Page 25 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

F

urious, Blake pounded on Josephine’s chamber door. He’d sent two of his fiercest pirates earlier that morning to escort her to her boat and ensure she rowed back out to her ship. He’d also ordered the men manning the cannons on either side of the bay where the Summons was anchored to be on high alert should the vixen be foolish enough to attempt an attack after she boarded her ship.

But she hadn’t boarded her ship. Hadn’t even left the house. Instead, he’d found the two pirates wandering about the garden, laughing and smelling the flowers like flighty butterflies. When questioned, they had no remembrance of any orders to do much of anything. Blake had locked them in the guardhouse to enhance their memory.

Yet he began to wonder at his own memory, for he’d not slept in two nights. Not since the rain started and Emeline had dashed from his bed chamber. She’d been the only one to stay with him, care for him, after he’d injured his head. In return for her kindness, he’d been rude, harsh even, when she’d asked him to remove the Ring. But he couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do that. Not for anyone. Hence, ashamed and feeling like the knave he was, he’d left her alone, didn’t demand she play her violin or keep him company during the night. And for that, he’d suffered terribly in her absence.

“Josephine!” He pounded the door again.

It cracked to reveal an insolent grin beneath a seductive gaze. “ Oui ?”

“What did you do to my pirates?”

One dark brow rose as she opened the door. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You turned them into goose-brained ninnies.”

“ Moi ?” Pivoting, she sashayed back into the chamber, perhaps to hide her smile. “You give me too much credit. I am a mere woman.”

Blake’s jaw tightened. He knew she dabbled in the dark arts, had seen books of spells and chants in her cabin long ago. Yet he’d never put much weight in such fanciful fables of otherworldly power.

Until the Ring . The odd thought struck him.

She spun, her long silky hair twirling about her. A few strands splayed gracefully upon the exposed crests of her bosoms above her leather jerkin. He shifted his gaze away.

She must have noticed and mistaken it for interest. “If you close the door, Blake, we can—” she glanced at the bed—“enjoy the afternoon together. Like old times, oui ?”

Oddly, his body did not respond to the notion. His stomach did, however, as a bitter brew simmered within it.

Grunting, he gripped the hilt of his blade. “Gather what you brought. I’m taking you to your boat if I have to hoist you over my shoulder and drag you there.”

Seemingly unruffled, she chuckled. “Oh my, that does sound like fun.” She moved toward him, eyeing him up and down like one would assess a purchase.

Her scent of rosewater and the sea wafted around him, choking him. Halting, she lowered her gaze to his lips and licked her own. A slight moan of desire spilled from them as she leaned in for a kiss.

Blake shoved her back. “I am not the na?ve lad you seduced into your web. You have no power over me anymore, Jo. Now gather your things.”

Stumbling, she caught her balance and glared at him with eyes that grew darker and more malevolent by the second.

“ Très bien . I see you have made your decision.” She walked toward a desk in the far corner where a candle burned beside a dish, several bottles, and a large book.

Blake grew impatient while she fumbled with the objects, pouring liquid from one to another, and then capping and placing others in a pouch. Rays of afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, along with a salty breeze, but neither helped chase away the heaviness in the air.

Jo began mumbling something, almost singing, but without a tune.

“Let’s go!” he shouted. “I’ll not wait another moment.”

She continued chanting as she placed her items in the pouch and blew out the candle.

“Ready.” Turning, she raised both arms and then dropped them, flinging her fingers in his direction.

He stared at her, confused. “Have you gone mad? Let’s begone.”

But she remained in place, eyes locked upon his. Darkness swirled in her gaze. Nay, worse than darkness, a throbbing blackness sparked with fire. Then it was gone.

All strength drained from Blake, and he gripped the doorframe lest he fall. What was happening?

“You don’t look well, Blake.” Jo approached. “ En fait , you have gone quite pale.”

Hang it! Gathering all his strength and quickly fading wits, Blake stumbled into his bed chamber. He’d be damned if he would faint like some timid female in front of Josephine, for the lady pounced on any sign of weakness like a shark to blood. Hence, when his vision began to spin and his legs wobbled, he quickly excused himself and ambled down the hall, bumping into side tables and walls before he gained the privacy of his room.

“Cap’n!” The startled voice belonged to Finn, standing at Blake’s open wardrobe. At least he thought ’twas Finn through the haze that now covered Blake’s eyes.

“What are you doing in here, Finn?” Blake managed to shout as he dropped into a chair.

“Nothin’, Cap’n.” Clearly flustered, his quartermaster continued in a nervous tirade. “Jist admirin’ yer attire, were thinkin’ I might ask ye if I can borrow one o’ yer fancy suits. There’s a serving wench I’ve got me eye on, you see, an’—”

“Silence!” Blake held up a hand to halt the incessant chattering, which was wreaking havoc on his already chipped mind. “Cease your babbling, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

Finn approached, peering at Blake curiously. “Are ye all right, Cap’n?”

Conspicuously absent was Finn’s pipe, but Blake supposed if he intended to steal something, ’twould not be wise to leave the smell of tobacco in the room.

“Get out, Finn. Leave me be.” Blake should punish him for such an affront, but at the moment, he could hardly form two thoughts. “Out!”

Grumbling, Finn started away.

“Wait.” Blake rubbed his temples where an agonizing pain rose. “Gather ten of the crew and take Josephine to her boat. Make sure she rows out to her ship at once!”

“Aye, Cap’n.”

b

Slivers of moonlight broke through clouds and drifted into Emeline’s chamber, luring her outside to make another dash through the jungle, as she had done the night before. The fishing boat had still been there! And ready to set sail. But the seas had been too rough. The retreating storm had left a wake of surging whitecapped waves far too large for her small fishing boat to navigate safely. So, she had returned to her chamber, pleased when she’d been able to leave and come back undetected.

She’d not seen or heard Blake the entire day, though whispers floating about the house spoke of how he’d finally sent Josephine Arnaud back to her ship. Other whispers ensued, particularly when Emeline had ventured down for a light supper with Charlie and Pedro.

“Cap’n’s ill.” Charlie had answered Emeline’s inquiry as to his whereabouts.

Emeline had settled in her mind that she would never see him again. That she didn’t wish to see him again. Though now that she found him absent, it worried her. “Again? But he’d recovered so nicely.”

“Don’t know what it be, Miss.” Pedro plucked a banana from the buffet and began peeling it. “But it has him in a foul mood.”

“Perhaps I should check on him,” Emeline said, glancing at pirates and servants alike stuffing their faces with the fine fare Cook had laid out on banquet tables.

“I wouldn’t bother, Miss.” Sam Goode slid beside her, plateful of collared beef and pickled cucumbers in one hand and a drink in the other. “He merely needs his rest.”

“What do you think is the source of this second illness?”

“Nothing serious, I assure you. Most likely exhaustion from overwork. He needs rest is all.”

Bandit dashed into the hall, leapt atop the table beside Emeline, and began screeching and squawking something fierce.

Charlie waved him away. “Wonder what’s gotten into him?”

“Filthy beast,” Sam exclaimed as he grabbed his food and hastened off.

Whatever it was, Bandit would not cease his frantic diatribe until Emeline picked him up and brought him to her chamber. Even then the monkey seemed unusually agitated and jittery, pacing in front of the door that led to Blake’s chamber until finally, when evening shadows stole the sunlight, he fled out the window.

Afterward, Emeline had taken up her own pace, waiting…waiting…for the house to quiet, its occupants to take to their beds, and to ensure Blake would not burst through her door. Minutes passed like hours, as one by one, ever so slowly, the sounds of music, laughter, conversation, and the footsteps of servants skittering to and fro all ceased. Replaced by the katydids, flutter of leaves in the breeze, lap of waves, and the call of night herons outside.

It was time. Halting at the window, she glanced over the island. A half-moon painted strips of silver over palms and mahogany leaves as they waved in the light breeze. Beyond them, the sea glistened like ink, ribboned in pearls.

Drawing a deep breath, she glanced one last time toward Blake’s chamber and then started for her door.

A moan sounded. So light, she barely heard it. Against her better judgement, she slowly opened the door between their chambers and peeked inside. The normally virile pirate sat slouched in one of his velvet stuffed chairs, his chin on his chest, his legs stretched out before him, looking like a doll that had lost its stuffing.

“Captain?” She crept inside.

Lifting his chin, he peered in her direction, squinting, and finally offering her a smile. “Emeline.”

Dashing toward him, she knelt at his feet and touched his forehead. Hot, but not too hot. Still, all color had fled his skin, his breathing was shallow, and his limbs appeared limp and frail. Not at all like the great Captain Blake Keene. Her heart grew heavy, and she hated herself for it. She’d longed for a hero, a warrior, a gentleman—a man of God. What did she get? A greedy, selfish pirate with the manners of a camel and the faith of a reprobate.

But she cared for him. She knew that now. She might even love him. Which was why she must leave, and the sooner the better.

A glitter caught her eye, drawing it to the Ring. It had to be the source of his illness.

“Blake.” She slid her hand into his and squeezed. “’Tis the Ring that causes you to be so ill.” Wasn’t that what Josephine had said? That it would do naught but cause him pain and suffering.

“Bah!” He shook his head.

“You must take it off. Just for a little while.”

His reply was a mere moan.

“Why don’t you give it a try?” She pleaded.

He pried his eyes open a mere slit, staring at her as if he could barely see her.

“What harm could it do? Take it off. Hide it somewhere if you must, then let’s see if you recover.”

Releasing her hand, he moaned again and, with great effort, drew up his legs and leaned forward. Strands of his dark hair slid over his cheek, and she resisted the urge to brush them away, to feel the stubble on his jaw, to ease his pain.

He twisted the Ring…round and round…until finally, he tugged it off his finger and handed it to her.

Surprised, she stared at the wicked thing, wishing she could destroy it.

Struggling to stand, Blake wobbled, then promptly dropped back to his chair, gesturing to a table against the far wall. “Put it in that lockbox, lock it, and bring me the key.”

She did so. Unwillingly. Silently asking God whether she should take it and be rid of it forever, for she wanted naught to do with the cursed thing.

“That should keep Bandit away, at least.” Blake took the key and attempted a chuckle as Emeline hoisted him up as best she could and with one arm around his waist, helped him to his bed.

Coughing, he sank into the mattress as if the effort drained him of any remaining strength.

“You are a kind woman, Emeline,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “Too good for the likes of me.”

That much was true. For she had no idea why she was tending to her captor when she should be making her escape from his clutches.

Foolish woman!

She stood back, staring at him, memorizing his face, the steely cut of his jaw, his thin mustache, dark brows, and the ever-present necklaces lying atop his chest. If her plan succeeded, she’d never see him again. Oddly, that thought saddened her most of all.

Soon his breathing deepened as he drifted off to sleep. Good. No doubt that meant ’twas the Ring, indeed, which caused his illness. He should recover quickly now, and with Josephine gone as well, this pirate, this man who had captivated her heart, would soon continue on his quest to rule the world. Or at least the Caribbean.

Before she changed her mind, she darted from his chamber into hers and slipped out her door. The house was silent save for the sound of distant snoring, the chime of a clock, and the wind whisking over windowpanes. Retracing her steps from the night before, she descended the stairs and tiptoed past the banquet hall, then through the gallery where dark paintings mocked her as she passed. She crept into the quiet kitchen, then the pantry, next through the storeroom beyond until finally she exited the house out the servants’ entrance. Keeping to the north side, where no guard stood watch due to the impenetrable jungle, she avoided the gardens and entered the maze of green unnoticed.

Without a lantern, the darkness made it difficult to navigate the winding trail. More than once she tripped over rocks and roots. More than once, she fell to the mud. Twigs and vines scraped her neck and arms. But finally, she heard the lap of waves and emerged onto the tiny inlet. Her gaze glanced over the boat and out to sea where naught but calm, starlit swells gave her the nod of approval to embark on her journey.

Drawing a deep breath, she lifted a prayer for God’s will and her safety. Then, moving to the boat, she checked to ensure the sailcloth was intact and the oars were locked in place before she started shoving it from the sand.

Leaves swished. Footsteps padded, and a breathless pant tore hope from her heart. Still, she refused to give up. She had to leave. This was her chance! She had the boat nearly in the water now.

“Miss! Miss!” Pedro’s voice halted her.

She glanced up at the lad as he broke from the dark greenery onto the shore. Even in the dim light of the moon, she saw panic on his expression.

“What is it? How did you find me?”

“Charlie sent me, Miss.” He placed hands on his knees, breathing hard. “Said you’d be here.”

Frustration bubbled in her stomach. “What do you want?” Perhaps the boy wished to escape with her? Nay, he was no prisoner.

Finally, Pedro drew himself up. “It’s the cap’n, Miss. He’s dying.”

“I just left him. He will recover.” She faced the boat again. “Now, leave me be, Pedro.”

“He got worse, Miss. Much worse. The surgeon’s wit’ him now. Says he don’t have much time. Ye’ve got to come!”