Read Online Breath From the Sea (Thistle and Rose #3) by Eliza Knight - Free Book Online
Authors: Eliza Knight
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did stop his prayers.
“’Twill take him a while to give ye correct directions. Waylay him. Then offer to sell him your goods so ye can go back to Scotland.”
“The Scots are the enemies of the English. Why can I not be Welsh?”
Antónia rolled her eyes. “Fine, ye can be Welsh.”
Sweeney grinned like a child just offered a sweet he’d been begging for. “I’ve a cousin who married a Welsh wench. All I have to do is perfect a whiny tone. How is this? We’re looooossttt .”
Antónia blew out a long exaggerated breath. “Heaven help ye if he doesn’t try to burn our ship to make ye shut your mouth.”
Sweeney laughed, a genuine sound that had Antónia’s heart warming. She didn’t want him to be mad at her. Didn’t want him to be frustrated with her either. She needed him on her side for many reasons. To have her back, but also, she needed an ally when she did return to Ireland, because though she’d have a prize her grandmother had long been searching for, she’d also have to explain why she’d violated a direct order to return to Ireland after delivering the gift to the queen.
Antónia descended to her quarters to prepare for the impending heist. She braided her hair, changed into leather breeches and then wrapped linen tightly around her chest, binding her breasts. She pulled on a black linen shirt that wouldn’t be see-through when wet—a mistake she’d made in the past—and then strapped her weapons in place on her arms and ankles. Last but not least, she tied a small bag to her waist, big enough to hold the ring and any spare coins lying around Captain Graves’ chamber. Aye, she wasn’t hurting for coin, but the more she could offend Graves, the better.
Antónia paused a minute, blowing out a deep, calming breath.
She was ready. And she was terrified.
So much had already gone wrong, she prayed nothing else did.
In and out. That was it. Easy and clean.
Chapter Four
“Just how many bloody galleons are going to interrupt our journey?” Titus growled.
Grenville grunted, knowing it best not to respond.
“What should have only taken a few damned hours is lasting all day.” Titus slammed his hand down on the rail, approaching the merchant vessel that was sailing at a swift clip in their direction. “This is bloody familiar.” He grumbled the last and then bit down ferociously on the apple he’d been eating.
He was duty bound to at least issue a greeting to the ship as it sailed for England. The Lionheart should have already landed at Calais. The crew should have disembarked. He should have been sipping an ale and eating a meat pie at the port tavern he enjoyed, whilst deciding which wench to pleasure for the evening. Dammit if the business with Lady Antónia hadn’t delayed them, and then he’d waited until the irksome pirates were out of sight on their way back to Ireland before continuing on his way toward France, circling more eastward in the second attempt to keep the pirates from following if they dared.
And every blasted minute he was reminded of Antónia’s kiss. A sudden salty gust, a mist on the air, even the taste of the bloody apple. He flung it out to sea. Hell and damnation, but he wanted to kiss her again.
“Raise the sails and steer us starboard,” Titus ordered. “Ready the guns in case our luck strikes once more and we are facing pirates.”
The closer they got, the more suspicious Titus became. The ship looked very familiar. A lot like the Lady Hook . But he could see the name on the bow was Little Dove . The men on the ship were large, but they were dressed plainly. Still…
“Remain cautious,” Titus told his crew.
They pulled alongside the other ship, tossing grappling hooks to tie the ships together. A large man doffed his cap.
“Ho, there!” he called in an accent Titus couldn’t place. Returning his cap to his head in just a way that lay shadow over his dirty face, the bloke said, “Would ye be willin’ to ‘elp us out,
“’Twill take him a while to give ye correct directions. Waylay him. Then offer to sell him your goods so ye can go back to Scotland.”
“The Scots are the enemies of the English. Why can I not be Welsh?”
Antónia rolled her eyes. “Fine, ye can be Welsh.”
Sweeney grinned like a child just offered a sweet he’d been begging for. “I’ve a cousin who married a Welsh wench. All I have to do is perfect a whiny tone. How is this? We’re looooossttt .”
Antónia blew out a long exaggerated breath. “Heaven help ye if he doesn’t try to burn our ship to make ye shut your mouth.”
Sweeney laughed, a genuine sound that had Antónia’s heart warming. She didn’t want him to be mad at her. Didn’t want him to be frustrated with her either. She needed him on her side for many reasons. To have her back, but also, she needed an ally when she did return to Ireland, because though she’d have a prize her grandmother had long been searching for, she’d also have to explain why she’d violated a direct order to return to Ireland after delivering the gift to the queen.
Antónia descended to her quarters to prepare for the impending heist. She braided her hair, changed into leather breeches and then wrapped linen tightly around her chest, binding her breasts. She pulled on a black linen shirt that wouldn’t be see-through when wet—a mistake she’d made in the past—and then strapped her weapons in place on her arms and ankles. Last but not least, she tied a small bag to her waist, big enough to hold the ring and any spare coins lying around Captain Graves’ chamber. Aye, she wasn’t hurting for coin, but the more she could offend Graves, the better.
Antónia paused a minute, blowing out a deep, calming breath.
She was ready. And she was terrified.
So much had already gone wrong, she prayed nothing else did.
In and out. That was it. Easy and clean.
Chapter Four
“Just how many bloody galleons are going to interrupt our journey?” Titus growled.
Grenville grunted, knowing it best not to respond.
“What should have only taken a few damned hours is lasting all day.” Titus slammed his hand down on the rail, approaching the merchant vessel that was sailing at a swift clip in their direction. “This is bloody familiar.” He grumbled the last and then bit down ferociously on the apple he’d been eating.
He was duty bound to at least issue a greeting to the ship as it sailed for England. The Lionheart should have already landed at Calais. The crew should have disembarked. He should have been sipping an ale and eating a meat pie at the port tavern he enjoyed, whilst deciding which wench to pleasure for the evening. Dammit if the business with Lady Antónia hadn’t delayed them, and then he’d waited until the irksome pirates were out of sight on their way back to Ireland before continuing on his way toward France, circling more eastward in the second attempt to keep the pirates from following if they dared.
And every blasted minute he was reminded of Antónia’s kiss. A sudden salty gust, a mist on the air, even the taste of the bloody apple. He flung it out to sea. Hell and damnation, but he wanted to kiss her again.
“Raise the sails and steer us starboard,” Titus ordered. “Ready the guns in case our luck strikes once more and we are facing pirates.”
The closer they got, the more suspicious Titus became. The ship looked very familiar. A lot like the Lady Hook . But he could see the name on the bow was Little Dove . The men on the ship were large, but they were dressed plainly. Still…
“Remain cautious,” Titus told his crew.
They pulled alongside the other ship, tossing grappling hooks to tie the ships together. A large man doffed his cap.
“Ho, there!” he called in an accent Titus couldn’t place. Returning his cap to his head in just a way that lay shadow over his dirty face, the bloke said, “Would ye be willin’ to ‘elp us out,
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