She’d not seen Senor Della Morte again. Not since he’d called her Captain Keene’s paramour. Not since he’d nearly choked her to death. In fact, she’d seen no one, save the same skinny man who had first come to her cabin. Each day he came only once—with food and to empty her chamber pot. Each day, he responded to her questions with a single sneer before he left.
She asked him to relay a message to his captain—that she was most definitely not Captain Keene’s mistress, and that the knave woulddefinitely notgive a care whether she lived or died. All truths which needed to be explained. Still, she had no idea whether the messages reached the vicious Jesuit captain at all.
Were they now engaging in battle? With her below deck where a shot could blow her to bits? What did it matter? She had made her peace with God.
Well, she hoped she had, anyway. During the long days and nights, she’d appealed to Him for help and comfort, and she’d felt His warm, loving presence. She knew He was with her and there was a reason for all of this madness. What she didn’t know or understand was what that reason could possibly be.
Thus far, she’d been kidnapped twice, spent days in a brothel, discarded like so much refuse by one man, then nearly killed by another. If God sent her on this mission to spread the good news of the Gospel, she’d done her best. She’d witnessed of the love of God to a pirate and a trollop, but neither had paid her any mind.
Lord, you should have sent my sister or brother on this mission, for I am certainly failing in every way.In her loneliness, she’d finally realized that God was the One who had granted her words of knowledge, visions of understanding her enemies, but what good had it done? Surely in the hands of someone more worthy, this gift would do its mighty work.
Another thunderous blast rang, but this one from another ship. A nearby ship.
Dropping to her knees, she began to pray for the safety of all involved.
b
“Land ho!” The expected shout came down from the crosstrees, prompting Blake to raise the spyglass to his eye. There, less than a mile off their starboard bow, the small islet burst from the sea like a cork floating atop a bottle of azure wine.
Blake knew that spit of land, for he’d careened there often. The Jesuit had chosen well. The shallow bay would allow only theSummonsto enter, whereas its narrow inlet could easily be guarded by the Jesuit’s Venetian Frigate, preventing their quick escape. Which was exactly what Blake would need—a quick escape.Ifhis plan were to work.
Thatifhad been scraping away at his soul for a day. ’Twas a hugeif, one that relied on too many variables for his comfort, even for his normally crazed ventures. But what choice did he have? Even with all its power, the Ring was useless to him if wearing it sent him to the madhouse.
Scanning the area, he spotted the bare masts and furled sails of said frigate coming into view hugging the leeward side of the island.Hang it! The Jesuit captain had positioned his ship so that should Blake decide to fire upon it, he’d have to sail within range and scope of the frigate’s twenty eighteen-pounders. All of which were run out and ready to fire.
And fire they did.Boom! One of them belched its load, jetting black smoke in the air and flinging a shot into the sea just yards off theSummons’ starboard quarter.
A greeting, no doubt, but still Blake groaned and focused the glass onto the frigate’s deck. A man in black—not Della Morte—stood amidships, his arms crossed over his chest, spouting orders to the crew, none of whom rushed around in the usual frenzy of battle. Certainly Della Morte had not ordered them to sink the very ship that carried the Ring he so desperately craved.
Two more shots erupted, both landing in the sea.
Blake’s crew cursed and dashed about. Lowering the scope, he found Maston staring up at him with a scowl. “Orders,Capitaine?”
“Warning shots,” Blake said. “Charlie!” he shouted to the master gunner, “return our greeting if you please.” Nodding, she promptly directed her crew to fire one of the guns into the open sea.
TheSummonscrested a wave, sending foamy water over her bow. Blake gripped the railing as Finn uttered a string of foul curses beside him and ran a sleeve over the sweat on his forehead.
“All this fer a wench! Have ye lost yer mind, Cap’n? I says it’s a trap an’ we’s outgunned an’ outmanned. We’ll be sunk t’ the depths fer sure.”
Behind them at the helm, Rummy belched his agreement.
Blake frowned. They were right, of course.
After completing her task, Charlie gazed at Blake with skepticism.
Even Maston, who loved a wild adventure, raised incriminating brows at him as he ordered the topmen to lower sails.
Movement brought Blake’s gaze to Bandit swinging down the backstay. He landed on the starboard railing, his little monkey eyes spearing Blake as he screeched and shrieked as if the world were coming to an end.
Perhaps it was. Perhaps Blake was the biggest fool of all to risk his crew, his ship, and, quite possibly, all their lives. All to save Emeline.Andregain control of the dark side of the Ring. Of course, he couldn’t tell his crew that last part. All they knew was he traded a Ring for the woman, and though there’d been complaining and grumbling and even calling for a vote, one reminder of the fortune he’d recently acquired for them shut their mouths.
He finally answered Finn. “Do you know what the Jesuits will do to Miss Hyde if I do not at least attempt her rescue?”
“Scupper me, Cap’n! Wha’ business be it o’ ours?” Rummy chimed in with disgust. “The woman got ’erself into trouble. Let ’er get out o’ it.”
Blake swept stern eyes to the helmsman. “Wegot her into this trouble, and we are going to get her out. You take me?”
The helmsman grimaced but quickly looked away, keeping his one hand on the wheel.
