b
“Warts and lizards!” Josephine stiffened her spine as she descended the ladder onto the gundeck and crew quarters. She’d had her fill of being treated like a bootlicking fluffhead. Especially by that swaggering toad in his ostentatious Jesuit finery! Did he truly believe she would not see through his façade? That she possessed no powers to do so?Imbécile!Oui,she’d been enchanted by the man’s Italian good looks and charming words. She’d believed that perhaps he harbored some affection for her.
Rare emotion burned in her throat, but she quickly swallowed it as her boots landed on the deck. Perhaps she hoped he cared for her, that love actually existed in the world. Perhaps she was as big a fool as he was, for now she knew, without a doubt, love was a mere powerless fable, an impotent myth, and a cruel joke among the weak and gullible. Neither of which was she! Why the Ring seemed to work for him and not her, she could not say. What shecouldsay was that the Jesuit cretin had greatly miscalculated both her power and her spite toward those who crossed her. Hence, the reason she’d concocted one of her special spells just for him and any of his crew who didn’t side with her. Now, to address said crew and convince them she would be the better captain, that she, along with her dark powers, would make them wealthier beyond their imagination. If that didn’t work, the incantation of obedience should turn them into jellyfish in her hands.
b
Blake could have caught and boarded theGuerrieri Della Crocewithin an hour, yet he held back, pretending damage to his brig. The foolish Jesuit was bringing his frigate to anchor at a small island in the distance, one of the islands of the Baja Mar. No doubt he assumed he had a better chance of winning a battle on land than at sea, especially as damaged as the ship was.
Yet Blake knew the skill and ferocity of his crew, knew they’d be even more ruthless, armed with revenge for Della Morte after he’d nearly sent them to the depths. Blake also knew he’d have a better chance of retrieving the Ring from the Jesuit fiend on land, where the powerful artifact could only cause wind and rain that would pummel them both. He waited until theGuerrieri Della Crocelumbered into a cove before hoisting all canvas and speeding their way.
Within an hour of dropping anchor along the western shore, his crew spilled over the bulwarks like rats disturbed from their lair and rowed to the sandy beach, all manner of weapons strapped about them.
Blake slid his cutlass into its sheath and adjusted the pistols in his brace, then took one last glance at Emeline standing at the railing, Bandit in her arms. She looked his way, sorrow and disappointment lining her comely face, but there was naught to be done for it.
He would not give up his dream. Not for a woman he could never be with, a woman more angel than human. A woman who deserved a noble, honorable man—the hero she kept wanting him to be.
“Stay here,” he said as he slid onto the bulwarks.
She offered him a gentle smile. “Be safe.”
He nodded, resisting the urge to run and take her in his arms. Instead, he leapt over the side into the jollyboat and headed to shore. He’d wanted to ask her to call upon her God should things not go in his favor, but how could he request such a selfish thing? Besides, he was no fool. God had only saved them because she’d been on board. With her safety assured, why would God bother to protect him and his band of ruffians?
These thoughts plagued his mind as he led his men through a mangrove swamp, then through a thickly vined jungle out onto a long strip of sandy beach. Tilting heavily to larboard, the Jesuit ship sat idly in turquoise waters several yards offshore, canvas, yards, and lines strewn about her deck in a web of destruction, looking more like a defeated dragon than demon. He’d expected an ambush in the jungle, but instead Della Morte had assembled the remainder of his men on the beach. At least forty of them stood behind the vile Jesuit, fully armed and grimacing in the hot afternoon.
The sun, now high in the sky, reflected off water and sand, nearly blinding Blake as he and his men marched toward their enemies. Dragging a sleeve over the sweat on his forehead, he wondered what devious plan brewed in the evil man’s mind. Standing behind him, two Jesuits dressed in similar attire as their leader glared at Blake. And beside Della Morte, wearing her usual black breeches and waistcoat, Josephine placed a hand on her hip and smiled his way. He supposed she could cast another spell upon him, but didn’t that require potions and cauldrons and such? He hoped so.
Della Morte reached up to stroke his beard, ostentatiously flaunting the Ring which sparkled in the sunlight. Ringlets of black curls danced about his shoulders, joining the purple plume quivering from his hat.
Only when Blake drew closer did he see the bloody bandages, cuts, and bruises marring the Jesuit’s crew. At least half of them were in no shape to fight.
He halted before the man. “Since you are clearly defeated, allow me to set terms which will ensure the lives of you and your men.”
“Terms, you say? Bah!” Della Morte waved a hand through the air, the lace at his cuffs fluttering.
Josephine took a step toward Blake, her eyes ablaze with hatred. “How are you alive,mon amour?” She fisted hands at her waist. “How did you defeat the funnel?”
“Ah, ha, so you do admit defeat?”
“We admit no such thing.” Della Morte stretched his neck.
“How did you do it?” Josephine spat through clenched teeth. “I demand to know the source of your power.”
He barely afforded her a glance. “’Tis God’s power. One you will never possess.”
Her eyes widened and, for the first time since he’d known her, real fear sparked within them. She glanced behind him as if looking for someone before she uttered curse after curse over land, sea, air, and water. “My enemy. Myonlyenemy.” She ground her fists together.
Della Morte released a sigh of boredom and waved her away. “Go back to your potions,mia cara. We men have business to discuss.”
She speared the Jesuit with a gaze that would surely wake the dead before she took a step back. Odd. The woman never cowered before any man.
“We have no business other than my terms.” Blake grew bored as well. “Give me the Ring, and you and your men will live. ’Tis really quite simple.”
“You shall not have the Ring while I live!”
“Then I shall take it when you are dead.”
“Ah, but you cannot. It will go to hell along with me. I must give it to you, or you must find it apart from a body. I believe those are the conditions, no?”
