Read Online Breath From the Sea (Thistle and Rose #3) by Eliza Knight - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Eliza Knight
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Cap’n?”
Titus, hands on his hip, finger tapping his sword hilt, replied, “Where are you headed?”
“We’re a bit lost m’afraid. Supposed to be at Cape Comorin in t’weeks.”
“You’re a long way from India,” Titus drawled. “Where did you come from?”
“South Wales.” The man stiffened slightly when he said it.
Odd. But he just didn’t strike Titus as a man from Wales. “Must be going in circles,” Titus drawled out.
“Aye. Could ye point us in the right way?”
“Mhmm.” Titus pointed southward. “You should have stayed in the Atlantic sailing south around the African continent to the Indian Ocean. You swung upward here and you’re in the English Channel.”
“English Channel.” The merchant captain doffed his cap and scratched his head, looking at his men, an overly exaggerated, perplexed expression on his face.
Titus didn’t know whether to consider this entertaining or if he just wanted to knock the man into the water and tell him to have a pleasant day. “Have you never sailed to India before now?”
“Aye, plenty o’ times.” He shifted a little, putting his cap back in place.
“Then how did you end up here?” Titus worked hard to keep his voice sounding genuine, not giving away his awareness of their ruse, whatever that ruse may be.
“Well… ’Tis a long story, Cap’n. Ye, see, I ate a bad pottage. Tore my guts up something fierce.”
Titus listened as the man went into great detail regarding his stomach ailment. The men aboard his ship stiff as they listened, biting their lips in their attempts not to laugh. Even his own crew was suppressing laughter, a few covering their mouths with their hands and pretending to cough.
The water lapped at the sides of their ships and overhead the clouds that had been nonexistent started to crowd the blue sky. They needed to get moving, else it would begin to storm before they reached Calais. They’d not be able to dock if the winds were blowing fierce and he wasn’t in the mood to anchor in the Channel to ride it out. But the bloke continued on and on about the bad pottage and how he wished every ship came with a privy like the one back in his manor home in South Wales.
Titus finally cleared his throat, interrupting. “Well, I thank you for sharing such a… detailed story with us, though it wasn’t necessary. Sounds like you need a better cook.”
“Truth be told, he was well into the pot, too.”
Titus grunted. “What cargo do you carry?” Duty required him to inspect. The queen would expect him to check all merchants sailing, and he should review their itinerary, to be sure they were on the up and up. If they were exporting, she’d want a portion of the profits, and she’d like to know what it was. If they were importing, she’d want to charge a tariff. From what Titus had gleaned over the years, the Welsh weren’t much for exporting. They were a country of drovers, cattlemen. What could they want with India? If they were importing, Her Majesty would want to see the goods were taxed.
The Welsh captain’s mouth dropped open long enough for Titus to garner he was left unprepared to answer. Bloody hell . He didn’t want to go aboard the Little Dove . He wanted to be on his bloody way!
Titus blew out an annoyed breath, prepared to tell the man he was coming aboard, when the merchant opened his mouth.
“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 bastard was lying. 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
Titus, hands on his hip, finger tapping his sword hilt, replied, “Where are you headed?”
“We’re a bit lost m’afraid. Supposed to be at Cape Comorin in t’weeks.”
“You’re a long way from India,” Titus drawled. “Where did you come from?”
“South Wales.” The man stiffened slightly when he said it.
Odd. But he just didn’t strike Titus as a man from Wales. “Must be going in circles,” Titus drawled out.
“Aye. Could ye point us in the right way?”
“Mhmm.” Titus pointed southward. “You should have stayed in the Atlantic sailing south around the African continent to the Indian Ocean. You swung upward here and you’re in the English Channel.”
“English Channel.” The merchant captain doffed his cap and scratched his head, looking at his men, an overly exaggerated, perplexed expression on his face.
Titus didn’t know whether to consider this entertaining or if he just wanted to knock the man into the water and tell him to have a pleasant day. “Have you never sailed to India before now?”
“Aye, plenty o’ times.” He shifted a little, putting his cap back in place.
“Then how did you end up here?” Titus worked hard to keep his voice sounding genuine, not giving away his awareness of their ruse, whatever that ruse may be.
“Well… ’Tis a long story, Cap’n. Ye, see, I ate a bad pottage. Tore my guts up something fierce.”
Titus listened as the man went into great detail regarding his stomach ailment. The men aboard his ship stiff as they listened, biting their lips in their attempts not to laugh. Even his own crew was suppressing laughter, a few covering their mouths with their hands and pretending to cough.
The water lapped at the sides of their ships and overhead the clouds that had been nonexistent started to crowd the blue sky. They needed to get moving, else it would begin to storm before they reached Calais. They’d not be able to dock if the winds were blowing fierce and he wasn’t in the mood to anchor in the Channel to ride it out. But the bloke continued on and on about the bad pottage and how he wished every ship came with a privy like the one back in his manor home in South Wales.
Titus finally cleared his throat, interrupting. “Well, I thank you for sharing such a… detailed story with us, though it wasn’t necessary. Sounds like you need a better cook.”
“Truth be told, he was well into the pot, too.”
Titus grunted. “What cargo do you carry?” Duty required him to inspect. The queen would expect him to check all merchants sailing, and he should review their itinerary, to be sure they were on the up and up. If they were exporting, she’d want a portion of the profits, and she’d like to know what it was. If they were importing, she’d want to charge a tariff. From what Titus had gleaned over the years, the Welsh weren’t much for exporting. They were a country of drovers, cattlemen. What could they want with India? If they were importing, Her Majesty would want to see the goods were taxed.
The Welsh captain’s mouth dropped open long enough for Titus to garner he was left unprepared to answer. Bloody hell . He didn’t want to go aboard the Little Dove . He wanted to be on his bloody way!
Titus blew out an annoyed breath, prepared to tell the man he was coming aboard, when the merchant opened his mouth.
“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 bastard was lying. 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
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