember meeting her the year before. He’d chased down another ship she’d been captaining—one that had since been dismantled, its parts used to build a few new ships. When Graves had boarded, she’d attempted to convince him that she was a mere captive of the true captain and he’d believed her. She’d donned a gown, kept her fiery hair in a bonnet and smeared soot on her face. That’s when he’d taken custody of half her crew, the other half able to escape.
They’d been sentenced to death for pirating, but Antónia would never allow her men to die. She’d staged a coup and set her men free, only regretting never being able to tell Graves to his face it was she all along. Her parting words to the captain would have been something like, better luck next time, fool. He’d been searching for her ever since—which was the main reason Granuaille had insisted on her getting a new ship.
Antónia was downright shocked he’d not recognized her now. She’d certainly recognized him.
Well, that didn’t matter. She’d blown it. Years of searching ships and thieving from nobles, hoping to find the ring, and when she finally had, she lost her chance. He’d not be so easy to take down. Especially now that he knew her agenda. Graves, it seemed, was smart. And his men were well trained. Plus, he’d be looking for her. Damn her temper! Why did she have to tell him she wasn’t going to stop?
Standing on the bow, Antónia studied the sea beyond, then gazed up at the nondescript merchant’s flag she’d changed out from her O’Malley and rebel flags. This plan, as harebrained as it was, had better work.
“Ship in the distance, Captain,” Sweeney said.
She’d kept her men busy since the incident just the hour before. They’d sailed fast away from the English toward Ireland, though as soon as they were out of range, she’d made them turn around and head back. They had to sail fast to catch the bloody English before they reached the shores of France.
None of her men had dared say a thing to her about the kiss, or the blunder, but Sweeney, he’d been on edge, and she knew it was only a matter of time before he spoke his mind.
Antónia pulled out her spyglass and flicked it open. Just as she’d thought, theLionheart.
“Appears he’s still headed for France,” she muttered.
“Aye. Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
Antónia closed the spyglass slowly and stared at Sweeney. He never asked permission. They’d grown up together, learned to sword fight on the decks of Granuaille’s ships. He was the only one she allowed to speak his mind openly and now he was asking for permission.
She nodded, watching him shift back and forth on his large, booted feet.
“Get on with it then.” Antónia’s voice came out filled with as much irritation as she felt.
“Should we not be getting back to Clare Island? Neither your father nor your grandmother know that we’re on a wild goose chase.” The more he spoke, the more animated he became and the more she wished she’d told him no, that he could not, in fact, speak freely with her. “And that display… The men, what are they to think?”
“Display?” Antónia’s eyes shot toward his and it was hard for her not to lash out. She hated feeling judged, feeling as though she were incapable. Not with anyone, and especially her dear friend. “What you mean, Sweeney, is what areyeto think.”
It was no secret that Sweeney had feelings for her. He always had, and every time she’d taken a lover, he’d grown jealous. But he was like a brother to her. She loved him, aye, but she could never see him as anything other than family. And she knew this for a fact, as she’d tried hard before to return his feelings. Sentiments that were forced and never true to heart.
“What is anyone to think?” Sweeney’s fists clenched at his sides. His voice was low, filled with anger. She was lucky he wasn’t trying to rip the masts from the deck. “Ye fairly tossed yourself at that maggot!”
