“I’d rather you go to your grave with it on your finger than for you to remain alive and wield its power.”
A momentary flash of unease crossed the man’s confident gaze. “Sì,I do believe you. Therefore.” He twisted the Ring on his finger and uttered a string of Italian with the authority of a king.
Blake didn’t need an interpreter to know what he’d said, for dark clouds instantly crowded out the sun above them. Wind thrashed through the leaves of palms and pimentos lining the shore, adding a cacophony of sounds to the crash of waves and buzz of insects. Sand swirled around his boots.
Della Morte smiled.
“Fight us like men!” Blake shouted. “’Tis a coward’s way to use the Ring.”
“Is it? Then you are as much a coward as I.”
Blake was about to draw his blade and order his men to battle when the wind suddenly lessened, the waves stopped raging, and the sun broke through the dissipating clouds.
A screech akin to a dying pig emerged from Jo, who bent over, gripping her belly as if she were ill.
Blake knew what had happened before he turned around. Emeline stood at the edge of the jungle. Too far to make out her expression, but he found himself suddenly glad she’d not obeyed his order to remain on the ship. Bandit flew from her arms into a nearby tree.
He faced Della Morte again, pasting a cocksure grin on his face. “You were saying?”
The sneer on the Jesuit’s face transformed into a wicked grin. He flung a hand in the air. “I propose a challenge.”
Blake bunched his fists, longing to run the man through and be done with it.
“A fight. A sword fight between you and me. If I win, you and your crew set sail immediately with no harm to me or my men.”
Blake huffed. The man’s overinflated opinion of his skill would be his downfall. “And ifIwin?”
“Unlikely, but if so, I will give you the Ring, and you will leave me and my men unscathed.”
“Why would I agree to so ludicrous a challenge when you are so clearly outmanned?”
“I quite agree, though you should know my crew are trained to fight to the death. Therefore, should we battle, there will be many deaths on both sides. And,sì, perhaps I will be counted among them. Or perhaps you? But I will still have the Ring. What a waste, do you not think? At least if you accept my challenge, you have a chance of winning the Ring.”
Unfortunately, the Jesuit made sense. Blake studied him. That the man had been well trained at swordplay was evident from their last encounter. Yet they’d been interrupted before Blake could prove himself the master. To fight Della Morte and win would be the only way for Blake to own the Ring. To fulfill all his dreams.
Even if the fiend would not honor his bargain, they’d end up in a battle, one which Blake’s men would surely win.
“Then I accept.”
Cheers bellowed from both his men and the Jesuit’s crew as Blake backed away, removed his baldric, tore his shirt over his head, and plucked the cutlass from his sheath.
Chapter 31
D
ella Morte shrugged out of his coat, pulled off his neckerchief, and drew his jeweled saber. His victorious grin as he shuffled toward Blake bespoke of confidence in his skills and an assumption of Blake’s lack thereof.
He would soon discover his error.
Leveling his cutlass at his opponent, Blake pasted a bored look on his face. “Are we to fight or dance?”
The man’s eyes narrowed. He dashed forward, thrusting his blade toward Blake’s heart.
With ease, Blake snapped it away with a mighty clank. Cheers from his men clapped his back while Della Morte’s crew shouted encouragements to their captain.
Twirling his saber in the air, Della Morte cleaved it down toward Blake. Leaping out of the way, Blake snapped his cutlass upward and caught Della Morte in the thigh. A red line marred his dark velvet breeches. Fury marred his features. Flinging back his long black curls with one hand, he swooped his sword down upon Blake with the other.
Their blades met in a resounding clank that echoed over sand and sea.
