Page 24 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

J

osephine took both glasses and handed the one with the potion to Blake. With an impatient huff that more than annoyed her, he took it and lifted it in the air. “For old times’ sake.”

She put on her most charming smile. “Those were good times, non ?” Sipping her drink, she stared at him over the edge of the glass.

He didn’t answer, merely tossed the rum into his mouth and slammed down his glass as was his way when it came to drink. Now all she had to do was wait for him to collapse to the floor, and she would slip the Ring from his finger. Easy.

A slight creak, barely discernible, drifted from the chamber beside Blake’s. Odd. Who would be up at this hour? Even more odd, who would be housed right beside their captain? No doubt it was that frightfully drab girl he’d been fawning over when Josephine had first arrived. The mere sight of them together still heaved bile into her throat. But what did it matter? Upon spotting Josephine, he had quickly discarded the little mouse.

“Now leave.” Blake’s tone was angry, hostile even, as he gestured for the door.

How dare he treat her as if she were nothing but a common wench? “I haven’t finished my drink.” She gave him a pleading look. “Just another moment?”

He crossed arms over his chest and waited. Churlish bore! He used to be quite entertaining, but apparently the drab prude had leeched all the fun out of the man. What a shame.

A glaze crept over his eyes. He blinked, wobbled, and gripped the table beside him.

Josephine smiled.

A minute later, Blake fell, struck his head on the edge of the table, and collapsed to the floor. Finally.

Setting down her glass, Josephine knelt beside the unconscious pirate and ran the back of her hand over the stubble on his jaw. He’d grown even more handsome in the past five years. Pity. With the addition of the potion she’d concocted, he wouldn’t wake for days. By then, she’d be long gone on her way to conquer everything and everyone in her path.

Lifting his limp hand, she admired the Ring. Lantern light penetrated the crimson jewel, ricocheting out in copper beams. Solomon’s Ring! Could it truly be? The one ancient artifact every witch, warlock, and sorcerer craved above all else. Now it would be hers!

She tugged on it. It wouldn’t budge.

She twisted it and yanked again. Nothing.

Cursing, she glanced around the chamber for some salve, anything with which to loosen it. That’s when she felt it. Light, virtue, goodness. Her skin prickled. A foul taste rose in her mouth. It was the enemy! His power sifted through the walls and marched toward her like a legion of holiness. Hurriedly, she tried to twist the Ring, desperate to remove it. But the light enveloped her. She couldn’t breathe. Her blood became ice. Rising, she gripped her throat, gasping for air, and darted from the room.

b

Emeline allowed her eyelids to close. For just a moment. Just a moment in which she could give in to the exhaustion beckoning her to drift into oblivion. To a place where she was not a prisoner of a mad pirate captain, where she was not sitting beside said captain’s bed, wondering if he would live or die.

Instead of, at this very moment, rowing herself to safety and freedom.

But when she’d burst into his chamber and found him unconscious on the floor, blood oozing from a gash on his forehead, she did the only thing she knew to do, the right thing. She called for help. The French lady was nowhere to be seen, though the chill that had struck Emeline in her chamber was even more present in Blake’s—a sharp, icy chill that penetrated flesh and bone and speared straight for the soul.

Finn answered her call for help, and soon they had Blake in his bed and Sam tending his wound. Still, after several hours, the infernal pirate had not woken up despite Sam’s many attempts waving smelling salts beneath his nose. “The blow to his head was not hard enough to cause such a long sleep,” Sam had said, frowning with confusion before he and Finn finally left to return to their beds.

Emeline refused to leave. Something was wrong, dreadfully wrong, and she didn’t feel right about leaving Blake alone and unable to defend himself.

“Lord, please heal this man. You told us to pray for our enemies.” Leaning over, she placed a hand on his arm. “So, I’m praying for Blake. Heal him and deliver him from this illness and evil.”

A swath of gray light floated through the window, looping over the sill, easing across the floorboards and over the rug before spreading out, chasing away the gloom of night. Hugging herself, Emeline glanced around the room, still feeling the chill of the night. “In the name of Jesus, I command all evil to depart this chamber!” She spoke the words with the authority and faith her parents had taught her to use when wielding the weapons God had given those who love Him.

Thunder rumbled as a breeze wafted in and cloaked Emeline in instant warmth. “Thank you, Lord.” Why had she not realized until now the source of the icy oppression she’d felt? ’Twas no doubt due to evil spirits brought in by…she glanced at the Ring on Blake’s finger.

He moaned, his lips moving. His breathing heightened, and he reached up and touched the wound on his forehead.

“Blake,” Emeline said, drawing his gaze.

Oddly, he smiled before confusion wrinkled his brow.

“You fell and hit your head.”

Heaving an aggravated sigh, he pushed to sit and swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, shaking his head and uttering a curse.

Emeline backed her chair up. “Perhaps not as much rum next time?”

“I didn’t fall,” he barked a bit too loudly. When she stood to leave, he reached for her hand. “Forgive me, Emeline. My head feels like it has been fired from a cannon.”

She stared at him, unsure whether or not to leave. Certainly she was not in the mood to endure his ill temper when she’d given up a night’s sleep to tend him.

“Josephine,” he mumbled.

So, Emeline had heard the French woman after all.

“I will summon her, Captain,” she said curtly before grabbing her skirts and turning to leave.

“Nay!” His shout spun her around. “She must have put something in my drink.”

Whether ’twas true or not, Emeline found her gaze traveling to the Ring again. “You’ve encountered naught but evil since you acquired that Ring—nightmares, demons, and now this unforeseen illness.” She would add to that the unnatural chill and oppression she’d felt earlier, but she knew he wouldn’t believe her.

Thunder rumbled, shaking the walls.

“I implore you, Blake, remove the Ring. Hide it away if you must and see if things do not improve.”

He stared at her for several minutes as if she’d asked him to dance a jig on the roof. “Never.” Struggling to rise, he gripped the bedpost to steady himself. “This Ring is the answer to all my dreams.”

“Only if your dreams are to die young.”

As if confirming her statement, a torrent of rain unleashed outside the window, pounding the roof and the garden below like the march of a thousand demons.

Emeline darted from the room.

b

“Toads and lizards!” Josephine plucked a book from her bag and slammed it on the desk in her chamber.

“Come now, ma très chère .” Maston’s sickly sweet tone caused nausea to gurgle in her belly. “We shall get the Ring, never fear.”

“We?” she quipped with a snort, then planted fists at her waist. This was not going to be as easy as she thought. Not only could she not remove the Ring, but the sleeping potion she’d put in Blake’s drink had not worked, for she’d seen the man as chipper as ever in the dining hall for the noonday meal. The pompous ninny!

If a storm had not enveloped the island, that pompous ninny would have set sail already, putting far too much distance between her and the Ring.

Now what to do? She bit her fingernail, cursing. “I forgot what the legends said—that the Ring cannot be removed from the finger of whoever wears it. Blake must take it off. But how to get him to do that?”

Opening the book of spells, she flipped through the pages, seeking anything—a hex, a spell, a potion that would force Blake to do whatever she asked of him.

“Why not get the girl to do it?” Maston adjusted his stained cravat.

Josephine swung to face him. “Don’t be a fool, Claude. She’s a simpleton, a daft twit.”

Maston quirked a brow. “She has more power than you think. Come, my sweet.” He gestured toward the bed. “Let me love you as you deserve. Perhaps it will clear our minds and help us discover a way forward.”

“You will not so much as touch me, mon cher , until I am in possession of the Ring.” She held up one of her hands and wiggled her fingers. “ Comprendre ? Therefore”—she turned and sashayed toward the window, gazing at the rain pouring from dark skies—“it would be in your best interest to aid me in whatever plan I decide upon.”

Which was the only reason she tolerated his slobbering presence.

“Of course. I am here to help.”

Moving back to the book, she continued to flip through it. “I must find a curse, a hex. The perfect one that will turn Blake into my slave.”

b

Standing on the portico outside the banquet hall, Emeline released a heavy sigh. It had rained for two days straight, and one look at the dark, roiling sky told her it had no intention of quitting any time soon. Movement snagged her gaze just in time to see Bandit barreling toward her. He leapt into her arms and proceeded to regale her with some tale of the wild. Which, no doubt, he’d been enjoying until the relentless storm had forced him inside.

“Now where have you been, little one? I’ve missed you.” Against all propriety, she leaned her face against his, inhaling his moist animal smell.

“You and that little beastie.” Charlie laughed as she approached. “He’s ne’er taken t’ anyone but Blake before.” The master gunner stared out over the gray, dripping scenery and shook her head. “Blast this storm. Like the rest o’ the crew, I’m anxious t’ be at sea again.”

“Truly? I would think you’d enjoy such a luxurious respite on land.”

“Aye, it has been nice, but I can’t make the fortune I need resting an’ reveling like some fat spoiled monarch, now, can I?”

Emeline nodded her understanding. The lady had a son and mother to support. “Seems I am stuck here as well,” she said.

Charlie gave her a knowing look. “I’m sorry, Em.”

Bandit leapt onto the railing and began a long-winded, screeching rant, complete with hand gestures pointing toward the rain. Emeline hoped his scolding would, indeed, scare the storm away. She wondered why Blake hadn’t used his Ring, If it could create storms, surely it could dissipate them? But she hadn’t seen him since she’d dashed from his chamber, not even during the past two nights when he normally interrupted her sleep. She could only assume he’d found solace elsewhere.

’Twas one of the reasons she’d taken her meals in her room. If he was so foolish to continue a dalliance with a woman, evil or not, who’d left him unconscious on the floor, then they deserved each other.

In truth, if not for the blasted storm, she would have set sail at the first opportunity. As it was, her loneliness finally overcame her judgment, and she decided to come down for supper.

“Look!” Charlie exclaimed, tossing her long hair over her shoulder. “Sky!”

Following her gaze, Emeline spotted a small speck of blue in the distance and a brightening of the clouds around it. The rain lessened slightly.

“Thank God,” she said. Even Bandit grinned and leapt back into her arms.

Maybe now she could leave this godforsaken island once and for all.

Apparently not until she suffered through one last dinner with the crew of the Summons , including their captain, who entered the hall looking no worse the wear for his illness. His eyes immediately latched upon her, and a grin lifted his lips. But no sooner did he start toward her, than Mademoiselle Josephine Arnaud, or should she say Captain Arnaud—as Finn had informed Emeline—swept into the room, this time wearing a stunning gown and very tight stomacher which accentuated every one of her abundant curves.

All male eyes snapped in her direction as she looped her arm through Blake’s and halted him in his tracks. Was it Emeline’s imagination, or did the lady cast her a look of spite over her shoulder?

The meal passed like many others, with the sounds of burps and grunts and the slapping of lips, reminding Emeline of cows chewing their cud. Add to that an overindulgence of rum along with the pompous boasting of men who felt the need to bloviate on their petty accomplishments. Though Blake sat to her right at the head of the table, ’twas Josephine on his other side who demanded his attention. Yet from his reaction, he seemed none too pleased. Odd, that. More than once, she heard him tell her in no uncertain terms that since the storm had dissipated, she was to leave.

On the contrary, whenever he faced Emeline, his manner softened as he inquired whether she liked the food, how she fared, and told her that he’d missed her violin playing.

b

“Quite an accomplishment, ma chère .”

Emeline continued to study the painting while cringing at the French voice that interrupted her quiet enjoyment. She’d come into the gallery to escape the drunken revelry in the hall and to enjoy one last look at the exquisite artwork Blake had collected. Now that the storm had passed, she hoped to make her escape tonight. What she hadn’t expected was to see Josephine moving toward her with a catlike grin on her comely face.

Even before the lady stopped beside her, a heaviness permeated the air. More than a heaviness, ’twas a wickedness Emeline had oft felt when in the presence of a voodoo practitioner.

“To what do you refer, Mademoiselle ?”

“Call me Jo. Everyone does.” She cocked her head and studied the painting. “Blake does have such odd taste in art.”

Emeline made no comment.

“I refer, of course, to the way you captivated him,” Jo continued. “It is quite obvious he is infatuated with you.” Her grin belied the slightest hint of spite in her voice.

Emeline stifled a laugh. Ridiculous notion. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Jo sighed. “It is that Ring, you know, causing all his recent trouble. It is evil, pure evil, and despite the fables that surround it, it will only cause Blake pain, heartache, and possibly death.”

Though Emeline gave the lady a suspicious glance, she quite agreed. Still, how did the woman know about the relic—or its power?

“I only bring it up,” Jo continued, “because, regardless of what you may think of me, I do care for Blake. He and I were quite close once.”

The sultry tone of her voice sent a shard through Emeline’s heart. “You may be right, Mademoiselle , as I suspect the same, but there’s naught to do about it. The captain refuses to relinquish it nor even remove it from his finger.”

b

Spikes of pain, like pinpricks of fire, stabbed Josephine’s back. They began the moment she’d drawn close to the repugnant prude and only grew worse the longer she spoke with her. She shifted her stance uncomfortably, but the pain only increased. With it, fear gnawed her belly. Fear ? Something she hadn’t felt in quite some time. At least not until she came to this island. And more specifically near this strange woman.

She glared into Emeline’s golden eyes and did what she must, what she’d done a dozen times with a dozen people who grated her nerves. She invoked a silent curse upon her.

The lady didn’t react at all, merely shifted her gaze back to the painting. No sickness invaded her belly, no fever rose to consume her, no confusion muddled her thoughts. Non . The woman seemed impervious to the evil flung her way, almost as if there were an invisible shield around her.

Jo silently cursed. Of course. She belonged to the enemy! That would explain the pain and fear in her presence, the bright light that made Josephine want to run for the shadows. Devil’s blood ! She must limit her time with the righteous snod, or surely the God she served would expose Jo for what she was.

“I’m told you have a measure of influence on Blake,” she interjected, angry that the woman continued to ignore her.

Emeline gave a ladylike snort. “Foolishness! I am his prisoner.”

“Hmm.” Jo tapped one of her long fingernails on her chin. “Regardless, I do believe if anyone can get him to remove that dastardly Ring, it is you, my dear.”

Instantly, the woman’s features softened. Jo smiled. That imbecile Maston had been right. This prig cared for Blake and, from what Jo had seen, he returned the sentiment. The suggestion had been planted. Now it was up to the woman, for it would be far easier to merely steal the Ring when off Blake’s finger than put a hex on him and hope it worked this time.