Page 11 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

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he woman turned into a wild cat, clawing, scratching, and kicking. It took all of Blake’s strength to avoid getting mauled. Slamming her back against his chest—to avoid her deadly feet—he pinned her arms and leaned to whisper in her ear. “Shh, shh, little tiger. ’Tis I.”

She ceased her struggling. For but a second. Before she elbowed him in the gut.

Grunting, Blake loosened his grip. “’Tis me, Captain Keene,” he repeated, foolishly thinking his identity would calm her.

“Let me go, you fiend!” She attempted to kick him backward, but her legs became entangled in her sodden skirts.

“Your word you will not run, Miss,” he ground out.

Heaving a deep breath, she finally nodded.

The tap-tap of raindrops drummed an ominous cadence on the roof of an overhang above them that stretched from Delphine’s house to what was once a stable.

He freed her, and she took one step and spun to face him, anger blooming red over her moist face. A single saturated curl dangled across her cheek. He neither expected nor saw the slap that stung his jaw.

Repressing a grin at her tenacity, he rubbed it, studying her.

Her eyes sparked fire. “What do you want with me? Have you not done enough harm?”

Rain glistened in her lashes and dripped from her hair, down her neck and onto….He forced down a burst of desire.

She slapped him again. “Stop looking at me like that!”

He arched his brows. “That’s the last strike that will go unpunished, Miss.”

Her body stiffened—with anger or fear he couldn’t tell. Either way, it drew his gaze once again to her chest. He’d not thought the lady possessed such curves. “When I left you with Delphine, I had no idea you would take up the trade so quickly,” he teased.

“Very amusing.” The lady’s eyes became slits of fury as she attempted to cover her chest with her hands. A blush exploded across her cheeks, pushing aside the anger. She lowered her gaze. “’Twas the only gown she had to replace mine.”

Adorable . Her rare innocence had a curious effect on him.

She swallowed hard as moisture filled her eyes. And he suddenly felt like the cad he was.

“What is it you want?” she muttered.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Raindrops fell from the roof and splashed into puddles below. The storm was heading out. The one within this lady had only just begun.

A sudden urge to take her in his arms and comfort her sent a tumult of confusion through him. Hang it, what was wrong with him? He stiffened his jaw. “I want what is mine.”

Burning arrows fired from her eyes. “Is that the only reason you came?”

“Should there be another?”

She stomped her foot in the mud, splashing his boots. “Perhaps leaving a defenseless lady alone in a brothel far from home would be enough reason for a gentleman to reconsider his actions and return to make amends.”

She said the words so matter-of-factly, so honestly, that they brooked no argument, save the only one he had. He was no gentleman. Yet that she considered it a possibility made something inside him suddenly want to be.

“I left you in good hands, provided for your care, and sent a post to your father.” He huffed. “’Tis more than any other pirate would do.” Then why did he feel so ashamed?

b

Chilled, Emeline hugged herself, doing her best to cover her low neckline, and gazed toward the street. A rivulet of water streamed over the muddy cobblestones, lit by a single ray of sunshine that pierced the departing clouds. A single ray of light in the darkness . A ray of hope from her Father above? She would cling to that, for ’twas quite obvious this pirate took no care for her welfare—for anyone’s but his own.

She faced him. His black hair hung in strands about his face, dripping water onto his leather jerkin then onto the white cambric shirt he wore. Saturated, the cloth clung to firm rounded muscles across his chest and ripples of strength down his belly. An odd warmth spiraled through her. She thought of the Jesuits. This man had the strength to protect her. He could be her champion, just like her father had been for her mother. But heroes were made of more than sinew and strength.

He drew an impatient breath and glanced onto the street where more rays of the sun broke through the clouds, creating rainbows in the puddles. The black pearl in his ear glistened, and she wondered at its significance, along with the cross and emblem he always wore around his neck.

He faced her again and for a moment she thought she saw remorse, even shame in his eyes, giving her hope that perhaps he would protect her and take her home.

Instead, he rubbed his knuckles over the stubble on his jaw, then gripped the hilt of his sword with one hand and held out his other, palm up.

Did he intend to run her through if she refused him the Ring? Huffing, she flattened her lips and shoved her hand into her skirt pocket. The cold, wet fabric sent a chill across her shoulders. Why had she not thrown the hellish thing in the bay as she’d planned? She dropped it into his hand. “Take your cursed Ring and be gone, Captain. May our paths never again cross, for you are an insolent sot, a scoundrel of the worst kind!”

He closed his fingers over the artifact and chuckled. “The worst kind, you say? Nay.” He raised his hand toward her. Flinching, she started to back away, but then he eased a strand of hair behind her ear before running the back of his fingers over her cheek. Ever so gently, ever so softly, as a lover would do. “If I were, I would do with you what every ounce of me longs to do.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Fear flooded her at both his words and the simmering look in his eyes—eyes that examined every inch of her face.

He slipped the Ring onto his finger. Then before she could stop him, he leaned in and kissed her…full on the lips. Quick, gentle, and sensuous, leaving her so stunned she could neither move nor utter a word.

Or ignore the heat that flooded her.

Then turning, he dashed onto the street and disappeared from sight.

Emeline touched her lips.

’Twas her first kiss.

Delphine was entertaining , so Emeline quickly slipped into her chamber and took off her wet skirts. Thankfully, Miss Catherine had laid out her clean gown, chemise, petticoats, stockings, and stays on the bed. Still, as Emeline dressed, she could not tear her thoughts from Captain Keene. Her emotions spun in a cyclone of rage, frustration, and shame one minute to an odd desire and sorrow at never seeing him again the next.

“Oh, pah!” She plopped onto her bed as moisture filled her eyes. “What is wrong with me?” Why such strong sentiments for a man who had proven himself to be naught but a beastly cad? Surely, she was merely missing her parents, her family. She had been through a terrifying ordeal, and now she had Jesuits in pursuit. Any lady would be out of sorts. In truth, any interest, any affection shown by anyone would cause hope to stir, even if that anyone had the decency of a bilge rat.

She swiped moisture from her eyes and rose to move to the window. Dark clouds retreated on the horizon, leaving the wet city glistening in the sunlight. ’Twas as if God Himself gave the wicked place a much-needed cleansing. If only it would last.

The bare tops of masts swayed in the bay, and she wondered which one was the Summon s. Certainly the captain would set sail as soon as he returned to his ship.

Leaving her alone and defenseless.

Would it have mattered if she’d told him about the Jesuits? Most likely not. He had his Ring. Naught else mattered to him.

Which is precisely why she must get the churlish pirate out of her thoughts completely.

Moving to the looking glass, she yanked pins from her sodden hair and did her best to sift through the tangles with her fingers.

The sounds drifting from downstairs transformed from soft lovers’ moans to rising voices.

Doing her best to ignore them, Emeline stared at her reflection and sighed. Why had the captain kissed her? She was no raving beauty, at least not like her sister and mother. Her hair was the color of dull wheat, her face too round, her chin too pointed, and though they had drawn the man’s gaze, her breasts were far too small for her body. Besides, no doubt the handsome pirate had his choice of females wherever he went.

Pressing fingers on her lips, she could still feel his touch, smell his musky scent of the sea and rum. Oh, Lord, why did the first man to kiss me have to be a vile pirate ? When all she ever wanted was a hero like her father or brother.

More importantly, why was she still thinking about him?

The voices from downstairs grew louder. Curses and accusations trumpeted up the stairs. Emeline moved to the door and listened, hugging herself.

Glass shattered. A woman screamed, “ Non, non, arrêtez !”

Emeline’s heart raced. Flinging open her door, she barreled down the stairs, past the front parlor and into the receiving room. A bull of a man slammed Delphine against a wall, pinning her arms beside her and spitting obscenities in her face. Her hair hung in disheveled waves, and a trickle of blood spilled from the corner of her mouth. Eyes full of fear snapped to Emeline.

So, Emeline did the only thing she thought to do. She grabbed a vase from the table, charged the man, and slammed it over his head.

He folded onto Delphine, but the woman quickly shoved him away, sending him toppling to the floor with a thud.

For several minutes, Delphine stared at him, her chest heaving as an odd silence invaded the room. Finally, she looked up, took Emeline’s outstretched hand, and stepped over his unconscious body. She trembled as Emeline led her to the settee.

Miss Catherine appeared at the door, her eyes wide as they scanned the man and then her mistress. Shrieking, she flung a hand to her mouth.

“Catherine, please get a rag, a bowl of water, and some honey or comfrey ointment if you have any,” Emeline ordered.

The woman sped off as Emeline eased beside Delphine, who was still breathing hard.

“How can I thank you?” she finally muttered, drawing the corners of her robe over her silk nightdress.

“’Tis all right now. You’re safe,” Emeline said, but Delphine’s gaze sped to the brute of a man who had attacked her.

“We must get him outside before he wakes.” The urgency in her tone caused Emeline’s own nerves to tighten.

“We will.” Emeline squeezed her hand as Miss Catherine entered with rags, a bowl of water, and a jar.

She set them down. “What else can I do for you, mistress?” Worry tainted her voice.

When Delphine did not answer, Emeline glanced up. “Some tea would be lovely, Catherine.” Nodding, the woman sped off.

Dipping a rag in the water, Emeline dabbed at the blood on Delphine’s lips.

Wincing, she tried to push Emeline away. “I’m all right. There is no need.”

“At least allow me to put some honey on it. It will stop the bleeding and heal it nicely.”

Delphine’s blue eyes met Emeline’s, fear and shame drifting across them. “We really must remove him.”

“Do you have a footman or butler? Anyone who could lift him?” Emeline dabbed the honey on the small cut.

“ Non , just me and Catherine. I had a groomsman, but I could no longer afford him.” Moisture filled the lady’s eyes.

“Then we will do it ourselves. Just gather your strength for a moment.” Finishing her ministrations, Emeline put down the rag and jar and took Delphine’s hand in hers again. “You’re still trembling.”

“I thought he would kill me.” She swallowed hard, her lovely forehead crinkling.

“What happened?”

“ Je ne sais pas . He’s a new client.” She pursed her lips, then winced at the pain. “Sometimes they are angry at women, perhaps due to the rebuke of a wife or lover, and they take it out on me.”

What a terrible way to live. “I’m so sorry, Delphine. I’m glad I was here.”

“I am, as well.” Delphine attempted a smile.

But what if Emeline hadn’t been there? Would Miss Catherine have rescued her? Or would Delphine now be lying in a pool of her blood with the villain roaming free, for who gave a care for a harlot?

“You told me I could be free from the control of men,” Emeline said, “from needing them to protect and provide.” Pausing, she lifted a quick prayer for the right words. “Are you not doing the very same thing? Where would you be without men and their wealth?”

At first, she thought she had angered the lady, for Delphine said naught for several minutes. Then she let out a painful sigh and pulled her hand from Emeline’s. “Of course you are right, ma chérie . I hadn’t thought of it in that way. Mais oui , I am as much a prisoner of men’s power as any woman.”

“I know a way to freedom,” Emeline blurted out.

Delphine frowned. “Is there such a thing in this world?”

“’Tis found in the Son of God, who died for you, who loves you, and longs to set you free.”

“Bah!” Rising, Delphine waved an arm through the air. “There is no freedom found in religion. Only more slavery.”

“I quite agree. I don’t speak of religion. I speak of a relationship with God Himself. He forgives. He loves. He gives purpose and meaning to your life.”

Delphine met Emeline’s gaze, suspicion and…perhaps a hint of interest within it? A vision appeared. A man and a young Delphine alone in a darkened room, the man advancing, Delphine cowering. And Emeline knew this poor woman had been ravished when she’d been but a young girl.

“I perceive that something horrible happened to you when you were young, did it not? A man attacked you.”

Shock fired from Delphine’s eyes. “ Mon dieu , how...?” She stared at Emeline in confusion, then quickly looked away. “It matters not. It was a long time ago.”

Emeline stood. “It matters a great deal, for it has set the course of your life. A life you do not have to live anymore.”

Delphine swallowed, then stiffened her jaw. “I will never be beholden to a man again.”

“Yet you make yourself so every day.” Emeline gestured toward the beast, who thankfully remained unconscious on the floor.

Sorrow and pain spilled from Delphine’s eyes before they suddenly hardened again. “ Dépêchez-vous ! We must get him out of here.”

It took all three of them to drag the bully out of the house and down the street, lobbing his body over moist cobblestones and through mud puddles. Finally, they deposited him in a muddy heap in front of the physician’s home. Even though she was grateful the man didn’t wake, Emeline felt a twinge of guilt at the bloody gash on the back of his head.

“Doctor Crenshaw will tend to him,” Delphine announced as they walked back to her home.

“’Tis more than he deserves,” Catherine added, rubbing the muscles in her arm.

“ Oui .” Delphine sighed. “But I want no blood on my hands.”

“’Twould be on my hands,” Emeline said, raising her brows, as they mounted the steps to the red door that marked Delphine’s house. “However, I do think you need to hire a groomsman for protection. I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn’t come home when I did.”

Smiling, Delphine nodded. “I fear you are right. For now, let us all forget this horrid event and enjoy our evening.”

An evening that consisted of a cold supper of cheese, bread, salted fish, and an early retirement to each of their beds. Beyond exhaustion, Emeline fell deep asleep despite the frightening events of the day.

Nightmares crept into her mind—the creak of her door opening, the pad of footsteps on the floor boards, the scent of bergamot, a man’s whisper.

Then the slam of a hand over her mouth. A rag was stuffed within it. A cloth covered her nose. A sweet, smoky scent filled her lungs. A peace she didn’t feel threatened to drag her into unconsciousness. Nay! Flailing her arms, she tried to rise. Muscular arms hefted her up from her bed.

This was no dream. This was real!