Masters of Desire
Myla Jackson
Layla Chase
Shayla Kersten
CONTENTS
Pirate of Mystique Island
Myla Jackson
Ghostly Legacy
Layla Chase
Keket’s Curse
Shayla Kersten
Pirate of Mystique Island
Myla Jackson
1
“Wait!” Lord Rafe Herrington yanked his cutlass from the pirate’s chest and leaped to the quarterdeck. All around, his men waged a fierce battle with the crew of the pirate ship Nomad. The fight was all but over, the pirates dying or surrendering one by one.
With blood dripping from his sword’s edge, Rafe strode across to where an older man with steely gray hair and a scruffy beard held the end of a hangman’s rope. Seumus Mackintosh, the boatswain of his own pirate ship the Serpent’s Curse, loved a good hanging.
“He’s the capt’n. Soon as he’s dancin’ the hempen jig, the rest’ll lay down their weapons.”
“I have use of him alive.” Rafe wiped the blade of his cutlass across the doomed man’s trousers, leaving a long streak of blood on his dirty rags.
“He’s a bloody pirate. I t’ought ye wanted to rid the seas of sech vermin.” Seumus leaned into the rope enough to make the man on the business end of the noose stand on his toes to keep from choking.
“I want answers.” Rafe took control of the rope from Seumus and loosened it. Then he stood in front of the filthy pirate who’d plagued the waters surrounding Mystique Island for the past month. “For whom are you working?”
“I work for meself.” The man’s gruff voice rattled like bones in a tin cup.
“Then why do you only target some of the ships leaving Port Newton and not all?”
“Why should I tell you? Yer nothin’ but a pirate yerself.”
Rage burned in his chest. The man spoke truth. Rafe was no better than a pirate, no thanks to the witch Busara. Yet he felt a misguided sense of obligation to protect his island from marauders such as this. “I shall make it simple to the point even a filthy, bilge slime pirate like you can understand. If you don’t tell me, you die.” Rafe handed the rope back to Seumus.
The burly Scot leaned hard on the rope, jerking the pirate off his feet.
With his hands tied behind his back, the pirate kicked at the air, wheezing unintelligible words out of his constricted throat.
“What’s that? Now you wish to talk?” Rafe blinked and Seumus let go of the rope.
The captain of the Nomad dropped to his feet, his knees buckled and he crumpled to the hard wooden deck. “The governor,” he gasped.
Rafe lifted the man by the collar until they were eye to eye. He held his breath in order to avoid gagging on the stench of the man’s unwashed body. “The governor, what?”
“I pay him a cut of me booty, he gives me certain information.” The man shrugged a ragged shoulder. “Works to both our benefits.”
Heat rose beneath Rafe’s blood-splattered white shirt. “Governor Lord Sheldon Braithwaite?” The bastard who’d driven him off the island was responsible for this cutthroat’s reign of terror on the hapless ships entering and leaving Mystique Island’s only port.
“Aye.”
“So you murder innocents and steal from them to pay your debt to the good governor?”
The man’s face split into a gap-tooth grin. “Right ye are. I’ll give ye a cut as well, if ye set me free.”
Rafe stared hard into the man’s black eyes, and then in a deadly calm voice said, “Hang ’em high, Seumus.”
“Gladly, Capt’n.” Seumus leaned on the rope slowly hefting the man up the mast. The Scot was soon joined by Murphy Reid, the first mate. Shirtless and sweating, they applied all their weight into raising the captain of the Nomad high above the melee.
Shouts of challenge turned to dying screams as the crew of the Nomad dropped from their wounds or threw their cutlasses and pistols to the ground when confronted by their captain dangling from the mast.
Rafe retired to his quarters aboard the Serpent’s Curse where he stripped off his torn and bloody shirt.
Seumus barged through the door, carrying a jug of ale and laughing at Murphy, who entered behind him.
Naked but for the strap holding back his hair, Rafe stood with his feet spread wide, his hands resting on his hips. “Have you forgotten common courtesy?”
Seumus stared at Murphy and Murphy back at him. “Me pardon, Capt’n.” He shoved the jug out in front of him. “After you.”
Manners were lost on his boatswain and first mate, but they were true and loyal men. Rafe shook his head.
“The prisoners are secured in the hold and the Nomad set afire. ’Tis time to celebrate with the men,” Murphy insisted.
Rafe waved aside the jug and stepped to the trunk containing clean clothing. He opened it and shut it without retrieving a single item. “I’ll not be celebrating this eve.”
“Why ever not?” Murphy slapped Rafe’s back. “The inhabitants of Mystique Island will be forever in your debt for ridding them of that plundering cur.”
“Yes, but you heard the man—Braithwaite is responsible for allowing the pirating to continue.”
“What do ye care, Capt’n?” Seumus tipped the jug and downed a lusty swallow before continuing. “Yer not the gov’nor anymore. The people of the island shunned ye fer the curse.”
“Damn and blast the curse!” Rafe lifted his cutlass and jabbed it into the wood flooring. “I’m going ashore tonight to break the bloody curse, once and for all.”
“And how would ye be doin’ that, sir?” Seumus set the jug on the table that served to hold the maps of the Caribbean Islands. “The Obeah woman refused to cure ye. Do ye propose to force her?”
“If I have to…” Rafe pulled the cutlass from the wood planking and stared at the razor sharp blade. “I’ll kill her, if I must.”
Seumus’s eyes widened. “Ye know the penalty fer killing a witch, don’t ye?”
