At least not for her.
A ship sailed slowly into the bay. TheSummons? Aye, ’twas Captain Keene’s brig! There he stood on the quarterdeck, poised tall and strong as if he sailed into port victorious after battle. To say she was shocked would not describe the jolt that nearly sent her tumbling back to the sand. Why would he come? He had the Ring. He had proven himself to be no hero, no defender of the weak or needy. There had to be something else he wanted from the Jesuits.
Either way, she allowed a speck of hope to settle in her heart as she whispered a prayer,
Lord, let Your will be done and no lives lost.
Chapter 14
B
lake wanted to vomit at the look of impertinence on the hawkish princox’s face. Gripping the hilt of his cutlass, his fingers ached to draw it and put an end to the Jesuit captain’s miserable life. He’d do so if not for the lady standing just yards behind the odious beast, a look of terror twisting her lovely features.
He’d spotted her as soon as they’d sailed into the bay, kept his eye on her as they brought the brig to a halt and dropped anchor, and felt her eyes lock upon him as he, Finn, and Maston, along with Bandit, rowed the jollyboat to shore.
Now, as he approached Arturo Della Morte, the Ring warmed on his finger. Odd, that. ’Twas as if it knew what he intended to do. Perhaps reading minds was another of its powers, for he had yet to discover all its secrets.
The Jesuit cocked his hip, grinning as Blake and his men approached. On either side of him, two fellow Jesuits eyed the proceedings as if bored, both dressed in the same black suits with golden insignia, pearl-colored Venetian hose, and doublets with sleeves stitched in silver. Over Della Morte’s shoulder, Blake dared a glance at Emeline. The tangled strands of her hair waved across her waist in the light breeze. Her gown was wrinkled and stained, but he could see no wounds on her skin. Only the ones in her gaze as she stared his way. Still, she stood tall and sturdy, her chin out, her jaw stiff, her lips flat. No wilting flower here.
Movement amongst the trees alerted him that Della Morte had hidden men for a possible ambush. As Blake expected. Also, as he expected, the bow of the Jesuit frigate peeked around the inlet and floated across the entrance, blocking their exit.
But Blake had a few surprises of his own. Halting before the Jesuit, he studied him.Ringlets of dark hair danced about his shoulders as he fingered a pointed beard sprouting from his chin with one hand and gripped the hilt of a jeweled saber with the other. A breeze drifted in from the sea, stirring the purple plume atop the man’s hat.
“What need of all this?” Blake waved a hand toward the frigate and then the men hidden in the forest. “Seems my reputation precedes me of being a formidable foe. You are right to fear me.”
Finn chuckled.
“Ha!” Della Morte snorted, while his greedy eyes latched onto the Ring on Blake’s finger. “The only reputation you have is one of a thief and swindler. Therefore, I took precautions. Now, let us be done with it.” He held out his open palm. “The Ring, if you please.”
Blake gestured toward Emeline. “The lady first, ifyouplease.”
Della Morte blew out a huff and gestured for her to be brought forward. “Despicable how you Englishmen are domineered by your women. Ergo, under the circumstances, I counted on your doting infatuation.”
One of his men retreated and dragged Emeline forward.
Blake ground his teeth. Maston gripped the hilt of his blade.
Against every impulse to run the insolent bawcock through, Blake gave a tight smile. “I count on your honor, Signor, since you present yourself as the Pope’s man.”
The Jesuit’s slit-like eyes dropped to the cross around Blake’s neck. “It is a blasphemy for you to wear our Lord’s cross.”
“No more than you, Signor,” Blake returned.
The accusation hit its mark as Della Morte grimaced and once again stroked the hilt of his blade.
His man brought Emeline to stand beside the Jesuit fool.
Blake met her gaze—a longing, along with terror, in her eyes and a confidence he hoped he was conveying in his.
Della Morte held out his hand once again. Sunlight reflected off the jewels already adorning his fingers as wind fluttered the lace of his wide, embroidered sleeves.
Out of the corner of his eye, Blake spotted Bandit perched upon the branch of a nearby tree. Everything relied on the monkey’s undying infatuation with two things—Emeline and the Ring. Along with the power of the relic to communicate with animals, for he’d divulged Bandit’s part of the plan to the creature earlier, trusting the beast could understand Blake as well as he seemed to understand him. Or so he hoped.
“Don’t give it to him, Captain.” The lady finally spoke up, her voice strong yet trembling. “He will use it for much evil.”
Of that Blake had no doubt.
One of Della Morte’s brows arched as he gave an impatient sigh. “I could order my men to shoot you right here. Not to mention”—he gestured toward his frigate blocking the entrance to the bay—“one signal from me, and my crew will blast your paltry brig to splinters. Ergo, only by my grace do you stand here unscathed.”
