Page 13 of Breath From the Sea
“Cheese, Cap’n. We are bringing cheese.”
“Cheese?” Titus raised an incredulous brow.
“Aye. The owner of this here ship, Master… Cáis, his daughter is an excellent cheese maker, and he was hoping to get a leg up on the cheese market in India.”
“The cheese market.”
“Aye. Cheese to the Indian people.”
Damnation. The bastardwaslying. Titus glanced at Grenville whose eyes had widened, and lips pursed. Grenville was thinking the same thing. The merchant was lying through his teeth.
Titus gave a curt nod to his first mate, who then whispered to one of the men.
Returning his attention to the fake Welshman, he said, “I regrettably inform you, and your master, that there will be no Welsh cheese sold in India as they do not consume western cheese, but instead, a cheese called paneer. Any good merchant would know this about their intended clientele.” Titus waved his hand and his men lifted the board to be placed between the two ships so he could debark. “I will also need to examine your cargo and itinerary by order of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth.”
The merchant captain sneered, though it was brief, confirming Titus’ conclusions. Pirates? Likely.
The man waved his hand and gave off a smooth laugh that Titus suspected worked well with ladies. The intended effect was sadly lost on him.
“That won’t be necessary, Captain Graves. I did not get my point across completely. Master Cáis does not intend to sell his cheese to the Indian people, but the English who reside there.”
The hairs on the back of Titus’ neck rose. He’d not told this man his name, which meant the merchant captain had information he wouldn’t normally be privy to. That could only mean one thing—theLittle Dovewas a pirate ship. And the lengthy waylaying their captain had maintained was only a diversion. But from what?
Titus remained calm, not letting the man know he was on to him. “All the same, I’ll need to board.”
“By all means.” The shadows on the merchant/pirate’s face disappeared for a moment as he lifted his head, showing Titus the familiar visage. “We are more than happy to provide you with an itinerary as well.”
Titus nodded curtly, the tingles along his spine growing hot. The pirate before him was none other than the second mate to Lady Antónia Burke, the very wench who’d just attacked his ship the hour before. Whatever sort of manifesto they claimed to have would be nonexistent.
“A moment, good sir.” Titus turned to Grenville and whispered, “Quietly call the men to arms. Ready the cannons. I’ve a feeling this will not go over well.”
“Captain, I urge you not to go aboard,” Grenville said. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“We are at the advantage. I know this is theLady Hookin disguise. They do not suspect I know this yet. We have the upper hand.”
The water was cold, and though Antónia had eased her way into it, it was still a shock. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and made her way slowly so as not to cause too much of a sound towardThe Lionheart. Above, she could hear voices as the men spoke. The water lapped at the sides of the ships, bouncing her a little more wildly than she would have liked.
She reached the side ofThe Lionheartand gazed up. The queen’s men, Graves included, all appeared to have their attention on Sweeney and her crew. None would be looking down; at least she prayed that was the case. Studying the stern of Graves’ ship, she took hold of rigging that dragged in the water. Slick with algae, at first she couldn’t get a decent grip, but then she managed to find a spot that she could hold firmly. Slowly, she eased her way out of the water, thighs tight around the hemp, arms stretching high and pulling her weight from the sea. A slight breeze blew, freezing her wet clothes to her skin.
The higher she climbed, the harder she gripped. The rigging cut into her water-soaked skin, stinging. She was sure to have splinters when she was through, but Antónia pushed past the pain. As she climbed, she kept her breaths even, and an eye on the sailors above. The last thing she needed was a slug in her brain as she made this daring attempt. Sweeney would forever damn her soul and she’d be putting her men at risk.
A porthole above looked to be open and she paused on the rope just below to listen. There did not appear to be any sound from within. One hand on the rigging, she grabbed hold of the porthole and drew herself close enough to peer inside, muscles burning.
Holy Mary… The opulence matched her own cabin. A sizable bed, with real linens and a blanket. A desk, cabinetry, shelves, table and chairs, a thick woven rug. This had to be Captain Graves’ cabin! What luck!
Was Fate trying to send her some kind of message?
Nay, Antónia didn’t believe in such things.
’Twas The Lucius Ring calling to her.
Antónia climbed the rigging a little higher, her arms screaming for relief, and hoisted herself through the porthole feet first. Thank goodness she’d bound her breasts, as the fit was a bit snug on her hips and would have certainly caught at her chest.
Lucky for her, there was a chair just beneath the porthole, and she pressed her feet to it precariously as she pulled the rest of herself through. Antónia paused, listening, half convincing herself she could hear breathing.
Convinced she was alone, she stepped down from the chair and walked immediately to the captain’s desk, her boots making squishing noises and leaving wet prints as a map to every place she walked. Now, where would the ring be hiding? She pulled out and rifled through each drawer. Maps, journals, quill and ink. Coins—which she pocketed—a dagger, some string, a sewing kit. A bottle of liquor—which she took a swig from.
Hmm. Actually quite good, but there was no room for her to take it.
