Breath From the Sea (Thistle and Rose #3) (5 page)

The queen opened the pouch and let out a laugh that startled the room. In her palm was the tiny golden ship pin, its sails made of emeralds, its masts of rubies and sapphires along the bottom in the shape of waves.

“Beautiful,” she said.

Antónia nodded. “My grandmother will be pleased you like her gift, Majesty. She had it made especially for you.”

“We but wonder how a poor and wretched woman could have afforded it.”

Antónia had also been practicing her reply to this question, for she knew it would be coming. “She scrimped and saved for many years, Majesty. But she also found a few Spanish coins parted from their owner.”

Her words were meant to be a coded message, for the Spaniards that had docked at Kinsale had arrived to help the Irish fight the English. To have them part with coin showed that her uncle, the viscount, was on the English’s side.

A joke, if Antónia had ever heard one, for he’d personally appointed her father to fight the bastards. Oh, politics. Give her the sea!

“Her gift and your uncle’s loyalty are well received.” The queen locked her eyes on Antónia, studying her from head to toe, perhaps wondering if Antónia followed in Granuaille’s footsteps.

Antónia bowed low again, but as she did so, her eyes caught on another gift set on a table beside the queen. There were many things there; baubles, plate and fabrics, but this one in particular caught her fancy.

“That ring,” Antónia said. “I’ve seen it before.”

“Have you?” The queen raised a brow, no doubt wondering if it had been on a pirating expedition she’d spied it.

“Aye.” Well, not truly. She’d seen a painting of it. “The Lucius Ring.”

There was much lore surrounding the ancient Roman ring, rumored to have a ruby the size of a quail’s egg. Well, it was not quite so big as that, she could see. But it was beautiful. The ring was supposed to bring good luck to anyone upon the sea. But she’d also heard the lore. The ring could tell if you held love in your heart, or a profound ache. She wanted it. Antónia needed it. For every lover she’d taken had left her heartbroken and she could no longer put her heart on the line. She needed luck. She needed the ring to tell her when she’d found the one true love to sail the seas with.

“So you’ve heard of it. ’Tis cursed.” The queen frowned. “Given to us by one of our barons just now, though he swears not to know the history behind it. Do you?”

Antónia kept her face neutral and shook her head. “Nay, Your Majesty, I do not.” Lying to the queen was a lot easier than lying to her grandmother. Though pirates, submerged in a world of falsehoods and games, often could tell a lie from someone’s lips quicker than anyone else.

“Pity,” Queen Elizabeth said and then waved Antónia from the room, perhaps afraid she was going to steal away the precious relic.

Antónia bowed once more, though this time she did not go all the way to the floor. Upon rising, she backed up three steps then whirled on her heel, happy to leave this room on one hand and irritated on the other. How was she going to get a hold of that ring?

“Lord Graves,” the queen called behind her. “I want you to deliver this wretched thing to the French. Place it in the hand of the Medici Queen. Let the curse be upon their house. ’Tis loathsome enough.”

Antónia spied the queen plucking up the ring and handing it a tall courtier, his back to her. She still recognized the line of his stance and was surprised she’d not seen him in the room. He must have hidden in the shadows.

Lord Graves was the captain who’d arrested her men.

Alas, before she could see his face, Antónia was through the doors, fairly pushed by the footmen who could not wait for her and her gallowglass warrior to depart court, London and England altogether.

Well, these English sots might want her to leave now, but she’d not be too far… Antónia had a new adventure—a ring to steal—and an English ship to cut off on its way to France.

Lord Graves, I will see you to your grave, indeed.

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 the
Lady 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 the
Lady Hook
and 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 the
Lady Hook
and her crew.

Lady Hook
did 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.

“That is none of your concern. Let me speak to your captain.”

The lad ducked into a low bow, one that mocked any sort of courtly fashion. “At your service, my lord.”

Blast
… Titus groaned. He was dealing with an adolescent who likely had a large chip on his shoulder. “I must inform you that you are sailing within English waters and are required to return to Ireland.”

“Required?” The young lad locked his eyes on Titus, a challenge in his gaze. “I don’t think that is quite accurate, my good fellow.”

“I assure you it is,” Titus said through gritted teeth.

“Ah, but my good man, we have business in France.”

Not bloody likely and most definitely not of an innocent nature. “What business could you have with the queen’s enemy?”

“That is none of your concern.” The young captain was mocking Titus’ earlier reply. He grinned, showing even white teeth, and a rather
feminine
bone structure.

Titus narrowed his eyes, studying the lad. He was tall, but his build was slight, and… a bit curvy. Titus detected a hint of a swell beneath the lad’s doublet—breasts? Overly developed muscles? Impossible. Was the lad actually a
female
?

If it were not a ship within the O’Malley fleet he would have doubted it, but given the entire empire was run by a female, how could he have any doubt? Rumor had it that at sea O’Malley herself dressed like a man. Why would any other female dress differently? The lad’s long red hair was pulled back in a queue at the nape of his neck, a cap on top of his head. In fact, there was nothing about him that screamed lad. He could very well be a female. And the longer Titus stared, the more he believed that to be the case. Another thought struck him. What if this was, in fact, the same chit who’d been at court the day before? Her hair was certainly just as fiery. If not her, then a relation, no doubt, to the pirate queen herself.

“What is your name?” Titus asked.

The pirate captain grinned, a teasing smile curled at the corners. “Oh, Captain, I don’t believe we’re quite there yet. I hardly know ye.”

Titus frowned. Whoever this person was, they were mocking him. His blood grew hot with irritation. “Is not sharing your name part of getting to know one another?”

The captain did a little dance on the rails, tapping tiny toes to a tune Titus couldn’t hear. “How about ye share with me where ye’re headed and what your orders are from the queen?”

Preposterous. Did a pirate truly believe he’d divulge that kind of classified knowledge? “That information is confidential.”

The captain laughed. “Nothing is truly confidential. Why, I’m willing to bet most of the men on your ship know where they’re going.” The imp gave a slight nod and, from nowhere, one of the gallowglass barbarians flew through the air and snatched a sailor from Titus’ deck. Within seconds, the poor sailor was standing on the deck of the
Lady Hook
, a thick arm held tight around his neck and a blade pressed to his ribs.

Titus wrapped his fingers around the hilt of his sword. Lady or lad, he was going to take the arrogant captain down.

The imp sauntered toward the sailor, flashing a proud grin at Titus.

“Return my man to my ship at once,” Titus growled. “That is an act of war. I will give you to the count of three and if he is not returned, we will fire upon your ship.”

The captain suddenly faced him, fury on his or her feminine face, red tendrils of hair falling from beneath the cap. A snarl curved lips that had jovially smiled a moment before. The fury there, the lash of anger, it was frightening. If Titus had not been trained with a sword, trained at war, he might have actually been concerned about what the slight creature could do.

“If even one shot is fired, you will not live to see the end of this day,” the pirate said, voice calm, cold. “I promise ye that, sir. I promise that after I finish gutting ye, I’ll moor my ship at your docks once more, and I will hunt down everyone ye hold dear, and I will tell them the news of your death, just before I slit their throats.”

Titus slowly pulled his sword from his sheath. “You’ll be doing no such thing. You’re but a headstrong lad in need of a whipping. Now return my man, else I make good on a beating you’ve been long deserving.”

Fury flashed on the pirate’s face. “Tell me where ye’re going.”

Titus pointed the tip of his sword into the deck floor. “I’ll tell you when you return my man.”

The pirate fingered the blunderbuss at his/her hip. “Tell me first.”

“France. We are going to France. Now send him back.”

He/she chuckled. The curve of his/her throat so delicate and fine that right then and there, Titus decided it was a woman.

“Isn’t it funny we should be going the same way?” She nodded to the barbarian holding the sailor, who let him loose, shoving him toward the rails.

“Don’t push him into the water,” Titus said. “Send him back the way he came.”

“Ye’re taking the fun out of it,” the pirate wench said with her lower lip puffed out, but she did acquiesce, nodding to one of the brutes to give the sailor a rope to swing back on.

“There is nothing fun about playing with people’s lives,” Titus said. “What exactly do you want?”

“Well, Captain, it’s funny ye should ask. Allow me and my men to come aboard and I’ll tell ye all about it.”

“I’ll never allow ye to board Her Majesty’s ship.”

“Shame. We asked nicely.” And then the barbarians were swooping overhead, landing on the ship, swords drawn.

“No quarter!” The pirate wench shouted, swinging across herself and landing on the deck just a few feet in front of Titus.

Up close, the feminine line of the pirate captain’s jaw was more evident. The sensual line of her lips… Titus frowned. He was definitely right. No lad beneath lad’s clothes. But a woman, in truth. The spray of freckles across her face and nose had him wondering if she was the same lass as the one who’d been at court. But how could she be? That woman had been striking, tall and well dressed. Her voice eloquent and refined. Exactly the opposite of the chit challenging him now.

“Do ye like what ye see, Captain? Ye’ve stared long enough ye could have painted my portrait. Do ye fancy lads?”

The woman pulled her sword from her scabbard, a beautiful work of craftsmanship if he’d ever seen one. The handle was gold and silver scrolled, the blade polished and sharp, curving wickedly at the end. It fit her grip perfectly, fashioned just for her for a pretty penny if he had to guess.

“You’re no lad,” Titus said, grinning. “But a woman.”

“Ah, intriguing, that ye should think so.”

“I know so.” Titus lifted his own sword as they circled one another.