Page 6 of Breath From the Sea
Chapter Two
“Ballocks!” Lord Titus Graves, Captain in Her Royal Majesty’s Navy, growled under his breath. “For the love of all that’s holy, why in bloody hell is that witch sailing the English Channel?”
Gliding along the water, her sails full and rebel flags swaying with pride, was none other than a ship belonging to the Irish pirate queen, Grace O’Malley’s, fleet. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was the same one that had been docked in the London harbor on the queen’s birthday the day before. The pirate queen had not made an appearance, though her haughty—and striking—granddaughter had.
Where were they going? They were supposed to have returned to Ireland already, not sailing in the opposite direction. Headed toward Calais.
Titus held his spyglass to his eye, reading the name boldly painted on the ship’s stern,Lady Hook.
As soon as he’d spotted theLady Hook, she’d made an about face and was now headed his way, flying fast along the water.
Was there at all a possibility they were lost? He ground his teeth wanting to give them the benefit of the doubt, but was highly suspicious all the same. Pirates were never to be trusted, even if they were beautiful.
As far as he knew, Grace O’Malley wasn’t present in London, unless she’d remained aboard ship, allowing her granddaughter to be presented at court—another story entirely as he’d heard she’d given the footmen a bit of trouble before being granted an audience. Titus doubted there could be much to fear from the chit. She’d been tall, her hair as red as flames, and a dash of freckles across her high cheekbones and the bridge of her nose—not that he’d been watching her or interested. Though there had been something familiar about her, he couldn’t place it. On the contrary, he’d simply been doing his due diligence to study an enemy.
In all likelihood, the barbarians the wench brought with her had gotten turned around at sea.
He hoped. Titus would have liked to say that those same barbarians were imbeciles, but Grace O’Malley had been using them to plunder the seas for years, and even as mercenaries on the ground in Ireland, fighting the English. He’d yet to find those that had escaped him the year before. Which meant they were not likely to get lost at sea. Rather, they were headed in that direction on purpose.
That was the other irritating possibility. The ship could be purposefully trolling the English Channel. Lying in wake for its latest victim. And did they think that he would be that target? Titus would die a thousand painful deaths before he let that happen.
The boldness of such an action on their part would be astounding.
This truly did put a damper on his plans. Rather than arriving in Calais as he’d planned, he might be returning to London with a horde of pirates to sentence to death.
He’d have his answer soon enough. They were headed his way, rather quickly, and he would make certain they returned to Ireland where they belonged. Titus wasn’t going to give theLady Hookand her barbarous brute forces a chance to rob and maim any ship under his jurisdiction.
Eight years ago, when Queen Elizabeth forgave O’Malley, and even sanctioned her pirating ways, as long as they benefited the English, he’d wondered if the pirate queen would rebel, and there had been hints that she would. A Spanish galleon missing, her treasures suddenly appearing—such as the gift that had been given to the queen by O’Malley’s granddaughter. A ship that had none other than been sent to the Spanish king by the queen herself after she defeated their Armada in 1588. ’Twas a sign from the Irish pirate queen she was on the English’s side. Was it not?
“Bloody hell,” Titus growled.
Or it was a sign the pirates were hell bent on rebellion?
“Bear down on that galley, Lieutenant Grenville,” Titus said, glancing at his mate. “We’re going to catch ourselves a pirate today.”
Edward Grenville shouted orders to the men. Their pounding feet, the sounds of metal clanging and rigging being manipulated, spilled through the air, but most of all, the blood rushing through Titus’ veins echoed like a thumping of a drum.
For months now, he’d had his suspicions that pirate ships were once more plaguing the Channel and now he had a chance to find out.
The distance between the two ships closed. The nearer they drew, the more irritated Titus grew. Standing along the railings of the pirate ship were a dozen gallowglass warriors, hands on the hilts of their swords, their expressions blank.
“Ready the guns,” Titus commanded. “To arms! We know not whether these men be friend or foe.”
His men followed his directions, preparing for what could be a battle.
“About face, Lieutenant.”
Grenville grabbed hold of the ship’s wheel and turned, shouting orders to the men to work the sails. The ship creaked as it slowed and turned, its guns facing theLady Hookand her crew.
Lady Hookdid the same, the same number of guns pointed at his hull.
“Ho, there!” Titus said, stepping up onto his own railing, searching out the sea of faces for the captain. “Who is your captain?”
The men did not speak, just stared. If he’d not known better, he might have thought they were at an impasse, but he never trusted pirates and they never let silence lay still for long.
A slighter man, looked more like a lad, swung from a rope at the top of a sail, down to the deck and sauntered to the side. A showoff. He gave a mock salute with a chuckle.
“Where are ye headed?” the lad asked, with a soft Irish burr.
