Page 14 of Breath From the Sea
And there was no ring.
“If I were the British captain…” she murmured, but then paused, swearing she could hear breathing once more.
And then she felt it. Breathing, on her leg. A hot, sticky lick.
Antónia leapt back, yanking out her dagger, prepared to stab whoever had dared tolickher, and came face-to-face with a large hound of black, white and brown coloring. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth and he studied her with a cocked head and kind eyes.
“Ye’re not a very good guard dog are ye?” Antónia asked, scratching the mutt behind his ears.
He licked her hand. Nay, not a good guard dog at all.
Deciding the dog wouldn’t give her away, she moved to a wardrobe, and tugged it open. The captain’s clothes hung on hooks within, a pair of shiny riding boots were on the bottom, and a wooden box with filigreed corners sat right beside them.
Antónia bent to open the decorated chest when the hound barked and scratched at the door.
She jerked her gaze toward the hound and waved her arm, as if that would make him quiet. “Shh!”
But the hound only stared at her, barking and scratching again.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” With the mutt making all that racket, anyone could come down to see if there was a problem, or to simply let him out. She needed to make him be quiet—and she wasn’t about to hit him over the head with her blunderbuss, or stab him through the heart. A hound like this, a kind one, he was worth more than most men in her book.
She’d just let him out herself.
Antónia hurried to the door, opened it, and shooed the hound out, then locked the door behind him.
She returned to the filigreed chest, sliding her fingers over the shiny wood. But when she tried to pry open the lid, it was locked. Had she seen a key in the desk? She didn’t recall. And she didn’t have time to think on it either.
Why hadn’t she thought to bring her lock pick?
No matter, she rummaged through the captain’s clothes, finding a belt. She used the pin in the buckle and picked the chest’s lock in under a minute. Picking locks had been a fun pastime for her and Sweeney when they were growing up. They’d often snooped through the contents of a score when Granuaille had collected the tolls from passing ships, and they’d picked a door or two—sometimes seeing things that made them giggle. And one time resulted in their first kiss…
Oy, but she didn’t have time to be thinking about stuff like that. Childish antics and awkward moments she’d rather not repeat.
But the thought of kisses only reminded her of the one she’d shared with Captain Graves. She opened the chest with that image in her mind and was quickly awestruck by the sight of the ring she’d been searching for, for so long, shining bright from the velvet depths. The stone was ruby red, and seemed to glow, odd since not a candle was lit and the cabin was a little gloomy.
What had the legend stated? That love was within sight if the ruby was red?
She pulled it out of the chest and slid it onto her left ring finger, feeling the power of it tingle through her skin. The coloring did not change.
The question was, did she believe in signs?
Not truly, no more so than she believed in Fate.
Even still… It was glowing, blood red. Was The Lucius Ring telling her she was in love?
Could she believe?
If she didn’t, why had she risked her life and that of her crew to fetch this bobble? It was not simply because Granuaille would have loved to own it. No, there was the true reason. She wanted to find love—to find the one.
Antónia may have been a pirate, a hellion to most, but that didn’t mean she didn’t seek happiness. A family.
She tugged at the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. Her knuckles must have swollen after she put it on. She stuck her finger in her mouth and tugged at the ring with her teeth—but still it wouldn’t move. Almost as though the ring had chosen her…
