Ever My Love: The Lore of the Lucius Ring (The Legend of the Theodosia Sword Book 2)

by Kathryn Le Veque

  The merchant captain sneered, though it was brief, confirming Titus’ conclusions. Pirates? Likely.

  The man waved his hand and gave off a smooth laugh that Titus suspected worked well with ladies. The intended effect was sadly lost on him.

  “That won’t be necessary, Captain Graves. I did not get my point across completely. Master Cáis does not intend to sell his cheese to the Indian people, but the English who reside there.”

  The hairs on the back of Titus’ neck rose. He’d not told this man his name, which meant the merchant captain had information he wouldn’t normally be privy to. That could only mean one thing—the Little Dove was a pirate ship. And the lengthy waylaying their captain had maintained was only a diversion. But from what?

  Titus remained calm, not letting the man know he was on to him. “All the same, I’ll need to board.”

  “By all means.” The shadows on the merchant/pirate’s face disappeared for a moment as he lifted his head, showing Titus the familiar visage. “We are more than happy to provide you with an itinerary as well.”

  Titus nodded curtly, the tingles along his spine growing hot. The pirate before him was none other than the second mate to Lady Antónia Burke, the very wench who’d just attacked his ship the hour before. Whatever sort of manifesto they claimed to have would be nonexistent.

  “A moment, good sir.” Titus turned to Grenville and whispered, “Quietly call the men to arms. Ready the cannons. I’ve a feeling this will not go over well.”

  “Captain, I urge you not to go aboard,” Grenville said. “This doesn’t feel right.”

  “We are at the advantage. I know this is the Lady Hook in disguise. They do not suspect I know this yet. We have the upper hand.”

  The water was cold, and though Antónia had eased her way into it, it was still a shock. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering and made her way slowly so as not to cause too much of a sound toward The Lionheart. Above, she could hear voices as the men spoke. The water lapped at the sides of the ships, bouncing her a little more wildly than she would have liked.

  She reached the side of The Lionheart and gazed up. The queen’s men, Graves included, all appeared to have their attention on Sweeney and her crew. None would be looking down; at least she prayed that was the case. Studying the stern of Graves’ ship, she took hold of rigging that dragged in the water. Slick with algae, at first she couldn’t get a decent grip, but then she managed to find a spot that she could hold firmly. Slowly, she eased her way out of the water, thighs tight around the hemp, arms stretching high and pulling her weight from the sea. A slight breeze blew, freezing her wet clothes to her skin.

  The higher she climbed, the harder she gripped. The rigging cut into her water-soaked skin, stinging. She was sure to have splinters when she was through, but Antónia pushed past the pain. As she climbed, she kept her breaths even, and an eye on the sailors above. The last thing she needed was a slug in her brain as she made this daring attempt. Sweeney would forever damn her soul and she’d be putting her men at risk.

  A porthole above looked to be open and she paused on the rope just below to listen. There did not appear to be any sound from within. One hand on the rigging, she grabbed hold of the porthole and drew herself close enough to peer inside, muscles burning.

  Holy Mary… The opulence matched her own cabin. A sizable bed, with real linens and a blanket. A desk, cabinetry, shelves, table and chairs, a thick woven rug. This had to be Captain Graves’ cabin! What luck!

  Was Fate trying to send her some kind of message?

  Nay, Antónia didn’t believe in such things.

  ’Twas The Lucius Ring calling to her.

  Antónia climbed the rigging a little higher, her arms screaming for relief, and hoisted herself through the porthole feet first. Thank goodness she’d bound her breasts, as the fit was a bit snug on her hips and would have certainly caught at her chest.

  Lucky for her, there was a chair just beneath the porthole, and she pressed her feet to it precariously as she pulled the rest of herself through. Antónia paused, listening, half convincing herself she could hear breathing.

  Convinced she was alone, she stepped down from the chair and walked immediately to the captain’s desk, her boots making squishing noises and leaving wet prints as a map to every place she walked. Now, where would the ring be hiding? She pulled out and rifled through each drawer. Maps, journals, quill and ink. Coins—which she pocketed—a dagger, some string, a sewing kit. A bottle of liquor—which she took a swig from.

  Hmm. Actually quite good, but there was no room for her to take it.

  And there was no ring.

  “If I were the British captain…” she murmured, but then paused, swearing she could hear breathing once more.

  And then she felt it. Breathing, on her leg. A hot, sticky lick.

  Antónia leapt back, yanking out her dagger, prepared to stab whoever had dared to lick her, and came face-to-face with a large hound of black, white and brown coloring. His tongue hung from the side of his mouth and he studied her with a cocked head and kind eyes.

  “Ye’re not a very good guard dog are ye?” Antónia asked, scratching the mutt behind his ears.

  He licked her hand. Nay, not a good guard dog at all.

  Deciding the dog wouldn’t give her away, she moved to a wardrobe, and tugged it open. The captain’s clothes hung on hooks within, a pair of shiny riding boots were on the bottom, and a wooden box with filigreed corners sat right beside them.

  Antónia bent to open the decorated chest when the hound barked and scratched at the door.

  She jerked her gaze toward the hound and waved her arm, as if that would make him quiet. “Shh!”

  But the hound only stared at her, barking and scratching again.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake!” With the mutt making all that racket, anyone could come down to see if there was a problem, or to simply let him out. She needed to make him be quiet—and she wasn’t about to hit him over the head with her blunderbuss, or stab him through the heart. A hound like this, a kind one, he was worth more than most men in her book.

  She’d just let him out herself.

  Antónia hurried to the door, opened it, and shooed the hound out, then locked the door behind him.

  She returned to the filigreed chest, sliding her fingers over the shiny wood. But when she tried to pry open the lid, it was locked. Had she seen a key in the desk? She didn’t recall. And she didn’t have time to think on it either.

  Why hadn’t she thought to bring her lock pick?

  No matter, she rummaged through the captain’s clothes, finding a belt. She used the pin in the buckle and picked the chest’s lock in under a minute. Picking locks had been a fun pastime for her and Sweeney when they were growing up. They’d often snooped through the contents of a score when Granuaille had collected the tolls from passing ships, and they’d picked a door or two—sometimes seeing things that made them giggle. And one time resulted in their first kiss…

  Oy, but she didn’t have time to be thinking about stuff like that. Childish antics and awkward moments she’d rather not repeat.

  But the thought of kisses only reminded her of the one she’d shared with Captain Graves. She opened the chest with that image in her mind and was quickly awestruck by the sight of the ring she’d been searching for, for so long, shining bright from the velvet depths. The stone was ruby red, and seemed to glow, odd since not a candle was lit and the cabin was a little gloomy.

  What had the legend stated? That love was within sight if the ruby was red?

  She pulled it out of the chest and slid it onto her left ring finger, feeling the power of it tingle through her skin. The coloring did not change.

  The question was, did she believe in signs?

  Not truly, no more so than she believed in Fate.

  Even still… It was glowing, blood red. Was The Lucius Ring telling her she was in love?

  Could she believe?

  If she didn’t, wh
y had she risked her life and that of her crew to fetch this bobble? It was not simply because Granuaille would have loved to own it. No, there was the true reason. She wanted to find love—to find the one.

  Antónia may have been a pirate, a hellion to most, but that didn’t mean she didn’t seek happiness. A family.

  She tugged at the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. Her knuckles must have swollen after she put it on. She stuck her finger in her mouth and tugged at the ring with her teeth—but still it wouldn’t move. Almost as though the ring had chosen her…

  Chapter Five

  Just before his men raised the board allowing him to pass between the two ships, Titus heard his dog, Storm, bark. The sound was far off at first, as though he barked from the cabin where Titus had left him, but then it drew closer. The deep undertones of his massive hound rumbled the deck and Titus whistled for his men to stop what they were doing.

  Storm had been locked in his cabin for a reason. A wonderful rescue dog, particularly in a storm—which was where he gained his moniker—the hound also liked to regulate the crew a bit too much and had been in a particular mood this morning, nipping one of the swabbies who’d been mending a sail.

  With behavior like that, Titus was of half a mind to keep Storm at home, but he’d never crossed a hound with better skill at sea, and so, Storm was kept locked up when he misbehaved.

  Except there came his large white and brown head, tongue wagging in the breeze as he bounded across the deck. Who would have let him out? Not any of his crew. They’d not dare go against Titus.

  “Ballocks,” Titus growled.

  There was only one explanation that made any sense—and yet made no sense at all. While the large pirate had treated Titus and his crew to a most disturbing story of his bowels, someone, or many, had boarded his ship in secret. They were in his cabin. And since he knew the Little Dove to truly be the Lady Hook he could guess at who it was and what she was looking for.

  “Pardon me a moment, gentleman,” Titus said to the merchant captain. “I’m going to get you a map that I think will help with your travels.”

  Though the false merchant captain blubbered over a response, Titus ignored him, whistling to his hound that immediately came to sit before him.

  Titus eyed Grenville, then patted the dog on his massive head. “Well, Storm, done with your nap and keeping an eye on everyone I see.”

  Grenville and several of the crew stiffened, coming to the same conclusion as Titus. While they’d been waylaid with the mindless chatter, that sneaky little chit had managed to board. How the hell has she done it? Only a daring fool would do such a thing. Which he’d discovered she was both, daring and a fool.

  At a steady, but un-alarming clip, he walked across the deck toward the stairs leading just below to his cabin.

  The door was closed, not that he’d expected to find it open. If Lady Antónia had breached their hull, and let his hound out, she wouldn’t have left the portal wide as an invitation.

  Titus drew his pistol, loading a single shot, not that he planned to shoot her. Just scare her a little—and if she was with anyone, perhaps put a bullet in their foot. He tested the door handle. As slow and quiet as he could, he pressed, but the lever didn’t budge. Locked.

  Another fact he was not a bit surprised to find.

  The only way out was the porthole—and not a big enough opening for a man to escape from. He couldn’t wait to hear just how she’d managed to get into his cabin without anyone the wiser.

  Titus pulled the key from around his neck and inserted it into the lock, and just as he’d suspected, he could hear scrambling from the other side. Deftly he unlocked the door and thrust it open.

  But he was not expecting to come face-to-face with the O’Malley wench. Not in the least.

  She stood in the center of his cabin, ruby-red lips forming an “O”, creamy cheeks colored red as roses and her eyes, green as an Irish heath blazed at him with both surprise and fury. Her red hair was darkened, wet, and tendrils fell around her face, sticking to her cheeks and neck. She was dressed differently than when he’d seen her a few hours before. Her black linen shirt clinging to her curves, her bust flattened considerably from what he’d felt. Leather breeches leeched to her thighs and hips like a second skin.

  If she wasn’t in his cabin, presumably robbing him blind, he’d have swooped her up into his embrace, laid her out on his bed and ravished her. Hell, maybe he still would.

  As it was, she held a blunderbuss in one hand, pointing it toward his chest, the other behind her back.

  “What the hell are you doing?” This was going to be good.

  She bit her lip, not answering.

  Titus glanced at his wardrobe, which, though mostly closed, was still slightly ajar. “Let me see your hand,” he ordered.

  There was only one thing in that wardrobe that could be of interest to the daring pirate wench—well, unless she was interested in stealing his clothes, which judging from this being the second set of male garb he’d seen her in wasn’t entirely out of the question. But, he was fairly certain considering their last encounter, she was after The Lucius Ring. And probably had it hidden behind her back now.

  She raised the barrel, pointing it at his head. “Don’t take another step, ye jackanapes.”

  Titus bared his teeth. “You’ll not dare shoot an officer in Her Majesty’s Navy. Not when your entire family depends on her good will. I’ll not ask again, show me what you’re hiding.”

  Antónia laughed, a sound that in any other situation might have been construed as jovial. “Ye’re even more a fool than I thought. And ye needn’t ask. I’ve nothing to show ye that ye haven’t seen before.”

  “A mere play on words, madam.” Titus took another step forward, lowering his weapon, hoping to show her that he wasn’t afraid and he wouldn’t hurt her.

  “Perhaps.” She started to back up toward the porthole and he realized that must have been how she’d gotten inside his cabin.

  He’d left the window open for Storm, the dog’s scent was slightly overpowering when at sea. Impressive that she could have climbed the side of his boat. That took strength, agility, daring. Why did she have to be such an amazing woman? He wanted to hate her, but with every breath he found himself drawn more to her.

  Well, no matter how fascinated he was, he couldn’t let her leave. “Stop right there.” Titus aimed the gun toward her chest.

  She didn’t stop moving, but her smile widened. “Ye’d shoot a woman?”

  “Have we not had a similar conversation regarding whether I’d dare harm you?” Even he could hear the lie in his voice.

  She shrugged, her gaze shifting about his room in a manner he recognized—she was looking for another means of escape. He’d give her that. Antónia was a crafty lass. And blast it, but he admired her for it.

  She thrust out her chest, perhaps a move that might have worked to gain his attention had she not bound her supple breasts, but she had, and he could see the irritation in her eyes when he raised a speculative brow. An annoyed huff came from her luscious lips and she straightened.

  “I’ll make a deal with ye,” she said.

  “I don’t make deals with pirates.” But he did lower his pistol.

  She did the same, a gesture of good faith. Interesting.

  “An agreement then, Graves, one that benefits us both.”

  Titus crossed his arms over his chest. “I am intrigued.”

  Antónia swallowed, pursing her lips, and a little more red came to her cheeks than was already there. “The ring, in exchange for a… favor.”

  “A favor?”

  “Aye.”

  Titus grinned. “What favor could I possibly need from a pirate? Especially a pirate who is in my cabin with no way of getting out? I could arrest you right now. Take you back to the Tower and be done with it. Why, I could even house you in the same cell your uncle rotted in a decade ago.”

  That caused her to pale a fraction, but instead of backing down, she stra
ightened her shoulders and faced him square on. Damn, but he liked that about her. She was brave, even if she was foolish.

  Fear was quickly replaced with anger that flashed in her eyes. “Ye can try, Graves, but I’ll not allow it.”

  He grunted.

  “About the favor. ’Tis one, given your earlier… attentions, that I think ye’ll be more than willing to satisfy.”

  “My earlier attentions?” Titus frowned, not quite following her line of thought.

  The lady had the temerity to look almost offended. “The kiss.”

  “Ah.” Now he knew exactly where she was going and he liked it—and so did his body, judging by the tightening of his groin. Alas, he wanted to toy with her a bit more. “You want to kiss me in exchange for the ring? An ancient relic that if I do not deliver to France my queen will most assuredly reprimand me for it, for a mere kiss?” He clucked his tongue and shook his head.

  “I’m certain ye could find another ring to replace it with. Every port is full of gypsies selling their knock offs. And if a kiss is all that is required, than aye.”

  Again, Titus grunted. He recalled vividly the touch of her lips, the sting of her teeth grazing his tongue, the lushness of her body crushed to his. Heat flickered in his veins and he shifted to hide the way blood surged between his hips. Apparently, his mind wasn’t the only thing that recalled how good it felt to kiss Antónia.

  “What do you mean if a kiss is all I require?”

  “I’m willing to… pay a little more. I want the ring, Graves, and if it didn’t endanger my family, make no mistake, I’d put a bullet between your eyes to get it.”

  Titus grinned, having no doubt she’d do it. “How much are ye willing to pay?” Ballocks, but he would strip her bare if she let him.