Page 27 of The Summons (Legend of the King’s Ring #1)

D

id you take it?” Blake faced Emeline, who, even with her hair in disarray and her gown wrinkled, looked more beautiful than he remembered. Sudden embarrassment swamped him that he’d disclosed such intimate details of his life, stories he’d never told a soul.

She shook her head. “It was gone when I got here, Blake. I’m sorry.”

Should he believe her? When everyone else in his life always betrayed him? “You hated it. You wanted it gone.”

She folded her hands in front of her. “True enough. Nonetheless, I did not take it.”

Blake growled. He must not trust her. Must not trust anyone. “Finn! He was here in my chamber searching for something. He’s always had his eye on the Ring.”

She took a step toward him. “Blake…forget the Ring. The evil it brought you is gone. Get some rest.”

“Where’s Bandit?” For he wouldn’t put it past the smelly beast to steal it again.

“The lockbox was far too heavy for a monkey to carry,” she countered.

He eyed her with suspicion, unsure of her motives. Unsure of his own. Without saying a word, he tossed a shirt over his head, slipped on his boots, strapped on his weapons, and slammed out the door. He would find the Ring. And when he did, he’d kill the man, woman, child…or monkey who took it.

Three hours later, after waking and interrogating every member of his crew and staff—all while ignoring their shock at finding him alive—he ordered every chamber, hall, kitchen, library, and gallery to be searched. Still no Ring was found.

The pirates who escorted Josephine back to her ship reported she had, indeed, rowed out to La Sorcière and set sail soon after. However, lookouts on the south side of the island told him her ship had been spotted hugging the coast for several hours before she had set off to sea. Odd.

If anyone had the courage to defy him and steal the Ring, ’twould be her. Yet how did she even know about it? She had made no mention of it to him. Still, she’d returned to her ship long before Blake had removed it from his finger. And Emeline was right about Bandit. He did not have the strength to heft so large a box.

Therefore, only two of his crew remained high in his suspicions. One of whom he assumed was off on some dalliance with a native girl, and the other he’d just summoned to the library where Blake conducted his inquisitions.

“Do you really think it was Finn?” Emeline spoke from her seat on a nearby settee, Bandit in her arms.

Blake turned from the window. “I can think of no one else who both knew about the Ring and has enough reckless greed to dare defy me.” He crossed arms over his chest. “Rummy is always besotted, Sam cares not for his own life, Pedro is just a lad, and Charlie is too smart for such a defiant feat that would surely get her keelhauled or worse. Besides, though they may have had their suspicions, I don’t believe any of them knew about the Ring.”

“What of Maston? Is he not missing?”

Oddly, at the mention of the man’s name, Bandit flapped his hairy arms in the air and screeched.

Ignoring him, Blake blew out a sigh. “Perhaps, but his greed extends toward women and wine, not power.”

Movement brought Blake’s gaze to the doorway where Finn entered, wide-eyed and looking like a mouse about to be caught in a trap.

“Where’s the Ring, Finn?” Blake ground out.

Swallowing hard, Finn tugged at the bandana around his head. “I didn’t take it, Cap’n. I swears.”

“You were in my chamber right before I got sick. You were looking for it, were you not?”

Finn cast a pleading glance at Emeline.

“Were you not?” Blake’s shout caused Emeline to flinch and Finn to take a step back.

“Aye, I were lookin’ fer it, Cap’n. But I didn’t find it. I didn’t take it.”

Blake fingered the hilt of his blade. “If you had found it, you would have stolen it. Defied me! Betrayed me!”

Squealing, Bandit began shaking his head, drawing a glance from Blake, and he suddenly wished he could still understand him. What was wrong with the infernal varmint?

Finn shrank back, terror streaking his eyes. “I can’t say fer sure, Cap’n. I…I wanted to see it, touch it, try its power. ’Ard to resist, eh? But take it?” His breathing heightened. “I don’t think I would’ve, Cap’n.”

Blake studied him. He’d known Finn for five years, and he’d never seen him so frightened, not even when they’d been chased by a fleet of French frigates a year past, not even when one of said frigates had pummeled the Summons with a broadside that had nearly sent her down to Davey Jones’ locker.

“If you have it, Finn, give it back to me at once, and I vow to let you live.”

“But I don’t ’ave it, Cap’n. I swears on me mother’s grave.”

Blake approached his quartermaster… slowly… methodically, the thud of his boots sounding out the man’s demise. With his gaze locked upon Finn and his hand itching to pull his cutlass, Blake halted before him. “If I discover you took it, you’ll be pleading to join your mother in that grave.”

Lowering his eyes to the floor, Finn nodded.

A servant rushed through the door, a piece of parchment in hand. “Captain Keene, you told us to search Claude Maston’s chamber more thoroughly.”

Looking up, Blake nodded.

“We found this missive. Don’t know how we missed it before.” He handed the parchment to Blake.

By the time you read this, my dear Capitaine, I will be long gone with both your Ring and your woman. You took me for a docile popinjay, but now you discover I am far more shrewd and courageous than you’ll ever be.

Au revoir, mon Capitaine. See you in hell .

b

With as much grace as she could gather, Emeline swung her legs over the bulwarks and planted her feet once again on the deck of the Summons . Whatever the note had said, it thrust Blake into a rampage so swift and hard that she feared his health would relapse. Yet now, as she watched him mount the quarterdeck ladder, issuing orders to his crew, he seemed more stalwart than ever. Whatever had nearly killed him had been of a spiritual nature, which the name of Jesus had evicted. Yet at the moment, it seemed he’d been taken over by an equally deadly demon, one that filled his eyes with bloodlust and his heart with darkness.

He had stormed through the house, shouting orders to his crew to ready the Summons and to his staff to maintain and protect the island in his absence. Chaos ensued with servants running hither and thither and supplies being gathered and sent to the ship. Hence, within the hour, Blake escorted Emeline to the cockboat, barely uttering a word.

And once again she found herself a prisoner on board his ship.

No one ordered her below. No one paid her much mind as she wove through the dozens of pirates scurrying across the deck and made her way to the starboard railing overlooking the bay. A humid breeze stirred the tendrils of her hair as rays from a rising sun warmed her and spread golden fingers over turquoise waters. Beyond the white sand of the shore, the turrets and gables of Keene House poked above the verdant web of the jungle, defiant and strong like the arms of the dead rising from a grassy grave. Oddly, sorrow draped over her at leaving this place. Which was ridiculous, of course. Still, so much had happened here. She’d learned a great deal about Blake, his mournful past, what motivated him—much of which had gripped her heart, her very soul, and refused to let go. Which was also ridiculous. Foolish, foolish girl.

“You’re a dreamer, my sweet darling,” her father would say. “Always have your head off in some adventure.”

Squealing turned her just in time to see Bandit swinging from the ratlines and taking one final leap into her arms. Thankfully, she caught him in time as the monkey nestled his cheek against hers.

“Where have you been, you naughty monkey?”

To which he only grinned.

“Hands to stations!” Blake brayed. “Unfurl sails, loose topsails, man the capstan!”

Finn added a few commands of his own, sending men leaping into shrouds and others dashing here and there, gathering lines, and gripping the spokes of the capstan.

Blake stood on the quarterdeck, more authority and determination riding on his face than most admirals facing battle. Wind tossed his dark hair behind him as he and Rummy studied a map spread across the binnacle. He’d donned his usual pirate attire, with tight breeches stuffed in knee high boots, a white shirt open at the collar and covered by a leather jerkin. A myriad of weapons stuffed in his baldric winked at her in the sunlight.

For one brief moment their eyes met, and a look of understanding passed between them. Interrupted by a shout from the shore.

“Cap’n! A body.”

Emeline spun about. There on the shore stood two pirates, pulling a bloated corpse from the water.

b

With much grunting and groaning, Blake’s men finally hauled the body up the rope ladder and dropped it upon the deck with a disrespectful thud.

Claude Maston .

Several pirates gasped at the sight. Charlie drew a hand to her mouth. Rummy cursed. Finn stared at the body of his friend, a numb look on his face, and Pedro said in a trembling voice, “Poor Maston.”

Poor Maston, indeed. Blake had a good idea what had happened to him, and it only incensed him more.

“We should bury ’im, Cap’n.” Finn drew the pipe from his mouth, not yet willing to look Blake in the eyes.

Though Blake no longer believed he had anything to do with the missing Ring, the fact that he had even considered betraying Blake proved the man’s loyalties did not stretch beyond his own desires. Hence he could no longer trust him. Ever.

One glance at Emeline standing at the railing revealed the horror on her face. Hang it. He should not have allowed her to witness such a frightening sight.

He glanced back at Maston. “Nay, I do not wish him to remain on my island. We’ll bury him at sea. Holland, Duarte, take the body below and wrap it in sailcloth. The rest of you”—Blake scanned his crew—“back to work! We set sail immediately!”

Grumbling, his crew skittered away as Blake turned to Finn. “Escort Miss Hyde to my cabin, then return here to your duties.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Finn said, staring at the deck. “Where we be headin’, if I may ask?”

“We are pursuing La Sorcière , and after I retrieve my Ring, I’m going to sink her and her captain to the depths.”

More tired than he’d been in a long while, Blake entered his cabin, unbuckled his baldric, and laid his weapons on his desk with a heavy clank . Heaving a deep sigh, he stared out the stern windows as the sun dragged the last ribbons of orange over the edge of the horizon, pulling a dark quilt upon the sea in their stead.

Emeline . Only then did he remember that he’d sent her to his cabin. He turned. There she was, fast asleep on his bed. He couldn’t help but smile. She looked so peaceful, like a little lamb without a care in the world. However, he knew better. She was no lamb nor a little bird as he so oft called her. She was wise and strong and brave. And good. He longed to protect her from this evil world. Trouble was, he was the evil in her world at the moment.

Moving to the cupboard, he uncorked a bottle of rum and took a big swig. He’d spent the day searching the seas for any sign of Josephine’s ship. She could not have gotten too far in only a day, but she might as well be at the other end of the world, for he’d not spotted a single sail skimming upon the turbulent blue waters.

A soft murmur brought his gaze around to Emeline, who was just rising to sit on his bed. Looking embarrassed, she rubbed her eyes. “My apologies, Captain.”

“None necessary. You were awake all last night.” Resisting the urge to draw near to her, he wove around his desk and leaned back against it, crossing his boots at his ankles. “On my account.”

She smiled. “As were you.”

He rubbed his chin. She had forfeited a night’s sleep for him and yet, her thoughts were for his exhaustion.

The ship rolled over a wave and Emeline gripped the bedframe, her eyes widening as if she just realized where she’d slept. Jumping up, she attempted to brush the wrinkles from her skirts, red blooming over her cheeks.

Blake grinned.

“Maston,” she whispered, her voice edged in sorrow. “What happened?”

Blake sipped his drink. “Josephine happened.”

Her confused look prompted him to continue. “The note I received? ’Twas from him, informing me he’d taken the Ring and was running away with Josephine.”

Shock flashed in Emeline’s eyes. “Oh, my.” Her brow wrinkled. “So, they were…they were...”

“Lovers, aye. I should have seen it. Maston chases after every skirt he sees, and Josephine needed a little pigeon to do her bidding.” Setting down his glass, he crossed arms over his chest. One would think Blake would be so accustomed to betrayal that it no longer surprised or pained him. This recent betrayal had done both. Further proving his weakness. He silently cursed.

“He must have entered your chamber when you were ill,” Emeline said, “when Sam had stepped out for a moment.”

Nodding, Blake felt fury string tight across his jaw.

Emeline approached, the swish of her skirts accompanying the dash of the sea against the hull. Her gaze drifted over his ear. “Wherever is your black pearl earring?”

Absently, Blake touched his earlobe. “I tossed it overboard. Should have done it years ago.” In truth, he had no idea why he’d kept it.

She studied him curiously. “’Twas a gift from her.”

Shaking his head, he snorted. “How do you know such things?”

“I’m sorry, Blake,” she said, her tone melancholy. “I know you’ve suffered from much treachery.”

“I don’t want your pity,” he said a bit too harshly. “I want my Ring.”

He frowned at the disappointment in her eyes, then chastised himself for caring what this female thought.

The Summons pitched over a wave, and he reached out to steady her.

She jerked from his touch as if it burned her skin. “Do you think Josephine killed him? Is she capable of such a horrific act?”

Blake raked back his hair. “More than capable. She used him to get the Ring, no doubt promised to love him forever”—as she had done with Blake—“and after he was of no further use, she did away with him.”

“Heartless,” Emeline breathed out.

“Now you understand her.”

“I believe she is a witch.” Emeline hugged herself. “I have no doubt your illness was a result of some vile spell she cast upon you.”

“A witch?” He shook his head. “Indeed, that makes more sense than I care to admit.”

“Poor Maston.” Moisture glazed her eyes. “I am sorry he was willing to betray you.”

Grabbing his glass, Blake pushed from the desk and went to refill it. “Maston lived for himself. He was driven by a lust for every pleasure he could find.”

“Hmm. Similar to your lust for power,” she countered sarcastically.

Blake faced her, drink in hand. One of her adorable brows quirked in jest. Yet was it a jest? More truth than jest, for her words pricked his heart. Was he no different than Maston? They both sought things in this life that would satisfy and protect. Maston yearned for love in the arms of women. Perhaps because, like Blake, he’d been tossed to the streets by one. And Blake sought power to prevent such a tragedy from occurring again.

As the last vestiges of light dipped over the horizon, shadows crept out of hiding. Blake could no longer see the exquisite details of her face. After taking a gulp of rum, he set down his glass, then struck flint to steel and lit the lantern on his desk. Threads of golden light spread outward, landing on Emeline and circling her in a golden glow—a heavenly glow. He wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t hail from that eternal city, sent down to Earth to set him aright.

Her eyes searched his, a look in them he’d not seen before. A look that stirred his heart, making him want to promise her the world if she’d only continue gazing at him like that.

“I should leave.” She backed away. “Am I to lodge in the same cabin?”

He reached for her hand and stayed her. “Don’t go.”

She faced him but said nothing.

“Pedro told me what you did,” he said.

The slightest catch of her breath sounded, barely noticeable, and she lowered her gaze.

“That you were about to escape, indeed, could have escaped. But when you discovered how ill I was, you forsook your only opportunity and returned.” He still could not believe it…that anyone would put the needs of others ahead of themselves. Scads! The needs of her captor! What kind of creature stood before him? Angel? Saint? A true lady with the heart of a queen.

She gave him a tender smile. “I couldn’t very well allow you to die, could I?”

“Why not? I’ve kept you prisoner against your will for nigh a month. There’s not a person on Earth who would not have taken the chance to get away. But not you.” Reaching up, he brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. Always so soft.

At first, she closed her eyes at his touch, then snapped them open and took a step back, her breathing coming fast. “Human life is far more important than my freedom.”

“Any human life?” He longed to hear that she cared, that she had returned because she felt affection for him.

“Any.” She would not meet his gaze.

“I don’t believe you.”

Confusion wrinkled her brow. “Why would I lie?”

“Because you feel something for me. I see it in your eyes. I felt it in your kiss.”

Red flushed across her face. From anger or shame, he couldn’t tell. “You insufferable, lecherous toad! Do you think every female fawns over your affections?”

“Perhaps.” He grinned. “But I care that only a particular one does.”

With a humph, she turned to leave.

“A wager, then?”

She spun, eyes aflame.

“A single kiss. One kiss, merely to discover if you harbor any affection for me at all.”

“A gentleman would never suggest such a thing! I will not engage in such licentious play.”

Yet she made no move to leave. Blake drew closer. “What are you afraid of?”

“Ridiculous!” She whirled around, but Blake grabbed her hand and pulled her close. When she made no move to resist, he wrapped an arm around her and drew her against his chest. Her soft curves molded against his firm muscles, and still she remained. In truth, she seemed to weaken in his embrace.

Slowly gently, he put his lips on hers.