Page 18 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

W

hen Maston approached Emeline and asked for a dance, she flatly refused. The man may have cleaned up nicely and had shown a tad bit of sophistication, but he was naught but a libertine. She would find no hero in this pirate, no rescuer from any of the men on the Summons nor on this island of fools.

Maston did not take no for an answer. The scent of rum and wine flooded her nose, overpowering his rosemary cologne, as he dragged her onto the floor and began a minuet. Though ’twas no minuet she’d ever danced, for he fumbled through a series of steps before simply clutching her waist and spinning her around.

The audience of pirates chuckled and encouraged Maston with coarse jests.

“Now, that be the way t’ treat a wench, Maston!”

“Grab ’er tighter, mate. Tell us, is a true lady as soft as them wenches ye frequent?”

Emeline struggled to free herself. She pushed from him, but he clutched her all the closer. She tried kicking him, but he twirled her so fast, she found no leverage. Fear, along with anger, buzzed through her. And the oddest thought blared in her mind. Where was Blake? She needed Blake! Of course that was ridiculous. Why would he care that she was being molested?

But he did care. At least that’s what she saw on his face as he marched toward them, grabbed Maston’s arm, and wrenched him around.

He didn’t say a word, offered no reprimand, no insult. He merely swung back and struck Maston so hard across the jaw that the man flew backward and landed on the floor.

The pirates hooted and hollered like a pack of wolves.

The orchestra ceased…an odd final note floating in an eerie chime of shame.

The bosun struggled to rise on his elbows, blinked, and shook his head before glaring at his captain, hatred in his gaze.

“Touch her again and die,” was all Blake said before taking her arm and leading her from the room.

Down a long hall and up two flights of stairs, he continued, not saying a word, his breath puffing like a dragon’s. Golden light from perched lanterns flickered over his stiff mouth and tight jaw. A strand of hair had loosened from his tie and dangled over his cheek. She sensed his fury, but she also smelled wine, which meant the man was more than volatile at the moment.

Ergo, she kept her tongue. Wise, since she had no idea whether to thank him or ask him why he was so angry. A terrifying thought sent her blood racing. Perhaps he finally intended to have his way with her. Perhaps Maston’s salacious dance had given Blake the impetus he needed.

He barely stopped to open the door to her chamber as he led her inside, struck flint to steel and lit a lantern. When he finally faced her, the rage in his eyes had abated, replaced by something else…something she could not name, but something which vanquished her fear.

“Lock your door and stay here, Emeline. You’ll be safe.”

Before she could utter a word, he left and closed the door behind him. She stood there, her heart thrashing, her breath raging, listening to his boots thunder down the hall.

It took her what seemed like hours to calm her nerves. No servants arrived to help her disrobe or bring her tea. Hence, with a great deal of struggle, she finally managed to remove her gown and stomacher, along with all its fripperies. After carefully laying them across a chair, she allowed herself one last chance to run her fingers over the soft silk and admire the beauty of such exquisite attire. Oddly, a nightdress and robe had been left for her, which she quickly donned before she knelt beside her bed and prayed.

“Lord Jesus, I don’t know where You are or why this is happening, but I thank You for keeping me safe, even amongst these vile rogues. You have showered Your favor upon me, even in the darkest of places, even in the shadow of death, in which I now find myself. Help me to fear no evil and know You are with me. Help me to find Your purpose in all of this. Bless my father and mother and Esther and Caleb. Keep them safe and help them to find me soon. Amen.”

Feeling more at peace than she had in a while, she crawled under the coverlet and tried to fall asleep. She must have drifted off, for she woke suddenly, her heart racing. She glanced around the dark room but saw no movement. Had she heard something? There it was again. A howl, an agonizing howl, like a wounded animal.

Pulling the covers up to her chin, she stared into the darkness, eyes wide open, waiting…listening.

Noises filtered through the wall. A groan sounded. Then footsteps. The door she had assumed led to a dressing closet flung open.

Emeline shot up in bed, terror gripping her. A shadow came through the door. She heard it breathing…hard. “Who is it? What do you want?”

“’Tis me, Emeline.” The captain’s pained voice responded.

“What is it? Why are you here?” Though she could guess…yet…nay. He’d had many other opportunities.

“Come with me.” The deep tenor of his voice echoed through the room like a doleful ballad, prompting her to swing her feet over the edge of the mattress and hop to the floor. He disappeared into the next room, and without hesitation, she flung her robe over her shoulders and followed. Perhaps because she sensed no danger. Perhaps because the desperation in his voice tugged on her heart. Perhaps because she was the biggest, most gullible fool in the Caribbean. Either way, she entered a bedchamber similar to hers but much larger and more elaborate. The light from a single lantern flickered over the muscles on Blake’s bare back as he moved to drop into one of the stuffed chairs by his bed.

Halting just inside the doorway, Emeline hugged herself, the pounding of her heart ringing in her ears.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, sending the cross and emblem around his neck dangling before him. “Play for me.”

At first Emeline had no idea what the crazed pirate meant, but he gestured to another chair at the foot of the bed where a violin perched, leaning against the back.

“Now? In the middle of the night?” She retreated a step. “Can it not wait until morning?”

“Nay.” Then several seconds later. “Please.” An appeal from the heart. Not a command.

Well, how can I turn down a ‘please’ from my captor? She wanted to retort sarcastically but decided against it. Something was wrong, evil even. She felt it in the chamber just like she’d sensed it in the captain’s cabin when he’d summoned her at night.

Thus, she picked up the violin, relishing the feel of the instrument in her hands. Memories flooded her, happy memories of her and her mother performing a duet for the crew of the Ransom , her father’s ship. Had that only been a month ago?

She slid onto the chair and placed the bottom of the violin on her shoulder and her chin in the rest. Then, positioning the bow, she started with a simple but soothing tune she’d learned recently.

b

Blake hated his weakness, his need for anyone. He’d hoped the demonic nightmares would cease once he was on land, but they only got worse. No sooner had he drunk himself into a rum-induced stupor and laid his head on his pillow, desperate for sleep, than the dark shadows returned. Larger, stronger, greater in number, their incessant mocking and threatening voices blending into a hellish chant that scraped over his soul. Blaring through it all came his father’s fiendish howl.

The howl of both shock and pain that would forever haunt Blake.

It faded the moment Emeline entered the chamber. Even the shadows retreated. Now, as the sweet notes from the violin spiraled through the air, all darkness fled. Peace settled on Blake. His head ceased throbbing, his heart calmed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the chair.

Emeline played the instrument as well as any musician he’d heard. Such soothing tones, such exquisite notes, all expertly woven into a tapestry of wonder by the angel sitting in the red velvet chair. She looked every bit an angel in her white robe with her hair tumbling over her shoulders in a waterfall of chestnut waves. Her eyes were closed as she eased the bow over the strings in a seductive dance that mesmerized Blake.

And he hated himself for it.

Hated his growing attraction to the lady, his growing admiration, and worse, his need for her.

When he’d decided long ago never to need anyone ever again. Need led to want and want led to dependence and dependence led to naught but disappointment and heartache.

Still, he must keep her for now. Until he could figure out how to use the Ring to send the demons that haunted him back to hell where they belonged.

The music stopped. He opened his eyes to find the lady approaching slowly, hesitantly. He leaned forward on his knees, gripping the amulet hanging about his neck. “Please continue, Emeline.”

She knelt before him, her night dress circling around her like a cloud of purity. “Something horrible happened to you. What was it?”

Snorting, he raked back his hair. “I couldn’t sleep is all.”

“Nay, ’tis something deeper.”

Could the blasted woman see into his soul? Perhaps she was trained in the dark arts…a witch? He studied her, but the light reflecting in those glimmering golden eyes revealed only sincerity and…care?

“You cannot deny you have nightmares, see shadows. I’ve heard you speak of them in your sleep.”

Hang it. He’d exposed too much to this woman.

“’Tis the Ring.” She nodded toward the jewel on his finger. “It’s evil. Legend says it summons demons.”

He blew out an incredulous sigh. “If it can summon them, it can send them back to hell.”

“There’s only one power that can send demons scurrying away in fear.”

The woman herself ’twould seem. “And what power is that, for you seem in possession of it.” If he could harness it, he would have no further need of her.

“The power of God. His Holy Spirit dwells within those who confess Jesus as Lord.”

“God, bah! He has naught to do with this or with me.”

“Can you deny it?”

“I cannot deny that your goodness casts them away.” Her skin looked like shimmering silk in the lantern light. Her lips moist and full. Her sweet smell drifted around him, taunting him. Raising his hand, he ran a finger down her cheek, then pressed it on her lips.

She didn’t flinch, didn’t retreat. Instead, her eyes searched his as if seeking answers before dropping to the cross dangling about his neck. “You wear the cross of Christ. Why?”

The spell broke. Blake grabbed the small crucifix, pressing it between his fingers. “’Twas my mother’s. Like you, she believed in a benevolent God.” As did my father .

“Then you know of the love of our Savior.” She smiled. Such promise, such joy filled that smile that Blake hated to make it vanish. But vanish it must.

“The only love I learned was the kind that cast me from my home at sixteen.”

Her lips parted slightly as sorrow claimed her features. “I’m sorry, Blake.”

“She did me a favor.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his hands across his bare belly.

“What of the other emblem?” Emeline pointed to his chest, then averted her gaze as if his state of undress bothered her. Or perhaps attracted her? Nay. She was too pure for that.

He fingered the lion emblem. “As the lion is king of the beasts, so will I be king of my own kingdom. The sun speaks of the dawn of my new life.”

“And the dove?”

“Peace when I have achieved my goals.”

She seemed to ponder his explanation, then added, “And the black pearl in your ear?”

“’Twas a gift,” he mumbled. “Enough with your questions!” His outburst came out louder and more forceful than he’d wanted. But the effect was the same.

The lady shrank back, chest pumping, and eyes wide as she scrambled to her feet.

“More music,” he commanded.

“And if I don’t wish to play?” Her voice trembled.

He allowed his salacious gaze to scan her. “Then we will find something else to play.”