It was time. Halting at the window, she glanced over the island. A half-moon painted strips of silver over palms and mahogany leaves as they waved in the light breeze. Beyond them, the sea glistened like ink, ribboned in pearls.
Drawing a deep breath, she glanced one last time toward Blake’s chamber and then started for her door.
A moan sounded. So light, she barely heard it. Against her better judgement, she slowly opened the door between their chambers and peeked inside. The normally virile pirate sat slouched in one of his velvet stuffed chairs, his chin on his chest, his legs stretched out before him, looking like a doll that had lost its stuffing.
“Captain?” She crept inside.
Lifting his chin, he peered in her direction, squinting, and finally offering her a smile. “Emeline.”
Dashing toward him, she knelt at his feet and touched his forehead. Hot, but not too hot. Still, all color had fled his skin, his breathing was shallow, and his limbs appeared limp and frail. Not at all like the great Captain Blake Keene. Her heart grew heavy, and she hated herself for it. She’d longed for a hero, a warrior, a gentleman—a man of God. What did she get? A greedy, selfish pirate with the manners of a camel and the faith of a reprobate.
But she cared for him. She knew that now. She might even love him. Which was why she must leave, and the sooner the better.
A glitter caught her eye, drawing it to the Ring. It had to be the source of his illness.
“Blake.” She slid her hand into his and squeezed. “’Tis the Ring that causes you to be so ill.” Wasn’t that what Josephine had said? That it would do naught but cause him pain and suffering.
“Bah!” He shook his head.
“You must take it off. Just for a little while.”
His reply was a mere moan.
“Why don’t you give it a try?” She pleaded.
He pried his eyes open a mere slit, staring at her as if he could barely see her.
“What harm could it do? Take it off. Hide it somewhere if you must, then let’s see if you recover.”
Releasing her hand, he moaned again and, with great effort, drew up his legs and leaned forward. Strands of his dark hair slid over his cheek, and she resisted the urge to brush them away, to feel the stubble on his jaw, to ease his pain.
He twisted the Ring…round and round…until finally, he tugged it off his finger and handed it to her.
Surprised, she stared at the wicked thing, wishing she could destroy it.
Struggling to stand, Blake wobbled, then promptly dropped back to his chair, gesturing to a table against the far wall. “Put it in that lockbox, lock it, and bring me the key.”
She did so. Unwillingly. Silently asking God whether she should take it and be rid of it forever, for she wanted naught to do with the cursed thing.
“That should keep Bandit away, at least.” Blake took the key and attempted a chuckle as Emeline hoisted him up as best she could and with one arm around his waist, helped him to his bed.
Coughing, he sank into the mattress as if the effort drained him of any remaining strength.
“You are a kind woman, Emeline,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “Too good for the likes of me.”
That much was true. For she had no idea why she was tending to her captor when she should be making her escape from his clutches.
Foolish woman!
She stood back, staring at him, memorizing his face, the steely cut of his jaw, his thin mustache, dark brows, and the ever-present necklaces lying atop his chest. If her plan succeeded, she’d never see him again. Oddly, that thought saddened her most of all.
Soon his breathing deepened as he drifted off to sleep. Good. No doubt that meant ’twas the Ring, indeed, which caused his illness. He should recover quickly now, and with Josephine gone as well, this pirate, this man who had captivated her heart, would soon continue on his quest to rule the world. Or at least the Caribbean.
Before she changed her mind, she darted from his chamber into hers and slipped out her door. The house was silent save for the sound of distant snoring, the chime of a clock, and the wind whisking over windowpanes. Retracing her steps from the night before, she descended the stairs and tiptoed past the banquet hall, then through the gallery where dark paintings mocked her as she passed. She crept into the quiet kitchen, then the pantry, next through the storeroom beyond until finally she exited the house out the servants’ entrance. Keeping to the north side, where no guard stood watch due to the impenetrable jungle, she avoided the gardens and entered the maze of green unnoticed.
Without a lantern, the darkness made it difficult to navigate the winding trail. More than once she tripped over rocks and roots. More than once, she fell to the mud. Twigs and vines scraped her neck and arms. But finally, she heard the lap of waves and emerged onto the tiny inlet. Her gaze glanced over the boat and out to sea where naught but calm, starlit swells gave her the nod of approval to embark on her journey.
Drawing a deep breath, she lifted a prayer for God’s will and her safety. Then, moving to the boat, she checked to ensure the sailcloth was intact and the oars were locked in place before she started shoving it from the sand.
