Page 37 of The Summons


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Normally, she would not obey a command from such a deviant, but she feared she would fall to the deck if she didn’t. The cushion was soft, the chair arms carved and hard, but she gripped them nonetheless, doing her best to stay conscious. “What did you do to me?”

“Do?” Grinning, he circled the desk, tugging at his lacy cuffs.

“I am ill.”

“No. Not ill. We merely gave you a bit of opium to assure your cooperation.”

Of course. The reason for the nausea and dizziness. Straightening her spine, she faced him. “It will take more than a drug to gain my cooperation,Signor.”

His lips tightened. “Father. You will address me as father.”

“I cannot do so, for I only have one earthly father and one heavenly One.”

He stroked his pointed beard. “I see the rumors are true. English dogs have little control over their women’s idle tongues.”

Rays of sunlight rose and fell over the hideous Jesuit, glinting off the gold epaulets on his shoulders and bold cross around his neck. Beyond him, rich velvet curtains framed paned windows through which waves of a cobalt sea frolicked as if naught was wrong with the world.

But everything was wrong.

Emeline shifted her shoes across the richly woven damask rug, lifting a silent prayer for God to protect her from this man.

“Where is the Ring,Signorina?” He gripped the hilt of his jeweled saber, studying her.

“I do not have it. Which I’m sure you discovered when I was, no doubt, violated whilst I was unconscious.” The thought of these men’s hands groping her brought nausea back to her belly.

He laughed. “We searched you, though not the entirety of your person, for we are men of the cloth, after all.”

Men of the pit was more like it. “As I said, I do not have it.”

“But you know where it is.”

“I threw it in the bay at Basseterre.” She winced at her lie, but how else to gain her freedom?

“I do not believe you. You see, you were never out of our sight.”

Such intense darkness pooled in his lifeless eyes that she averted her gaze to a large wooden trunk. Birds and flowers were carved in gold along the sides. Quite exquisite work for shipboard furniture.

“Why do you seek it?” she asked. “’Tis just an old relic.”

His smile was wide and predatory. “You are quite full of lies for one so young.”

She feigned a chuckle she did not feel. “Are you foolish enough to believe a fable, a mere myth, that it holds power?”

His jaw tightened at her insult, and for a moment she thought he’d strike her. But then he drew a deep breath and fidgeted with a silver chalice atop his desk. “If it were not true, then why does Pope Clement XI, the vicar of Christ, demand I bring it to him?”

She wanted to tell him that no man was a vicar of Jesus, no man could ever represent God Almighty. But why anger him further? “I suppose he will reward you greatly for your mission.”

“To serve him is enough reward.”

Now ’twas her turn to laugh.

Sharp eyes, full of malice and hate, speared her. Then swerving away, he moved to a cabinet, opened it, and retrieved a bottle. “Care for some Chianti?”

“Nay. I prefer to keep my wits about me.”

“And you will need them.” He poured the wine into the chalice, then spun to face her. “For if you are wise, you will tell me where the Ring is.”

She studied him, his insolent stance, his posh attire, the authority he shielded himself with.In his place, a young lad appeared, thin, boney, dressed in rags, running through a small village. She blinked the vision away. Why was God showing her these things? What did they mean?