Page 14 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

B

lake wanted to vomit at the look of impertinence on the hawkish princox’s face. Gripping the hilt of his cutlass, his fingers ached to draw it and put an end to the Jesuit captain’s miserable life. He’d do so if not for the lady standing just yards behind the odious beast, a look of terror twisting her lovely features.

He’d spotted her as soon as they’d sailed into the bay, kept his eye on her as they brought the brig to a halt and dropped anchor, and felt her eyes lock upon him as he, Finn, and Maston, along with Bandit, rowed the jollyboat to shore.

Now, as he approached Arturo Della Morte, the Ring warmed on his finger. Odd, that. ’Twas as if it knew what he intended to do. Perhaps reading minds was another of its powers, for he had yet to discover all its secrets.

The Jesuit cocked his hip, grinning as Blake and his men approached. On either side of him, two fellow Jesuits eyed the proceedings as if bored, both dressed in the same black suits with golden insignia, pearl-colored Venetian hose, and doublets with sleeves stitched in silver. Over Della Morte’s shoulder, Blake dared a glance at Emeline. The tangled strands of her hair waved across her waist in the light breeze. Her gown was wrinkled and stained, but he could see no wounds on her skin. Only the ones in her gaze as she stared his way. Still, she stood tall and sturdy, her chin out, her jaw stiff, her lips flat. No wilting flower here.

Movement amongst the trees alerted him that Della Morte had hidden men for a possible ambush. As Blake expected. Also, as he expected, the bow of the Jesuit frigate peeked around the inlet and floated across the entrance, blocking their exit.

But Blake had a few surprises of his own. Halting before the Jesuit, he studied him. Ringlets of dark hair danced about his shoulders as he fingered a pointed beard sprouting from his chin with one hand and gripped the hilt of a jeweled saber with the other. A breeze drifted in from the sea, stirring the purple plume atop the man’s hat.

“What need of all this?” Blake waved a hand toward the frigate and then the men hidden in the forest. “Seems my reputation precedes me of being a formidable foe. You are right to fear me.”

Finn chuckled.

“Ha!” Della Morte snorted, while his greedy eyes latched onto the Ring on Blake’s finger. “The only reputation you have is one of a thief and swindler. Therefore, I took precautions. Now, let us be done with it.” He held out his open palm. “The Ring, if you please.”

Blake gestured toward Emeline. “The lady first, if you please.”

Della Morte blew out a huff and gestured for her to be brought forward. “Despicable how you Englishmen are domineered by your women. Ergo, under the circumstances, I counted on your doting infatuation.”

One of his men retreated and dragged Emeline forward.

Blake ground his teeth. Maston gripped the hilt of his blade.

Against every impulse to run the insolent bawcock through, Blake gave a tight smile. “I count on your honor, Signor, since you present yourself as the Pope’s man.”

The Jesuit’s slit-like eyes dropped to the cross around Blake’s neck. “It is a blasphemy for you to wear our Lord’s cross.”

“No more than you, Signor,” Blake returned.

The accusation hit its mark as Della Morte grimaced and once again stroked the hilt of his blade.

His man brought Emeline to stand beside the Jesuit fool.

Blake met her gaze—a longing, along with terror, in her eyes and a confidence he hoped he was conveying in his.

Della Morte held out his hand once again. Sunlight reflected off the jewels already adorning his fingers as wind fluttered the lace of his wide, embroidered sleeves.

Out of the corner of his eye, Blake spotted Bandit perched upon the branch of a nearby tree. Everything relied on the monkey’s undying infatuation with two things—Emeline and the Ring. Along with the power of the relic to communicate with animals, for he’d divulged Bandit’s part of the plan to the creature earlier, trusting the beast could understand Blake as well as he seemed to understand him. Or so he hoped.

“Don’t give it to him, Captain.” The lady finally spoke up, her voice strong yet trembling. “He will use it for much evil.”

Of that Blake had no doubt.

One of Della Morte’s brows arched as he gave an impatient sigh. “I could order my men to shoot you right here. Not to mention”—he gestured toward his frigate blocking the entrance to the bay—“one signal from me, and my crew will blast your paltry brig to splinters. Ergo, only by my grace do you stand here unscathed.”

“I believe it has naught to do with your grace, as you say, but the rules you’ve no doubt heard about the Ring.” Blake cocked a brow.

Della Morte scowled. “If you refer to the myth that I cannot pry it off a dead man’s finger, I am aware, though not entirely convinced.”

“It must be given or found alone without a body. That includes a corpse. ’Tis no myth,” Blake said. “Dare to test it?”

From the look twisting Della Morte’s face, he found the challenge hard to resist. “Hand it over at once or she dies!” His loud outburst scattered birds from a nearby tree.

Yanking it from his finger, Blake held it in the air between them, just out of the Jesuit’s reach. “The woman?”

At one nod from Della Morte, his man pushed Emeline toward Blake. Catching her, he quickly handed her to Maston beside him, but not before he felt her warmth, heard the slight intake of her breath. Against his will, an odd joy swirled through him that he had the power to rescue this sweet flower. The first decent thing he remembered doing in quite some time.

“Don’t, Blake,” she protested.

He dropped the Ring into the puckish wastrel’s hand.

Della Morte examined it, a huge grin stretching his mouth wide before he uttered a yelp of victory.

Blake gestured for Maston to take Emeline and retreat.

“You are a bigger fool than I thought,” Della Morte crowed.

Blake grinned. “Am I, now?”

Shrieking startled the Jesuits. Bandit dropped from the tree, dashed across the sand, leapt in the air, and snatched the Ring from Della Morte’s hand before the Jesuit captain knew what happened.

Cursing, he plucked the flintlock from his belt, cocked it, and pointed it at the monkey. “Give that back to me, you bedeviled beast!”

Emeline screamed. The shot missed Bandit as he scrambled to the woman and gave her the Ring.

Perfect! Spinning, Blake raced across the sand, pulling Emeline along with him. Timing was everything now.

“After them! Shoot them!” Della Morte roared as he reloaded his flintlock.

Clutching Emeline, Blake dove into the brush behind a group of boulders he’d spotted earlier. Maston and Finn, pistols drawn, followed as they’d been instructed. Twenty of his crew, whom he’d snuck ashore on the other side of the Summons, came grunting and shouting from the jungle, blades and knives drawn like the pack of savages they were.

Shots echoed across the water, wind, and sand.

Blake took the Ring from Emeline. “Get behind me!” He nudged her back.

Della Morte and his crew charged toward them, kicking up sand, shouting obscenities, pistols loaded, and blades drawn. Nothing stopped them, not even when they spotted Blake’s men heading toward them. Instead, they shouted all the more ferociously and quickly engaged the oncoming horde.

Finn and Maston fired, striking two of them.

Blake slipped the Ring back on his finger. “Hurricane, rise now!”

There would either be a deadly battle on this island today, or the power of the Ring would save them all.

“Stay here!” he shouted to Emeline, then leapt over the boulder, drew his cutlass, and swept the blade down on the first Jesuit he encountered. His blade met flesh, and the man held his side and stumbled away.

Turning, Blake found Della Morte marching toward him, fire in his eyes.

Raising his cutlass, he met the man’s first blow with force, the clank of metal screeching through the air. He forced him back, but the Jesuit recovered quickly and drove his saber toward Blake’s legs. He leapt out of the way and swept his blade in from the right.

Above them, the sky grew thick with black, rolling clouds. Wind whipped up sand, stinging Blake’s eyes. Wavelets turned into mighty rollers crashing ashore.

Thunder bellowed. Chest heaving, Della Morte glanced toward the sea where his frigate lurched over incoming waves.

The Ring was working!

The Summons would be safe in the shelter of the island. But not the Venetian Frigate. Too big to seek safety in the bay, it would surely be driven into rocks and reefs and damaged beyond repair. Unless they raised sails and scudded out to sea before the wind. Which was exactly what Blake counted on.

Saber still raised, Della Morte glanced up at the angry sky, now black and churning like a witch’s cauldron. The wind grew fiercer. Sand spun in cyclones, buffeting Jesuits and pirates alike, both of whom had ceased fighting and were bumbling about.

Della Morte made one more attempt to slice Blake, but the wind plucked his saber from his grip as if it were made of parchment. His desperate eyes latched upon the Ring on Blake’s finger. He struggled to reach it, wrestling against wind and sand, but both shoved him back.

With a mighty growl, the black clouds above them released bucketfuls of rain, drenching everything in sight.

“Back to the Guerrieri Della Croce !” Della Morte howled above the torrent.

Straining to stand upright, Blake could barely distinguish the Jesuits’ blurry figures fading into the sand.

“Take cover, men!” Struggling to walk, he finally found the boulder and dropped behind it. Emeline lay curled in a ball, and he covered her with his body against the raging wind and rain.

b

Emeline had wanted to watch the battle. Had wanted to make a dash for it into the jungle should it appear the Jesuits were winning. But the storm Blake had unleashed with the Ring not only forbade her to move, it ripped the breath from her lungs. She covered her head with her hands and did her best to shield herself from the sand that stung like grapeshot and the wind punching her from every side.

When Blake covered her with his body, an odd stillness settled on her heart. She felt protected, not merely from wind and rain, but from other dangers as well. Which of course made no sense, for the man had proven himself naught but a depraved pirate. Yet his warmth and unique scent soothed her, giving her a reprieve from the storm raging from within and the one from without. No doubt this strange sensation was only because his presence meant he and his men had been victorious over the Jesuit band. Whether that was a good thing for her, she could not know. Though if given the choice, she’d much rather be in the company of these pirates than Jesuits, for she’d sensed an evil, an insidious darkness about them that was absent even from the bloodthirsty buccaneers.

Raindrops bounced off the boulder, then poured down in rivulets, forming a puddle beneath her, soaking her skirts. To her right, a thousand drops pummeled the sand like the deafening march of a demonic army. Sand became silt. The pounding turned to splashing as a surge of seawater crashed over them. Waves were overtaking the tiny island!

In an instant, Blake’s warmth was gone. Strong hands gripped her arms and hauled her to her feet. Flinging an arm around her waist, he dove into the wind and dragged her to a band of trees. Others joined them, blurry, shifting figures. Somewhere she heard Bandit screeching.

In moments, her gown grew heavy with rain, dragging behind her. She tried to open her eyes, but the rain and sand forced them shut again.

“You are safe!” She thought she heard Blake shout, but it seemed a mere figment of her imagination. She felt, rather than saw the trees swaying around her, giant monsters coming to life by the power of the storm. Their creak and groan reminded her of a ship at sea, the clamor of their buffeted leaves near deafening. Still, their towering presence offered a limited fortress against the elements. Finally, she was able to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was Blake’s concerned expression as he lowered her to sit beside the sturdy trunk of a calabash tree. Water dripped from strands of his dark hair as it billowed about him. Rain glistened over his neck and chest and glued his shirt to muscle and sinew. The cross and sun emblem dangled before him.

“Stay here,” he shouted. Then gripping the Ring still around his finger, he struggled to stand against the wind and peered toward the shore.

Several of his crew surrounded them, hunching against the storm as Bandit leapt into her lap and clung to her for dear life.

What was Blake waiting for? Why did he not use the Ring to stop this madness before they were all swept away? Lord, please help us !

The eerie whine of the wind lessened. The trees slowed their raucous dance. The torrent of rain became droplets. ’Twas as if the storm had spent its fury, satisfied its anger, and now drifted off to lick its wounds. Within moments, golden daggers of sunlight cleaved through dark clouds and speared the canopy.

Emeline wiped water from her eyes and glanced up at Blake standing before her, rubbing the Ring. He shook his head, scattering rainwater over her before uttering a yelp of victory.

His men rose like sodden skeletons from their graves, shaking off moisture and grinning with exhilaration at simply being alive. A few bore bloody gashes, but most looked well enough.

Sweeping off his tricorn, Maston tipped it and chuckled at the stream pouring from it to the ground. Finn fished out his pipe from inside his waistcoat and sniffed the sodden tobacco with a scowl. Shoving it back into his pocket, he tugged off his gray bandana and wrung it out, his bald head glistening in a shaft of sunlight. Rummy drew a flask from his drenched coat, uncorked it, and took a sip.

Bandit finally released Emeline, but instead of skittering away, he wrapped his hairy arms around her neck and hugged her. At least she had one friend she could count on in this mad adventure. Still, he made it difficult for her to stand, especially with her heavy skirts that were now hopelessly tangled around her legs.

Water plip-plopped from leaves onto muddy puddles, but thank God the wind had lessened into a light breeze. She attempted to stand again.

A hand appeared in her vision—a large hand with the Ring on one finger. She followed it to find Blake’s handsome face smiling at her from within a frame of wet dark hair.

Smiling ?

He had rescued her. At great risk to his ship and crew. And to the Ring. When there was no need, no reason to take such a gamble. Why?

For a moment she allowed herself to hope that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a bit of gallantry lurking beneath the surface of the shallow, vainglorious pirate—that perhaps he was the hero she’d sought all her life.

Clinging to Bandit with one hand, she gripped Blake’s with her other, and he swooped her to her feet. Unfortunately, her saturated web of skirts upset her balance, and she fell against him. His torso was rock-hard, his shirt cold, his breath warm, and his smile salacious.

Shoving from him, she looked away, confused at her body’s reaction.

“Yer plan worked.” Finn was the first to speak up, drawing Blake’s gaze. “Leastwise wit’ a little ’elp from a storm.”

“Did you have any doubt?” He raked back his damp hair, grinning.

Maston chuckled. “Impossible. Only you could have pulled it off, Capitaine .” He gestured toward the Ring on Blake’s finger, an odd gleam in his eye as he winked. “But that squall? Odd that it came upon us so suddenly. Seems we are the luckiest bunch of cutthroats who ever sailed the Spanish Main.”

Struggling to rise, Rummy raised his flask. “Scupper and sink me, ’ere’s to madcap plans an’ hurricanes.”

The other pirates laughed as Blake started forward.

Still clinging to Emeline, Bandit jabbered on and on as she followed the pirates. For what other choice did she have? Ahead she spotted the Summons through the trees, looking none the worse for the storm’s impact. No doubt knowing what he’d intended to do, Captain Keene had braced all yards, bound all sheets, battened all hatches, and securely anchored the hull.

Within minutes, his crew rowed the jollyboat to the ship, and Emeline found herself once again on the main deck, standing amidst a crew of depraved miscreants. Ignoring her, Blake shouted orders to check for damage and ready the ship to set sail.

“There’s no telling how far the storm took the Jesuits,” he spoke to Finn beside him. “Best to get underway as soon as possible.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Nodding, Finn ambled off, shouting commands to unfurl sails, cast off lines, and man the capstan.

Charlie approached, winked at Emeline, and stood before Blake. “Quite the storm, Cap’n.”

“Good work handling the ship.” He glanced at Emeline once again as one would a prisoner. Any affection or concern she thought she’d sensed earlier dissipated with the storm. “Take the woman to her cabin. Get her some dry attire.”

Bandit leapt from Emeline’s arms into the ratlines and scrambled above while Charlie escorted her below to the same cabin she’d been imprisoned in before.

“Glad you’re safe, Miss.” Charlie headed out the door. “Take off your gown, an’ I’ll find you something t’ wear.”

Emeline longed to ask the woman about the young child she’d seen in Basseterre, but exhaustion and fear consumed her, and all she could say was, “Thank you.”

Once the door slammed shut, loneliness crowded in again. Here she was in the same prison as before, feeling much like a ragdoll snatched back and forth by two spoiled brats. A chill overtook her, and she hugged herself, shivering.

Lord, what am I doing here again ?

She plopped onto the bed. Things only seemed to be getting worse. “Oh, Papa, where are you?” Even if her father received her missive and sailed to St. Kitts, she was no longer there. And he’d have no idea where to search next.

Now she was once again at the mercy of this insolent rogue. Why had he risked so much to kidnap her again when he could have his pick of women in the Caribbean? There were only two reasons she could think of. One, he intended to steal her maidenhood merely for the fun of it, or two, he thought to gain a heavy ransom from her father for her return. Perhaps both. Which terrified her all the more.