The reverberating thunder of guns shook the sky as he spread his arms over her and leaned his head against hers. Her harried breaths filled the air between them, her sweet scent so at odds with the stench of battle. TheSummonsstaggered beneath one of the shots.
Cursing, Blake pushed from her and marched to examine the damage as the ship yawed widely to starboard.
“Jist smashed our bulwarks at the waist,” Finn said, gripping the railing beside the shattered wood. “No other shots hit us.”
Blake nodded, relieved. Plucking the spyglass from his belt, he examined theGuerrieri Della Croce, bracing his boots on the tilting deck. Her foremast was shattered. Fragments of the yards hung in the waist below. Grinning, he lowered the scope and scanned the horizon. No black clouds, no advancing storms. Why wasn’t Jo using the Ring?
Still, the Italian frigate persisted, completing a larboard tack and coming up on theSummons’ starboard side.
“Ease braces, mainsail aloft. Hard a-port. Ready the larboard guns!” Blake would position a broadside against their stern. If it worked, it would certainly cripple them.
“Aye, Cap’n!” Charlie began braying orders to her gun crew as Pedro brought more shot and cartridges up from the magazine.
Minutes seemed like hours as his topmen rapidly adjusted sailcloth for the quick turn. Without the weather gauge, theGuerrieri Della Crocelumbered clumsily in their tack, finally presenting their stern. Blake smiled.
“On my order, Charlie,” he shouted. “Hold…” Carefully, he watched the rise and fall of waves, along with the positioning of their enemy. “Hold…Fire!”
The ten nine-pounders exploded in rapid succession, pummeling the air and sending smoke over theSummons. Before their shots even struck the Italian ship, she responded with her stern chasers, the booms of which shook sky and sea. They were nigh yards apart. ’Twould be impossible for none of those shots to strike theSummons.
b
Emeline found herself once again encased in a cocoon of Blake. His unique scent of the sea, man, and spice filled her nostrils and brought her more comfort than she cared to admit. He said naught, but she could feel the tension of battle strung tight around him, the pressure of command, the responsibility for many lives. She’d oft seen her father and brother in battle, had watched them transform from priest into warrior at a moment’s notice.
This man was no different. In truth, she’d been amazed at his skill in combat, his quick decisions, his authoritative commands, and his ability to outmaneuver and outsmart his enemy.
The whine of shot, the snap of wood, and a jarring impact forced Blake to push from her and storm across the deck. “Damage report!”
One of the pirates let out an ear-piercing scream and fell to the deck. Blake dropped beside him and hailed two pirates to bring the man below to Sam. From what Emeline could tell, a large wooden splinter had pierced his leg.
No other men seemed to be harmed. Thank God. One shot had scythed through most of the shrouds on the foremast, while another had slammed into the hull at the bow.
“Above the waterline,” Finn quickly informed Blake, who ordered three of his men below to plug the hole with sailcloth.
TheGuerrieri Della Crocehad not fared as well. With expert precision, Blake and Charlie had raked her stern, sending ten shots down her length. Her mizzen-topmast was shot away. Her main gaff dangled loose from the peak halyards, and her broad sail crumpled, puffing out awkwardly in the breeze. Smoke poured from a charred hole in her stern.
Blake grinned. The pirates cheered, raising blades and pistols in the air as they tossed insults at their defeated foe.
Notyetdefeated. For Emeline knew Blake had to board her to retrieve the Ring. That would most likely involve sword and pistol fights, which meant death to many. She shivered.
“Lord, please help Blake give up his mad quest. Please let no one die today,” she whispered, but the wind swept her words away so fast, and she wondered if they ever made it up to heaven.
b
“Why isn’t the Ring working?” Signor Arturo Della Morte raged, resisting the urge to toss the witch and the impotent Ring into the sea. If he hadn’t been tasked by the Pope himself to bring it to him, he’d do just that and be done with the infernal relic.
“I have no idea!” Josephine barked back, twisting the Ring round and round on her finger. “It should work! All the wearer must do is command it!” Fear and fury etched across her once comely face.
Cursing, Della Morte turned to watch as his crew sped to repair the damage as best they could. His mainmast lay in a heap upon the deck, smoke poured from his stern, where a fire had started, his mizzen was useless, and the sea rushed in through a hole in his hull. “Infidel, heathen pirate!” He would never have engaged him without the Ring. TheGuerrieri Della Crocelisted to larboard, and without a mainsail, it would prove difficult to navigate.
With an angry roar, he turned to Josephine and extended his hand. “Give me the Ring. Perhaps it will work for me. I am a priest, after all!” The words fired from his lips, an order rather than a request. He knew the witch did not respond well to being commanded about. But what choice did he have?
She narrowed her dark eyes upon him, her long lashes nearly covering her pupils. Good thing, for he did not wish to see the hex she was no doubt placing on him.
The ship bounced over a wave, spraying them with seawater. Behind him, curses, hammers, and the grunts of labor added to the blast of wind and creak of sodden wood. His open palm remained. “You promised to give it to me, did you not?”
One black eyebrow quirked as her lips drew into a line. “Very well. Butyourpromise remains. We are a team. Whatever reward you receive from the Pope, I will have my share.”
“Of course,mia cara. I am forever yours.” It would be a travesty to rid the world of such beauty, but of course he must. He could not risk having a vile spell cast on him after he defied her.
