Lords of the Kingdom

by Le Veque, Kathryn

  Chapter Nine

  Antónia glowered at the black ring on her night table.

  “Ye can go to the devil, ye bloody piece of rubbish.”

  Lovely, now she’d taken to speaking to inanimate objects. She’d been at Rockfleet Castle for two days, taking her meals in her room and refusing to see anyone—though Granuaille had barged in more than once, and Sweeney had shouted behind her barred door.

  She lifted her hand, preparing to swipe the ring from the table, let it fly somewhere across the room and hopefully through the floorboards, but at the last second, she stopped, startled by a pounding on her door.

  Granuaille, on one of her visits, had informed Antónia that if she were going to act like a child, she’d be punished like one. Her grandmother had promptly given charge of the Lady Hook to Sweeney, metaphorically grounding Antónia’s ship along the shore. Except the ship wasn’t grounded, it was Antónia.

  “Annie, open up!” Sweeney’s voice boomed through the door.

  Reluctantly, she stood from her bed, pulling on a robe to cover her nightrail. She padded barefoot to the door and opened it, facing her oldest friend, not bothering to hide her irritation.

  Sweeney looked even taller when she was barefoot, and his fierce glower, well, that was entirely familiar.

  “What do ye want?” she asked.

  “I want ye to come out of your stupor. Did ye know Granuaille is giving me the Lady Hook?”

  Antónia nodded. “Ye deserve it. Better than I.” She waved her hand at him, shooing him out. “Go forth and plunder.”

  “What shite are ye speaking?” Sweeney pushed past her into the room, pacing the wooden floor, running fisted hands through his hair.

  Antónia watched him a few moments growing dizzy. “I don’t deserve it. I put the lot of ye in danger. I deserve whatever punishment our fierce lady will give me.”

  Sweeney stopped abruptly, putting his hands on his hips and facing her, his frown even fiercer, if at all possible. “Ye’re a coward, that’s what ye are.”

  “What?” She straightened, glancing around for a weapon so she could challenge him for saying such a thing, spotting her sword, but then deciding she was too tired at the last second. “Did ye come here to insult me?”

  “Ye’re giving up.”

  “I am giving up my ship, aye—to ye. I’d think ye’d be more grateful,” she grumbled, crossing her arms over chest. She hated feeling so defensive.

  Sweeney stormed toward her, lifting her chin so that she was forced to look at him. “Ye’re my oldest friend, Annie. My dearest friend. The only family I’ve got.”

  Looking into his warm, caring eyes, made her want to cry. “Aye. Ye know I feel the same way about ye.”

  “Then ye’d know if I was lying and ye’d tell me if I were being a fool.”

  “Obviously,” she muttered, glancing away.

  “And ye’d expect the same from me,” he stated.

  Now she knew where he was headed. She shook her head and backed up a step. “Nay. I don’t want any advice ye want to give.”

  Sweeney laughed bitterly. “Oh, it’s advice ye’ll be getting, but don’t confuse it with advice I want to be giving. I’d as soon lock myself in a tower and declare myself mad than tell ye what I’m about to, but I’m doing it all the same.”

  “Then spill it and be gone with ye. Ye’ve a ship and a crew and much booty to plunder.”

  Sweeney smirked. “Have it your way then, lassie.” He gripped her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze, to listen. “Ye’re a fool.”

  Her stomach sank. “My oldest friend has come to bestow advice only to change his mind in the end and deal me a blow.” Antónia tried to back away from him.

  “There ye go, ye stubborn ox, but let me finish before ye toss yourself from the window.”

  Antónia rolled her eyes and fluttered her hand in a signal to continue.

  “Ye’re a fool, as I said. For I can see your heart is broken, and yet ye refuse to do anything about it. Do ye plan to languish the rest of your days? To grow old in this crumbling castle? I had thought ye stronger than that.”

  “I will languish, as it befits my lot in life.”

  “I’ve never seen ye happier than I did with that English whelp. I’ve never seen ye risk so much to be with someone.”

  “Ye must have drunk too much whiskey then, for your eyes deceive ye. I risked much for the ring.”

  Sweeney shook his head. “’Tis not I doing the deceiving. I’ll not lie and say it hasn’t always been my greatest dream, since coming to Ireland with my Da when he served your Granuaille, to one day captain a ship of my own. To have ye for myself. But I will not stand by and let ye throw away your life when ye’ve a chance at happiness.”

  “My happiness lies at sea,” she whispered. “And here I am, without a ship.”

  Sweeney groaned. “For the love of all that’s wicked, the both of ye are as stubborn as mules. Talk to her. Talk to Granuaille and convince her ye want your ship back. I will follow ye all the way to England to get that bastard if ye want.”

  Antónia laughed, the sound leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. “Easier said than done.”

  “Ye’ve not even tried. Do ye love him?”

  Her lip quivered and she nodded. “I do love him, Sweeney. I do. And perhaps that is what hurts the most. I wanted to find someone to love, to share my adventures with. And I did. But how could our love ever be? He’s an English noble. By default my enemy.”

  Sweeney shrugged. “Who cares. And how will ye know if ye don’t try to find him?”

  She pressed her hand to his heart and smiled sadly. “I will never know. I cannot. Take the Lady Hook. She is yours. Grasp your dream, Sweeney, for it is coming true.” Antónia leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Part of it at least.”

  The warrior frowned, his handsome face creasing. “If ye will not, then I will. I will bring that sack of shite back here in chains.”

  Now she laughed in earnest. “Ye’ll do no such thing. But I do thank ye, for ye’ve lightened my heart, and if my ship were to go to anyone, I’d want it to go with ye.”

  Sweeney grunted, but pulled her against him anyway, tucking her in his large grasp, a brotherly hug that seemed to absorb much of her sadness. He believed in her. He believed in her love for Titus. That was enough. To feel that love validated, even if she could never act upon it.

  When Sweeney left her chamber, she returned to the night table and picked up the ring, sliding it onto her finger. The black of the ring would be a constant reminder to her, that she’d given up so much, for a few fleeting moments of happiness.

  Several days passed and each morning when Antónia awoke, she looked out to see that her ship still sat anchored in the bay beyond the castle walls. Why was Sweeney waiting?

  As the days passed, she still felt numb, but had enough energy to descend the stairs and interact—though mildly—with those in the great hall. Granuaille studied her with hooded, thinking eyes, but Antónia avoided them. If her grandmother was going to forbid her to love an Englishman, and take away her ship, then she was entitled to a few days of sulking. A mood she was thoroughly embracing.

  Then the devil showed up.

  Her father’s loud, booming voice practically shook the rafters. Antónia descended the stairs quickly as she heard him shouting her name.

  “Father,” she said, bowing her head.

  The Demon of Corraun took up the entire expanse of the doorway leading from the great hall. He was tall, broad and armed to the teeth.

  “Daughter, Granuaille sent for me,” he said brusquely.

  “’Tis good to see ye,” Antónia said, ignoring his reason for coming. “Can I get ye an ale or whiskey?”

  “What’s this about ye falling in love with a bloody Englishman?”

  “’Twas a trifle and fleeting.” She turned to a servant asking them for whiskey. She was going to need it for this conversation, for it seemed her father was not willing to let it go.


  “That, or it was bloody inventive.” He wrapped his thick arms around her and tugged her in for a hug, patting her awkwardly on the back.

  “Pardon, me?” Antónia pulled away, eyeing her father as though he’d gone mad.

  “To have an English noble, a Captain in Her Majesty’s Navy, no less, under your thumb… We could go far with the rebellion should he bend to your will.”

  Antónia’s face flamed, anger rising. She’d never use Titus in that way. She loved her people, her country, but she loved him, too, and she couldn’t stoop to such a devious and conniving level. That would hurt him, it would debase her feelings for him. Nay, never would she use him.

  “Well, ’tis a good thing we need not worry over it then,” she muttered.

  “A good thing it is, daughter, for I saw an English ship sailing along the coast just now.”

  Antónia felt all the blood drain from her face, pooling in her toes and making her dizzy. She reached out to grab on to something, only finding the shoulder of the woman carrying the whiskey.

  Was it possible? Was it Titus? Had he come for her? Or had he come to betray her?

  Her stomach flipped, eyes wide.

  A horn sounded from the battlements, a warning.

  The English, indeed, were upon them. She could hear the sounds of men shouting and then a cannon booming. The Lady Hook! They were attacking.

  Oh, heavens no! If he had come, even if he’d come to fight, she couldn’t allow him to die before she spoke to him.

  Antónia pushed past her father, rushing from the great hall, the sound of him shouting after her following, along with the sound of Granuaille’s laughter, her call of, “The Theodosia curse is upon us! True love in the form of an Englishman.”

  Ignoring them all, Antónia raced up the battlement stairs, taking the looking glass from the guard on top. A ship. Painted boldly in gold and shining in the sunlight was its name, Theodosia…

  “This cannot be…” she murmured.

  The Theodosia? It was a sign. He had come for her. Had named a ship for the legend behind The Lucius Ring.

  “Signal our ship to stop firing,” she ordered the guard on the battlements.

  When the guard hesitated, she shouted, “Now!”

  They signaled through blowing a horn to cease fire, and waving a flag in just the right pattern, and she was grateful to see that the cannons that had been discharged had missed their mark.

  An Englishman stood at the helm, but he was not dressed as a naval captain, but rather a lord.

  “What in bloody hell?” she muttered to herself. Perhaps it wasn’t Titus after all. She had to investigate.

  Her finger tingled as she descended the stairs and ran through the gate, down the path toward the docks.

  “Row me out!” she ordered.

  “Nay, my lady, ’tis too dangerous.”

  “Then I’ll do it myself.” She started to shove a row boat to the shore.

  “Nay, nay! Granuaille will have my head.”

  “I will have your head, for when Granuaille is gone, who do ye think will rule? And who do ye think will remember that ye weren’t very good at following orders?” Antónia hated to pull on that vicious hat, but it needed to be done to be heard, to be obeyed.

  “Aye, my lady. Aye. Allow me.”

  Several guards pushed the boat into the water, with her inside. They climbed in surrounding her like a human shield and rowed her out to the Lady Hook.

  When she arrived, she started to climb the rope ladder only to see Sweeney’s smiling face at the top.

  “I see I don’t need to make good on my promise to bring the English sot to ye, Annie, for he’s done a good job of finding ye himself.”

  “The Theodosia?”

  “Aye. A grand statement, if I ever saw one.”

  Sweeney pulled her over the side as the Theodosia sailed closer and then she could hear Titus’ voice carrying on the wind.

  “By order of the queen, I have come to collect Lady Antónia Burke—my bride. Come willingly, else I be compelled to board your ship and take what is mine, for this Sea Dog has letters of marque, and won’t hesitate to make good on them.”

  “Alas, we are at an impasse, Captain, for there is no lady aboard this ship,” Antónia shouted.

  Titus’ laughter could be heard across the water. “I will take her in whatever form she chooses, but it is my hope she’ll sail the seas with me, plundering ships and collecting doubloons.”

  “And what about Calais? What about a tavern romance?” she called.

  “We make the Theodosia our home, and every port our Calais.” A confession of love in their own language.

  Antónia’s heart lurched and she stared down at her finger. The ring had turned from black to a brilliant red.

  “I would sail the earth with ye, English.”

  “And I you, pirate wench.”

  Sweeney tossed the grappling hooks, tugging the ships close as Antónia climbed onto the rail. She barely waited for the distance to close before leaping through the air. Titus caught her in his arms, swinging her around in a circle, his eyes alight with pleasure, happiness and love.

  “I love you, pirate wench,” he whispered.

  “I love ye, too, English.”

  Antónia wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned up, just as he lowered his mouth to hers. Their lips collided in heated passion, longing. How could she ever have imagined a life without him?

  “How can this be?” she asked.

  “’Tis fate.”

  “I don’t believe in such things.”

  “Then believe in us, my love.”

  “I do. I do.”

  Titus lifted her into his arms and shouted, “Pardon us, we’ve business to discuss. An addendum to write.”

  “Best keep the sails low,” Antónia teased, repeating his words from their first transaction. “And prepare to settle in. Storms brewing and we’ll likely not be done for a few hours.”

  “Days.”

  And then Titus was kissing her again and the whole world erupted into cheers.

  The End

  If you enjoyed BREATH FROM THE SEA, please spread the word by leaving a review on the site where you purchased your copy, or a reader site such as Goodreads or Shelfari! I love to hear from readers, too, so drop me a line at authorelizaknight@gmail.com OR visit me on Facebook: facebook.com/elizaknightauthor. I’m also on Twitter: @ElizaKnight. If you’d like to receive my occasional newsletter, please sign up at www.elizaknight.com. Many thanks!

  About the Author

  Eliza Knight is an award-winning and USA Today bestselling indie author of over fifty sizzling historical romance and erotic romance. Under the name E. Knight, she pens rip-your-heart-out historical fiction. While not reading, writing or researching for her latest book, she chases after her three children. In her spare time (if there is such a thing…) she likes daydreaming, wine-tasting, traveling, hiking, staring at the stars, watching movies, shopping and visiting with family and friends. She lives atop a small mountain with her own knight in shining armor, three princesses and two very naughty puppies. Visit Eliza at www.elizaknight.com or her historical blog History Undressed: www.historyundressed.com.

  More Books by Eliza Knight

  The Thistles and Roses Series

  Promise of a Knight

  Eternally Bound

  The Conquered Bride Series

  Conquered by the Highlander

  Seduced by the Laird

  Taken by the Highlander (a Conquered Bride novella)

  Claimed by the Warrior

  Coming soon…

  Protected by the Laird (a Conquered bride novella) – November 1, 2016

  Guarded by the Warrior – November 29, 2016

  The Stolen Bride Series

  The Highlander’s Temptation

  The Highlander’s Reward

  The Highlander’s Conquest

  The Highlander’s Lady

  The Highlander’s Warrior Bride

  The High
lander’s Triumph

  The Highlander’s Sin

  Wild Highland Mistletoe (a Stolen Bride winter novella)

  The Highlander’s Charm (a Stolen Bride novella)

  A Kilted Christmas Wish – a contemporary Holiday spin-off

  The MacDougall Legacy Series

  Laird of Shadows – September 27, 2016 in the Once Upon a Haunted Castle anthology

  The Highland Bound Series

  (erotic time-travel)

  Behind the Plaid

  Bared to the Laird

  Dark Side of the Laird

  Highlander’s Touch

  Highlander Undone

  Highlander Unraveled

  Coming soon…

  Draped in Plaid

  Under the name E. Knight

  Tales From the Tudor Court

  My Lady Viper

  Prisoner of the Queen

  Ancient Historical Fiction

  A Day of Fire: a novel of Pompeii

  A Year of Ravens: a novel of Boudica’s Rebellion

  Other Ever My Love Titles

  Dear Reader,

  If you want to read more titles in the Ever My Love collection, please do! You can follow the ring as it makes its way through the centuries!

  Of Love and Legend by Kathryn Le Veque: Medieval England – The ring finds its way into a notorious outlaw’s possession only to curse the woman he loves.

  Forever Her Champion by Suzan Tisdale: The Scottish Highlands – The ring escapes with a little girl… and the curse follows.

  Breath from the Sea by Eliza Knight: Tudor England – The ring once again becomes the prize for the lawless when an infamous female pirate tries to steal it from a Queen’s Naval Captain.

  Only You by Cheryl Bolen: Georgian Era – Twin sisters vie for the ring – and for the Duke of Axminster.

  Call of the Wild Wind by Sabrina York: Regency England – The ring enters the proud and proper Regency set where the curse finds new life.

  The Guardian Mist by Susan Stoker: Modern Times – Mistaken identity, soul mates, and the last chance for the ring to fulfill its destiny.

  Enjoy!

  Eliza

  What a Rogue Wants

  Julie Johnstone

  Dedication

  For my father who has been my loyalist and most supportive fan from the start. I love you.