Page 15 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

B

lake lowered the spyglass and grinned. They’d been underway for more than an hour and not a speck of canvas—in particular, Jesuit canvas—appeared on the horizon. Above him, sails thundered in the stiff trade winds as the creak and groan of timbers and splash of the sea filled the air with a far more pleasing harmony than any orchestra he’d ever heard.

“Tack to larboard, Rummy,” Blake hollered over his shoulder at the one-armed helmsman. Then, gazing up at the location of the sun, he added. “Four points, south by southeast.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

“Maston, standby to tack! Ready about!” Blake’s order sent his bosun marching across the main deck, issuing further orders to adjust headsails and brace yards in preparation for their turn.

The smell of sweet tobacco preceded his quartermaster as Finn slipped beside him, balancing his feet on the heaving deck.

“Headin’ fer yer island, Cap’n?”

Blake nodded. “To lighten the load in the hold and give the crew a much-needed break.”

“Good thinkin’, says I.” Wind blasted over them, and Finn tugged his bandana tighter. “We’ve taken in quite a haul under yer command, no denyin’ it.”

Finn never offered a compliment without a complaint. “But…?”

“Wells, there be word ’bout the woman, sayin’ she’s bad luck an’ that yer infatuation could cost all our lives.”

Blake ground his teeth. Keeping these limp-brained maggots he called a crew happy was becoming quite the tedious task. Unfortunately, he needed them for now—until he could build his kingdom. “Yet they are all safe with their pockets full of doubloons. You’d do well to remind them of that.”

The brig rolled over a wave, and Finn gripped the railing and leaned closer to Blake, his gaze landing on the Ring. “Jist be careful, Cap’n,” he whispered over the wind. “If word got out ’bout the power o’ that Ring, I wouldn’t put it past ’hem to pry it off yer dead finger.” He shrugged. “Even if it don’t work that way.”

The sinister tone in his quartermaster’s voice gave Blake pause. Spreading his boots out for balance, he crossed arms over his chest, uneasy at the look of desire in Finn’s eyes as he stared at the Ring. “They are welcome to try. Now, back to work.”

Tearing his gaze from the Ring, Finn ambled away as the Summons completed its tack.

Thus far, only Maston and Finn had a clue about the Ring’s power. And Blake intended to keep it that way.

“Sheet home and belay!” Maston shouted.

“Steady as she goes,” Blake added. If only he could order his life to continue on a steady path as easily. But as he glanced over Maston, Finn, Charlie, Rummy, and the rest of his crew, he wondered if he could trust any of them. Nay. There was no one in this world he could trust. Not even himself, for he could not deny he’d felt something stir within him when he’d rescued Emeline…when she’d looked at him with hope and perhaps a bit of admiration?

Hang it! He must not fall for her womanly tricks! He’d learned the hard way with Josephine Arnaud that no woman could be trusted. Not even comely ones with hearts of gold.

When the sun sank beneath the horizon in a glorious array of maroons, tangerines, and gold, Blake relinquished command of the helm and retreated to his cabin. Soon a supper of salted pork, ship biscuits, and peas was brought in, but he took little pleasure in dining with his officers, most of whom overindulged in drink, save Charlie and Pedro. And all of whom inquired as to why he’d not invited Emeline.

In truth, he had no idea, except he preferred not to address the discordant emotions she caused whenever she was near. Which made no sense. Hadn’t he brought her on board to chase away his demons? She couldn’t very well do that locked up in a cabin down the hall.

Thus the reason he poured himself another glass of rum, hoping to settle his mind. All it did was increase his confusion. Instead, he dismissed his officers, ordered the crewmen to clean up the mess, and waited for the door to slam, granting him silence at last.

Outside the stern windows, a myriad of stars lit the ebony sky, some clustered together, others alone yet just as bright as their grouped companions. Much like Blake. He needed no one. ’Twas those with power who ruled the world, the taskmasters, not the workers, the decision-makers not the order-takers, those who were outside the reach of the world’s heartaches, betrayals, and disasters. Blake twisted the Ring on his finger. With this relic, he was well on his way to achieving such power.

Indeed, he needed no one. Especially not a woman. Tossing the last of his rum into his mouth, he stumbled to his cot, tore off his shirt, and lay down. A good night’s sleep would certainly erase all his uncertainty and set him back on course.

“ Blake….Blake …” The oily voice, distant yet vibrating like a band of insects, emerged from another world. Blake waved it away, mumbling, ignoring…

More voices joined, prodding, jabbing, poking at his consciousness. Grabbing the long knife he kept by his bed, he jerked to sit, stabbing the air before him.

The dark shadows returned. Only this time, they were larger, thicker, swaying with the movement of the ship…yet not with any worldly movement. Their bodies twisted, breaking in half, shrinking, growing, and then coming together again like no human’s could.

“Get rid of the woman. Get rid of the woman. Kill her. Kill her...” the voices chanted.

Blake heard his father’s distinct tone before the man even appeared, that harsh cadence that had always sent Blake cowering as a boy. Shoving through the specters, he limped, holding his belly. Blood bubbled between his fingers. “Why? Why, son?”

Nay! He could not face him again!

Leaping from his bed, he raced out of his cabin and down the hall, grabbing the first crewman he saw and handed him a key. “Get the woman and bring her to my cabin at once!”

Then making his way back, he left the door open and paced through the misty shadows, covering his ears. Air, cold and frosty bit his skin. “Kill her. Kill her.”

He knew the moment Emeline entered the room. The soothing sounds of water gushing against the hull and the creak of timbers replaced the hellish howls. He opened his eyes.

The demons were gone.

b

The door to Emeline’s cabin swung open, striking the bulkhead. She leapt from her cot, heart thundering. “Who is it?” she yelped, peering into the darkness. A shadow approached, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the hallway. ’Twas one of the crew she’d not met.

“Cap’n wants ye,” was all he said as his foul stench stung her nose.

Her blood froze. So, this was it. The moment she feared most of all. A quick Lord, help? was all she managed to pray before the pirate shoved her through the captain’s door and slammed it behind her.

Moonlight trickled in through the windows, shifting over the captain’s desk to the deck and back again. She heard rather than saw the captain standing not three feet from her. His breath came loud and fast. An unusual chill gripped her, and she hugged herself.

“Are you ill?” she dared ask, wondering why he stood in the dark and why she sensed naught but turmoil surrounding him.

Perhaps because he knew what he was about to do .

“Nay,” he finally said, moving to the desk where he struck flint to steel and lit a lantern.

Golden light spread a blanket over the room, chasing away the shadows and revealing Captain Keene, shirtless, gripping the edge of his desk as if it held the answers to all his questions. The cross and golden emblem dangled before him. Without glancing her way, he grabbed an open bottle and poured himself a shot of rum. Sipping it, he finally faced her.

Terror spun so violently in her head, Emeline feared she’d faint. But she stood her ground. If this monster intended to ravish her, she’d not make it easy.

Then, as if a dark cloud swept from his face, he smiled and gestured to her attire. She’d forgotten that Charlie had given her a pair of clean trousers, shirt, and waistcoat to wear while her gown dried.

“I find nothing amusing, Captain, about summoning me in the middle of the night in order to ravish me.” She despised the quiver in her voice.

His brows raised, but his smile remained. “I’m merely admiring your new garments, Miss.” Setting down his glass, he moved toward her, examining her like one would a fresh baked pie he was about to devour.

She swallowed… hard yet maintained her stance.

He halted before her, the muscles of his bare chest glistening, the scent of rum and male overpowering.

His eyes scanned her. “Alas, I have no intention of ravishing you, Miss Hyde.” He cocked his head and gave her a curious look. “But believing so, you still asked if I was ill?”

Confusion ripped through her mind, her heart pounding. She had no answer for his question, no reason that would satisfy a man devoid of a heart. Still, if he had no desire to steal her maidenhood…why had he commanded her here? “Why did you rescue me from the Jesuits?” she blurted, wishing he didn’t stand so close. His warmth, his very breath, wafted over her, his presence paralyzing.

Rather than answering, he ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, softly, gently, not in the salacious way she expected. Who was this man? Vicious pirate or noble champion? She sensed both battled within him.

Then, as if the tender action upset him, he pivoted and strode away. Back to his rum.

“You had the Ring. Why?” she pressed.

He tossed the remainder of his drink to the back of his throat. Dark hair hung down his back just below his shoulders as his muscles rolled beneath his skin, displaying a strength she’d only sensed when near the man.

He could snap her like a twig, have his way with her, and there would be naught she could do. Instead, he’d caressed her cheek tenderly and walked away.

“Have a seat, Miss Hyde,” he said as he strode to the stern windows and gazed out.

“You did not answer my question, Captain, nor why you have summoned me in the middle of the night.” Against her better judgement, she did as he asked and slid onto the velvet stuffed chair.

“As to the first,” he began, “I simply cannot allow any man, Jesuit or not, to gain the victory over me.” He shifted those mysterious, almond-shaped eyes her way, a twinkle of mischief within them. “As to the second, perhaps I do feel a need for female company.” The twinkle turned licentious as his gaze scanned her again.

Though she knew his words were meant to frighten her, to keep her compliant, she sensed they were not true. Nay, a deep cut of pain sliced across this man’s heart. More than one. Deep and festering—unhealed. ’Twas what drove him. She knew that now.

Sitting up straight, she clasped her hands in her lap. “Then either send me back to my cabin or get on with it, Captain. I grow weary of the exchange.”

His eyes narrowed. “’Twould not be prudent, Miss, to tempt me.”

Fear sent her breath heaving in her throat.

He studied her. “You will stay here tonight.”

She pushed to her feet. “I will do no such thing!”

Shock, followed by admiration, flitted across his gaze. “You have no choice.”

“Then you are to ravish me.”

“Nay.” He shrugged. “Not tonight.” He nodded toward his cot. “You may sleep on my bed. You’ll find it quite soft. I will lie on the floor.”

Surely it was a trap of some sort. “I don’t understand.”

“’Tis not too difficult, Miss.” He gestured to the bed. “Now, if you don’t mind, it grows late and I’m weary.”

“If you wish to ravish me, be done with it. I cannot stand these games.” She forced back the tears burning in her eyes.

“If I wished to ravish you, I would have already done so. Off to bed with you!” He strode to his cot, grabbed one of the coverlets from atop it, and promptly blew out the lantern.

Darkness swept across the cabin. Emeline didn’t move. “You are no gentleman, Captain. You may have rescued me, but that doesn’t mean you have an ounce of honor.”

She heard him drop to the deck, saw his shadow stretched out on the Persian rug.

“As I have told you,” he mumbled.

“This is madness. I’m going back to my cabin.” She started for the door

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Your cabin is no longer locked. You are safer in here than at the mercy of my crew.”

Frustrated, Emeline skirted him and sat on his bed to think until he fell asleep. All her instincts screamed to dash back to her cabin, but without an escort and with nothing to keep the crew away, perhaps he was right. Plus, the bed did feel comfortable. Heaving a sigh, she laid her head on the pillow and curled into a ball, thanking the Lord for keeping her safe. Within minutes, snoring rumbled from the captain, serenaded by the wind whistling against the stern windows.

Perhaps he had no plans to harm her this night. Then why keep her here? The man was an enigma.

Wind battered Emeline, shoving her down, booting her back. Thick blackness surrounded her. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t get up. Couldn’t breathe. With great effort, she rose to her elbows and began crawling. She had to escape! She had to get out of here! Darkness. Black everywhere. So heavy it pressed on her even more than the wind. The darkness moved, breathed, was alive. Evil. Where was she? She inched over the cold steely ground, heart pounding. The wind ceased. Arturo Della Morte’s hideous face appeared before her, spinning in her vision. He tossed back his head and laughed, then raised his hand. The Ring shone from his finger as a devilish twinkle flashed from his eyes. She tried to scream, but no sound emerged.

Help me, Lord !

The scene changed. She stood on the shore of a lush island. Turquoise waves stroked creamy white sands. Colorful birds chirped as they flitted from tree to tree. In the distance atop a hill stood stone turrets of a fortress. Had she gone from hell to heaven?

Della Morte sauntered from the jungle, his sardonic gaze upon her. A ray of sunlight struck the Ring on his finger and nearly blinded her. She squinted.

Dozens of birds dropped from the trees onto the sand, dead. Above her, the sky rolled up like a scroll, replaced by a black void that stretched across the sky, sucking all light and love from the Earth. The turquoise waters faded to gray. Blake appeared within them, splashing through the surf toward her, a smile on his face. He reached for her, his fingers extending toward hers.

Della Morte held up the Ring. The waters in the bay spun in a circle, round and round, faster and faster until a funnel appeared in the center.

Before she could grip Blake’s hand, the force of the waves dragged him back, pulling him down into the water, tugging him toward the hole in the midst of the funnel. To what or where it led, she had no idea, but it couldn’t be good.

“Blake!” Emeline rushed toward him, pounding through the surf, reaching for his hand before he was sucked beneath the waves.

Della Morte gave a sinister cackle. “Ha! You are both doomed!”

Water tore at her skirts, imprisoning her feet, as she desperately tried to reach Blake. His head disappeared beneath the waves. Only his hand remained above.

Emeline grabbed it. The water knocked her off her feet. With both hands holding fast to Blake, she dug her heels into the sand. Water filled her nose and mouth . Lord, help !

“Blake! Blake!”

b

Blake’s name blared through his mind. Someone hailed him. Demons? His father? But Emeline was here. Wasn’t she?

“Blake!”

He shot up from the floor, instantly plucking the knife from his belt. Blinking, he peered into the darkness. The shadows of his cabin came into view.

“Blake!” a woman screamed.

Emeline! He rushed toward the bed, expecting to find one of his crew molesting her, but she was alone, thrashing back and forth and reaching one hand into the air in desperation.

Lowering to the cot, he grabbed her shoulders. “Hush now, Emeline. Hush. ’Tis all right.”

She gave a start, uttered a scream, and began punching him over and over. Snatching her wrists, he held them down. “You’re having a dream, Emeline. Just a dream.”

Her breathing lessened. Her arms went limp. He released her as a slight moan escaped her lips. He sensed rather than saw her eyes open and lock upon him.

Blake was quite familiar with his own nightmares. Not with those of other’s. Yet, oddly, he wanted nothing more than to take this woman in his arms and comfort her.

He didn’t have time to ponder it when she wrapped her arms around him. Tight. “I thought you were lost,” she whispered. “Della Morte… the Ring,” she muttered.

No doubt she was still lost in the nightmare, devoid of her wits.

Or surely she would not have embraced him.

Still, he would enjoy it while he could. Her curves molded against his chest so perfectly, ’twas as if they were made for each other. Her sweet scent filled his nose, her soft whispers music in his ears. He closed his eyes and rubbed her back. “Della Morte is far, far away by now. He will do you no more harm.”

A strange sensation sped through him. The desire to protect this woman, to keep her safe, to be the hero she longed for…

Until she jerked away and shoved him from the bed. “What are you doing? How dare you?”

The lady’s senses had returned.

So did Blake’s as he landed on the hard deck.

The first glow of dawn drifted in from the windows as Blake growled and rose to his feet. “You were screaming like a wounded bird, Miss. I only meant to silence you so I could sleep.” Plowing a hand through his hair, he retrieved the coverlet from the floor.

“Is that your excuse to accost me, Captain?” Her incredulous tone dwindled beneath the tremble in her voice.

“Do I need one?” He winked at her, then regretted it when she frowned and swept her legs over the side of the bed.

“Am I free to go?”

Surf and thunder, the lady was a rare beauty in the morning, even with her sleepy eyes and bedraggled hair. So unlike most women he’d woken up to.

Angry, more at himself than her, he opened the door and gestured for her to leave. In bounded Bandit, grinning and babbling as he made straight for the lady and leapt into her lap.

Astonishing. The feral monkey had not entered his cabin since he’d retrieved the Ring.

Yet as he watched the beast wrap his hairy arms around Emeline’s neck, he could hardly blame him, for Blake’s body still reacted from their embrace just moments ago.

This must never do.

“Get out!” He shouted a bit too loudly. “Both of you!”