“You grew up poor,Signor, did you not? I see you as a young boy, hungry and cold.”
He sipped his wine, but not before she saw a flicker of shock cross his eyes and a wrinkle form on his brow. He laughed. “As you can see,Signorina, I am quite wealthy and powerful. Both of which would be to your credit to realize, for your very life is in my hands.”
“My life is in God’s hands alone.” She raised her chin. “Your god is power and money, and I assure you, he will only disappoint.”
Without warning, he threw his chalice at her. She ducked. It struck the bulkhead with a loudthump. Rage mangling his features, he charged her. She slammed her eyes shut, awaiting his strike. The scent of bergamot flooded her.
Strong hands lifted her from the chair and hurled her against the bulkhead. He clutched her throat and squeezed. She couldn’t breathe. Was this to be her end?
Lord?
Struggling for air, she attempted to pry his hand off her neck, but his fingers were stronger than a ship’s gasket. She kicked, but her feet met only air.
“I tire of your insolence! Tell me where the Ring is, or I’ll kill you right here.”
He released her. Gasping, Emeline melted to the floor, gripping her throat. She heard him walk away, pour more Chianti. She had underestimated this man’s hatred, his need for power.
“I regret my outburst,” he said, “but your vicious tongue is not to be borne. You will find me a gentleman if you cooperate.”
Finally able to breathe, Emeline struggled to rise and stared at him. More than anger, more than fear, she felt pity for him. Though a grown man now, attired in velvet and lace, and bearing the mantle of the Pope’s authority, he was still that little boy, hungry and cold.
“I do not have the Ring you seek,Signor,” she coughed out. “It was stolen from me.”
Cocking his head, he let out a sigh of frustration. “Ah.” He flung dark curls over his shoulder as his face lit. “Captain Blake Keene. I saw his ship in the harbor.”
She thought to deny it, but what good would it do? This man was no fool.
“Since you have claimed to be a gentleman,Signor, I beg you to set me free. I am of no use to you.”
“Ah, but you are,Signorina.” He grinned. “Are you not Captain Keene’s paramour? Surely when he hears you are in grave danger, he will give me the Ring in exchange for your safe return.”
b
Standing upon the quarterdeck under a brisk wind, Blake stared aloft at a moon mocking him from above. Sails trimmed to tops and gallants for the night fluttered in the breeze. Below him, pirates lulled about the deck, drinking their ration of rum. Some played cards, others told fables of great heroics, a few sung an old sailor’s chanty.
He rubbed the Ring tight about his finger. It had been a week since he’d taken it from Miss Hyde…Emeline. Thus far, it had proven its power over wind and wave, saved him from battle with a Jesuit frigate, and gained him the fortunes of two unsuspecting merchant ships. His crew was happy. Their wealth was amassing, their fame spreading. His plans were coming to fruition.
Then why did he feel like his world was being ripped apart? With the Ring, he could control God’s nature, defeat ships in battle, and, if need be, bring naval admirals to their knees. But he could not control his own demons. Each night they rose to haunt him, taunt him, flaunt their putrid damnations, their never-ending blasphemous slurs. Worse when his father appeared. Would the man not leave Blake be, even in death?
Maston slid beside him, bottle of rum in hand. “The crew are restless to spend their coins at port,Capitaine. Perhaps we should make for the nearest anchorage. Is not your island close?”
“They are happy enough.” TheSummonsleapt over a wave, and Blake gripped the railing, smiling at his bosun. “Perhaps ’tis you who longs to go ashore?”
Maston sipped his rum and snorted. “You know me well,Capitaine. I could use some female company.”
Aye,Blakedidknow Maston. They had much in common. They both had endured brutal childhoods, both sought all they could out of life, grabbing for every bit of wealth and happiness. But they differed as well. More than wealth, Blake needed control. He would never grant anyone the power to hurt him again.
“Very well. We’ll make way for Keene Island. I need to offload my portion of the treasure.”Home.At least the only home he’d known. “If the crew remains restless after that, I’ll find some debauched port to satisfy their lusts.”
Maston handed him the bottle. “I will inform them.”
Grabbing it, Blake took a sip and gave it back.
“I’ll be takin’ some o’ that,” Rummy called from the wheel behind them and, laughing, Maston headed his way.
Jabbering brought Blake’s gaze to Bandit swinging down the ratlines. The traitorous monkey landed on the bulwarks beside Sam Goode, who stood in his usual spot at night, brooding over the inky sea.
Blake had a question for the only man on board with half a brain. Leaping down the quarterdeck ladder, he eased beside him at the railing. Wind, ripe with the scent of salt and fish, tore over him, and he breathed it in like a familiar elixir.
