“But there is so much danger involved.”
She shrugged and gave him a coy look. “There is danger everywhere, Captain. Even at your precious court, where just a simple whispered word can change the lives of countless people.”
“That is true.” The woman had a good point. Court was tiresome and full of backstabbing and vicious rumors. How many times had he wondered if a man accused had even done the deed or merely been a scapegoat?
“Why did ye want to be a sailor?” Antónia pulled him from his thoughts with her question. “Ye’re a noble, after all. Why did ye strive to live a life aboard a ship?”
“Much like you, I love the sea. My father was an admiral before he died. I wanted to be like him.”
“And now?”
He grinned and winked. “I cannot stand the ceremony of court. When I’m not at sea, I report to the queen and then attend my lands. I’ve not the drive he had.”
“Lands? Do ye have many?”
“My holding in Gravesend is of decent size.”
“Have ye a family?” She bit her lip, as though she didn’t want to ask the question, and it had slipped out without her permission.
“An older brother, a younger sister.”
“No wife?” she asked. “A titled man with land and power, and yet no wife to give him heirs?”
“None.” He met her gaze, unsure why he was admitting so much, but feeling comfortable and compelled. “None that has struck me as worthy. Yet.”
“Yet. How funny. Ye think to find a woman worthy of ye at court?”
“I dare say I won’t.”
“Why is that?”
“Why do you think?” His gaze slid over her form and then back up to her smiling, dancing eyes.
Antónia let out an exaggerated smile and lay back on the bed, stretching her arms over her head. “Because ye’re already falling madly in love with a pirate, and no ordinary woman will do.”
Titus’ heart lurched. He shoved off his chair and stalked toward the bed. Pressing a hand on either side of her, he leaned down until his nose was just an inch from hers. “Fall madly in love with a pirate?”
“Aye,” she whispered, then bit her lip.
“Have you a friend you want to introduce me to, then?” he teased.
Antónia laughed and playfully swatted his chest. “Ye’ve met him already. Tall, Viking Scots, he is. A gallowglass warrior who’ll take ye to task.”
Titus laughed, and bit her lower lip, tugging gently. Her hands came up around his waist, tugging his weight full down on top of her. He settled between her lithe thighs, the warmth of her body seeping into his.
“If only I’d been able to bargain three days instead of three beddings,” he murmured as he trailed kisses along her neck.
“We’d have all out war then,” she murmured back, scraping her nails softly down his naked back. “But perhaps we should both dock at Calais. Find a tavern with a room to let, plenty of whisky to drink, many a roasted chicken to eat, and another desk to plunder ourselves upon.”
“Oh, what a wondrous foray that would be.”
“Aye.” She licked her lips, eyes flashing emotion as she locked them on his. “I’ve never met a man like ye, Titus. And I shouldn’t be telling ye that. But ye’re… different.”
Titus brushed hair away from her forehead. “I feel the same way.” He shook his head. “It’s maddening really.” His chest tightened with unspoken emotion. “You’re the single most enticing and fascinating creature I’ve ever come across.”
And then, because he had to shut up before he begged her never to leave, he kissed her again, languidly. Exploring. Their first coupling had been maddening, furious and full of lust. Now he wanted to tease, to discover every part of her. What she liked. What she didn’t. What made her squirm, what made her sigh.
A quick rap at the door alerted them Ward had brought their meal.
Titus stared at her with longing as he climbed off the bed. “Now we dine.”
“And then we feast,” she finished his sentence.
“Aye.” He opened the door, quickly wiping the smile from his face when he faced Ward. “On the table there.”
Ward nodded, placing a tray heavily laden with chicken, bread, stew and a bottle of claret.
“Cap’n, if I might have a word,” Ward said.
“What is it?”
“In private?”
“I am busy. Can it wait?” Irritation made him bristly.
Ward had the astuteness to look worried, but still, he did not back down. “I’m afraid it cannot, Captain.”
Titus glared at his valet. “Someone better be dying,” he growled, then nodded to Antónia. “Excuse me, madam.”
Out in the corridor, Titus shut the door and faced his valet with arms crossed over his chest.
“Cap’n the men are worried. This goes against all protocol.”
Titus was a little surprised it had taken this long for someone to say something, and yet, he didn’t want them to ruin the moments he was sharing with Antónia, however much they went against all protocol. “Who is captain of this ship?”
“You are, sir.”
“And who must determine what to do with criminals while at sea?”
“You, Captain.”
“What is the problem?”
Ward shifted his gaze, and his feet. “The… pirate lady was in your clothes. In your arms.”
“Her clothing was wet. She swam from her ship to ours. Would you rather I allow our prisoners to die of cold while being questioned? That seems as though their demise would be on my head, and perhaps without just cause.”
“Sir—”
“I’ll not listen to another word of this. If any man is against my decision, they may spend the night in the brig as a reminder of who is in charge, and just who they owe allegiance to.”
Ward straightened to attention and nodded emphatically. “Aye, Captain.”
“Make certain Grenville is aware of our conversation here, Ward.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Now be off with you. I have much questioning to do with this wench who’s stolen onto our ship.”
Ward touched his hat and waited for Titus to go back into his cabin. He shut and locked the door behind him.
Antónia no longer lay on his bed, but stood in the center of the room, her wet breeches on, and the linen wrapped tightly around her breasts. Boots on. “Is aught amiss?” she asked, pulling her wet black shirt over her head.
“Why are you redressing?”
“This interlude has been very entertaining, Captain Graves, but it is clear that we have both shirked our duties to our men.” She pointed his own gun at him. “Now, raise your hands over your head and walk slowly toward the door.”
“What in bloody hell are you doing, Antónia? We had an arrangement.” Why did his chest feel like it was tearing in two?
“Pity the fool who makes an arrangement with a pirate,” she said with a dainty shrug. “Did you not say pirates have no honor? I’m leaving this ship, with the ring, and ye’re going to let me, else I put a bullet in ye and whistle for my men to attack.” Then she winked at him, a confident grin on her lips. “I’m sure ye must have known this was coming. Today is not the first time I’ve played ye for a fool. Surely ye remember us meeting last year? I do look forward to ye chasing me over the seas. I must admit, it has been quite the pleasure.” Her gaze roved over his body and she shook her head. “Such a shame we couldn’t at least have had a few more minutes before your valet interrupted.”
Titus stared at her incredulously. “You…” His mind flashed back to the damsel in distress upon the pirate ship. The daring rescue of the men at their execution. It was her all along. She’d played him in more ways than one. “I should have known.” Ordinarily, he would have been irate to be duped, but with her… Well, she was right, he was a fool. And damn, but he did want to chase her. To throttle her. To make love to her again. Good lord, what had she done to him?
“’Twas fun
while it lasted.”
“One last kiss, love?” He crooked his finger. “A kiss to make the pain of your betrayal less bitter?”
Antónia laughed. “As much as I would enjoy that, I’m not as much a fool as ye. Now out.” She waved the gun toward the door.
Titus backed up until he reached the portal.
“Open it.”
“If my men see that ye’ve a gun pointed at me, they may take aim and shoot ye. I’d hate for a perfect pair of breasts to be ruined by a spray of bullets.”
Her grin widened. “And that, my love, is why ye’ll tell them not to shoot me.”
Her love. If only… “And if a man should take it into his head that I have lost my mind?” Titus clucked his tongue. “Which they will most assuredly, given I bedded you in the first place.”
“Ouch, Captain. Let us not pretend ye didn’t enjoy it as much as I.” Something flashed behind her eyes. A hint of remorse, vulnerability. As tough as she tried to play… Antónia was not as unfeeling as she put off. “Then ye, too, shall die. A tragic death for this illfated attraction of ours.”
Titus chuckled bitterly. “If only we’d met at port—when you weren’t bribing my executioner.”
“Ye can’t blame the man for wanting a few extra coins. Besides, we’ll always have our dream of a tavern romance.”
Titus held out his hands in surrender. Grasping at anything to keep her from gliding away. “Let us make it real. Right now. We’ll sail away.”
“Ye tempt me, truly, but I have known ye only a short time, and not under the best of circumstances. I can’t exactly trust ye. I owe it to my men to see them safely back to Ireland.”
Titus couldn’t help a short laugh. “A pirate with morals.”
Antónia shrugged, her gaze intense, she looked toward his bed. “A naval captain without.”
“Touché, madam.”
“Now, out with ye, else this little dance of ours never begins.”
“A dance?”
“I thought to put it in terms ye might understand, English.”
“I am more comfortable with nautical terms than courtly diatribes.”
“Then ye’ll not be spinning me a romantic ballad?”
Titus pressed his hand to his heart. “Oh, doth the heart cry when swindled by a lass so sly.”
Antónia blew him a kiss. “How the lady did wish to take a lover, but alas duty doth hover.”
Regret flooded his chest. “You see, Annie, we’d have made a good pair.”
Antónia stiffened, swallowing hard. “Do not call me that.”
Titus frowned. “Why not?”
“Time to go, English, else I am forced to put a bullet in ye.” Her manner had changed considerably. Gone was the jovial tone, the sarcasm and wit.
What had caused the sudden change?
A coldness came into her eyes that he’d not seen before, even when she’d boarded his ship that morning and demanded he surrender. This was the pirate, Antónia. The captain of her ship. The granddaughter of the most feared pirate of the Emerald Isle and, indeed, all of Europe. The daughter of the Devil’s Hook.
“I’ll go, Antónia. I’ll allow you to escape with my ring”—not to mention his enduring admiration, and dare he say heart?—“but tell me something first.”
“I am in no mood to oblige.” Her eyes flashed with unspoken emotion before going placid once more.
“If we were in Calais. If we were at that tavern, would you make me leave at gunpoint?”
“There is no point in answering your foolish question. That was but a game, a fancy. And one that could never, and will never, happen.”
“But why not?” He took a step forward, noting how she faltered. “We obviously… like each other.”
“I’ve bedded many men,” she said coolly, her rigid stance returning. “Do not mistake my enthusiasm and enjoyment for anything more than a mere blending of our flesh and passion.”
“You might have bedded many, but even you admitted I was different.”
She grimaced. “I lied. I came for one thing, the ring, and now I have it.”
The crushing feeling in Titus’ chest was new to him. A painful, thudding ache. It was hard to breathe. She was lying still.
But for whatever reason, she needed that lie, and as much as it hurt, he was going to let her have it. For now.
Titus opened the door and backed out of the cabin.
“I will find you,” he said.
“I’d be a fool not to believe ye’ll try.”
Chapter Eight
As soon as she was aboard ship, shouting orders to her men to raise the anchor and ready the sails, Antónia felt as though a dense weight had settled in her belly. The clouds overhead, mirroring her moods, darkened, covering the sun and making the water choppy.
She didn’t look back at The Lionheart. Didn’t speak of her time with Titus to Sweeney who looked ready to pounce on her and demand to know what the bloody hell she’d been thinking.
Hands on the helm, she steered them back toward home, her gaze on the horizon and then falling to the ring that darkened on her finger.
A trick of the hidden sun, perhaps. Or her imagination.
The once blood red stone slowly blackened, until the following day when they reached the shores of the western coast of Ireland, the stone resembled onyx. No trace left of the once beautiful red she’d admired aboard Titus’ ship.
Her crew worked to close down the ship for their disembarkment, those who’d remain aboard for duty she’d given permission to host a few guests, as long as her vessel was in one piece come morning, for she planned to go on a raid. Needed the excitement of adventure to dull the irritating ache thudding in her chest.
Antónia climbed down the rope ladder to the waiting rowboat below, still having barely spoken other than to bark orders at her men.
Why was she so melancholy? She refused to put any credence to the fact that she felt the slight twinge of misery. That she actually might miss the bloody fool. She barely knew him!
And yet…
Nay. Nay. Nay. She did not miss him. Could not miss him.
She stared down at the blackness of the ring on her finger. Well, she might have wanted the antique for herself, for very good reasons, but now she knew those reasons were mute. She’d simply take it off and hand it over to Granuaille and be done with the whole business. Love was a fantasy, a thing that so many chased, like sailors chasing nymphs.
If she continued to search for it, one day she’d go mad.
’Twas best to be rid of it, and soon.
“Row.” She ordered and her men nodded, without comment, though their eyes said enough.
At the shore, the men jumped into the shallow waters and pulled her up onto the beach. She climbed out and stomped up the stone stairs and followed the path to the castle gate.
Granuaille stood on the ramparts gazing down at her, her silver hair flying, hands on her hips. She captained her fortress as well as she captained her ship. Antónia couldn’t help a smile, though it left her feeling hollow.
She raised a hand to her grandmother, then ducked beneath the gates. Granuaille would expect her to come up to the battlements, and so she did, greeting her as they both gazed out over the landscape.
“Did the queen like her gift?” Granuaille asked.
“Immensely. She laughed and was reassured of your alliance.”
Antónia brushed the hair away from her face that blew just as wildly as her grandmother’s. But upon bringing her hand down to the stone, her limb was seized by Granuaille’s bony, but strong, grasp.
Granuaille’s gaze was riveted on the ring. “What’s this?”
“Ah, aye,” Antónia said, as though she’d forgotten all about the ring. It had swelled on her finger with Titus, but the sea seemed to have done her some good, and she slipped it off, setting it on the stone. “The Lucius Ring. I found it for ye.”
“Where did ye find it?”
“Someone had given it to the queen. I followe
d one of her captains who was charged with taking it to France. And, well, I did what I do best.”
“But it is black.”
“Aye.”
“Do ye remember the story behind the ring?”
Antónia shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. Not wanting to remember.
“My dear, love turns the stone crimson and heartache turns it black.”
Antónia laughed bitterly. “We all know I’ve no love in my heart. I am the daughter of the Devil’s Hook. Black suits.”
Granuaille grunted. “He may be a harsh and wild man, but he loves your mother.” Granuaille touched the ring. “I never wanted ye to suffer as I have. Knowing no true love.”
Antónia swept her arm out toward the sea and smiled softly at her grandmother. “I have a true love, the sea.”
Granuaille touched her cheek, looking deep into her eyes. “Ah, but I think ye must have found another.”
With a violent shake of her head, she said, perhaps a little too harshly, “None.”
“But why was the ring black on your finger? It sensed your heartache.”
“I am not aching.” Something pulsed behind her ribs. The something she’d refused to think about the entire journey back to Ireland.
“Ye’ve never been able to lie to me. Why try?” Granuaille gazed down below. Sweeney was barking orders at the men, his face red as a fresh apple. “Is it Sweeney? Do ye love him? He seems angrier than usual.”
Aye, he’d been so angry aboard ship, she’d had to stop him from laying the lash into one of the men’s backs for dropping a bucket. “I love him like a brother.”
“Then who?”
Antónia chewed her lip. “’Twas a mistake, nothing more. We are both wrong for each other.”
“The heart does not always recognize what is right and what is wrong.” Granuaille tapped Antónia’s head. “Nor does the head.”
“This is very wrong. Trust me.” Antónia swiped at her hair.
“Tell me.”
“Ye will not like it.”
“Perhaps.”
“He is a captain in Elizabeth’s Navy.”
Granuaille let out an abrupt cough, or perhaps she was choking. “Ah, I see. Aye, he is very wrong.” The softness she’d shown about love a moment before was quickly replaced by rage. “No kin of mine will sully themselves with an Englishman.” Granuaille clucked her tongue in reproach. “And yet the ring says ye’re heartbroken. How can this be? How can ye love our enemy?”
Lords of Ireland II Page 48