Breath From the Sea by Eliza Knight

Author:Eliza Knight
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Medieval
Published: 2016-08-30T04:00:00+00:00

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, 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.

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