Master of Moonspell (A Dangerous Hearts Romance) Read online

  Books By Deborah Camp:

  The Dangerous Hearts Series

  Fallen Angel

  Fire Lily

  Master of Moonspell

  Right Behind the Rain

  Riptide

  The Daring Hearts Series

  Black-eyed Susan

  Blazing Embers

  Cheyenne’s Shadow

  My Wild Rose

  Primrose

  The Love and Adventure Series

  After Dark

  For Love or Money

  In a Pirate’s Arms

  Just Another Pretty Face

  Vein of Gold

  The Love and Laughter Series

  A Newsworthy Affair

  Hook, Line, and Sinker

  Love Letters

  The Butler Did It

  Wrangler’s Lady

  The Love Everlasting Series

  A Dream to Share

  Midnight Eyes

  Strange Bedfellows

  They Said it Wouldn’t Last

  Winter Flame

  The Passionate Hearts Series

  Destiny’s Daughter

  Oklahoma Man

  Taming the Wild Man

  The Second Mr. Sullivan

  Weathering the Storm

  The Tender Hearts Series

  Devil’s Bargain

  Sweet Passion’s Song

  This Tender Truce

  To Have, To Hold

  Tomorrow’s Bride

  The Wild Hearts Series

  A Tough Man’s Woman

  Lady Legend

  Lonewolf’s Woman

  Too Tough ToTame

  Tough Talk, Tender Kisses

  MASTER OF

  MOONSPELL

  DEBORAH

  CAMP

  Copyright © Deborah Camp, 1993

  All Rights Reserved

  First published by Avon Books.

  Cover photo by Sabrina Campagna

  Each that we lose takes part of us

  A crescent still abides,

  Which like the moon, some turbid night,

  Is summoned by the tides.

  —EMILY DICKINSON

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 1

  Standing near the prow of the ship, Julienne Vale pressed her face to the wind and sea spray. The thrill of adventure sizzled through her veins to warm her blood and fire her spirit.

  Home, she thought as the sloop rode the waves of the Atlantic. Her eyes hungered for familiar sights as she gazed lovingly at the land slipping by on her right. The Florida Keys. Wild, unpredictable, dangerous; a place of pirate kings and their hot-blooded concubines, of suspicious shipwrecks and stolen treasure. Julienne could already feel a change in temperature. She could smell the tangy scent of citrus and exotic flowers and the promise of rain on the horizon.

  She looked toward the bank of low, dark gray clouds. A silver veil of rain floated from it to the water’s surface. Thunder rolled across the ocean, making the air quiver with expectation. Was this vessel swift enough to outpace the storm?

  Her gaze drifted to the figurehead of the Coral Queen, and it reminded her of the pirate tales she’d grown up hearing from her father. The carving was of a beautiful woman, her face thrust into the sea wash, her arms pressed to her sides, pieces of coral clutched in her fists. A crown of stars and crescent moons adorned her wavy black hair.

  A ship fit for a dark pirate prince, she thought, smiling. Anticipation zipped through her like lightning.

  “The captain has another sloop named the Golden Conch,” the skipper shouted above the noise of the snapping sails. “And he has a grand schooner called the Treasure Chest. Oh, she is most beautiful!” He grinned, showing off two glinting gold teeth amid his other snowy white ones.

  Julienne could picture the gold-toothed skipper aboard a real pirate’s ship. Cesare Gomez’s dark Cuban coloring was the stuff of fantasy. His black eyes flashed with mischief. He’d parted his iron gray hair in the center and gathered it into a queue tied with a red leather thong. His blue breeches stopped just below his knees, and his buttonless red shirt hugged his beefy torso.

  Privateers and pieces of eight had been swimming in Julienne’s mind ever since she’d been told by the mother superior that her new position as governess would be on Pirate’s Key and her new employer was none other than Buccaneer LaFlamme. Good heavens, his name fairly oozed with dash and daring! In the civilized year of 1879 it was exciting to know that men named Captain Buccaneer LaFlamme still existed.

  “How long has it been since you’ve seen the keys?” Cesare asked, breaking into Julienne’s thoughts.

  “I left after my father died,” she called back. “Ten years ago.”

  “And you lived with him on Key Largo?”

  She nodded. “That’s right. We had a couple of acres, but we lived off the sea mostly. I’d heard about Pirate’s Key, but I’ve never been here before.”

  “Sail much?”

  She shook her head. “Hardly at all. We had a small fishing boat. No sail. Paddles!” She pantomimed paddling a canoe and received another broad grin from Cesare. “Since then I’ve been virtually landlocked at the St. Augustine abbey. I can’t begin to tell you how thrilling it is to be on the ocean again.”

  “You lived at the abbey?”

  “Yes, in a small room behind it. I was the cleaning woman, and I helped in the orphanage next door.”

  Cesare returned his attention to the riggings. The wind had picked up with the approach of the storm. Thunder rolled again and a streak of lightning blazed on the horizon.

  “Will we be able to make it to shore before the storm hits?” she shouted into the wind.

  Cesare glanced at the dark sky. “It will be close. You mind getting wet?”

  She laughed. “Not one bit! I just hate to meet my new employer looking like a drowned rat.”

  “You can always go below. It is comfortable down there.”

  Julienne shook her head and faced front again, her eager eyes scanning the shore. Coconut trees leaned toward the ocean, casting shadows over the strip of dazzling white sand. Cesare sailed the swift sloop a safe distance from the shore to avoid the treacherous coral reef that had spelled death to many a brash sailor.

  Suddenly a horse and rider burst through the brush and took the beach. The mighty chestnut sent up sprays of sand as it raced along the shore, parallel to the sailing ship. The wind skinned back the equestrian’s thick black hair, and droplets of sea spray shone like diamonds in it. He leaned over to press his face against the horse’s sleek neck. Julienne couldn’t make out his features, but he reminded her of something wild—like a panther or a … a pirate! Yes. All he needed was an eye patch. What was that glinting along his side? A saber? No, it must be a jewel-encrusted sword snatched from a defeated foe. Only such a weapon would be worthy of a true cutthroat, she thought. A strangely luscious feeling spiraled through her midsection and she gripped the handrail to w
atch the pirate’s thundering ride.

  His white shirt billowed out behind him like a sail. He rode bareback, holding on to the horse by the sheer power of his legs, encased in tight brown breeches and knee-high boots.

  “That’s him!” Cesare shouted.

  “Who?” Then Cesare’s meaning flashed through her, taking her breath for a second. “The captain?” she asked, getting Cesare’s nod before fastening her gaze on the horse and rider again. “Captain Buccaneer LaFlamme,” she breathed, enthralled, enraptured, ensnared.

  “Hey there, Buck,” Cesare called, swinging one arm above his head in a grand wave that was lost on the equestrian. “He’s probably hurrying home to greet you himself!”

  “Or outrun the storm,” she murmured.

  Thunder cracked, followed by the zigzag of a lightning bolt that seemed to split the sky. Captain LaFlamme tipped back his dark head and laughed up at the firmament. His deep-throated, booming laugh rode the wind to her and sent a chill down her spine.

  It’s as if he’s laughing at the devil, Julienne thought.

  Trepidation gripped her for an instant. What kind of man would ride with such abandon and laugh at the threatening sky? Would he approve of her? Or would he think Mother Superior had sent the wrong person to oversee his five-year-old daughter, Alissa? What had Cesare called him?

  “Buck?” she repeated, looking at the skipper to catch his nod.

  “Sí. Buccaneer is too much of a mouthful!”

  She frowned slightly, not caring for the shortened name that changed a pirate into a cowboy. His name fit him perfectly and shouldn’t be trifled with, she thought. Buccaneer LaFlamme. Ah! Now, that was a name that conjured up many a favorite fantasy. She wondered about the captain’s parents and why they had decided on such an unusual moniker. She turned toward the shore again and was dismayed to find that the horse and rider had vanished.

  “Buccaneer …” she whispered, feeling oddly bereft. “How long has the captain lived on Pirate’s Key?”

  Cesare moved closer so that he could be heard. “All his life. His grandfather was given the whole key, but he sold off some of it. He was one of the last of the pirates here in the Florida Straits. Black Pierre, he was called.”

  “I’ve read about him,” Julienne said. “Wasn’t he killed for salvaging ships without a wrecker’s license?”

  Cesare nodded. “Got himself run through for boarding and looting ships he’d wrecked on the reefs.” Cesare gestured toward the shore. “He used to set out lights along there on moonless nights and lure the ships in to wreck on the reef. One night he wrestled with the wrong skipper and got skewered with a length of cold steel.”

  He paused in his story to execute a lunge and slice the air with an imaginary sword. He laughed at Julienne’s wide-eyed stare.

  “His son, Gaspard, inherited all his wealth and property,” Cesare continued. “Gaspard is the one who named the estate Moonspell, in honor of Black Pierre’s sly bewitching.” He scowled, his eyes trained on the dazzling white beach. “Don’t think Pierre was the only one doing such things. This place crawled with pirates back then, and their favorite game was to lure ships in with lights. On a black night any kind of illumination casts a spell over shipmates. Nobody knew that better than the privateers. They lived by the sea and didn’t see anything wrong with dying by the sea—as long as it was somebody else doing the dying!”

  Julienne shivered, thinking of the poor sailors who had guided their ships into the jagged coral reef, lured there by a pirate’s greed.

  “Is Gaspard still alive?” she asked.

  “No, he died quite a few years ago.”

  “And the captain’s mother?”

  “She died a long, long time ago when Buck was a baby.” Cesare glanced at her, his gaze thorough, as if he read every nuance of her expression.

  “Is something wrong?” Julienne asked, sensing it. “Did something happen to his mother?”

  Cesare shook a finger at her, and his smile was forced. “You’ve heard those crazy stories, haven’t you? Don’t you believe them.”

  Julienne stared at him, confused. “Stories?”

  “Gaspard didn’t kill his wife. It was an accident, I am sure.”

  “Oh, dear.” Julienne gripped the handrail more tightly. “He killed her,” she repeated. Some of the romance she’d been steeped in evaporated.

  “Buck didn’t murder either one of his wives either,” Cesare said, almost crossly. “You should close your ears to such nonsense, señorita. There is no reason for you to be afraid.”

  Stunned into silence, Julienne gaped at him. Murder? The mother superior hadn’t mentioned anything about murder! Perhaps it had been an intentional omission so that Julienne would have no reason not to come to Pirate’s Key. She forced her mouth closed and swallowed hard. It was one thing to hear tall tales concerning her employer’s father, but quite another to learn that evil rumors circled Buccaneer LaFlamme as well.

  “Who … That is … people think the captain murdered his wives, too? Both of them?” she ventured.

  Cesare scrutinized her. “You had not heard this before?”

  “I … I’ve lived a rather sheltered life among the Sisters.”

  “Ah, but of course.” He shrugged. “Then forget what I said. It is of no importance.” He flapped a hand. “Idle gossip.”

  Julienne acquiesced, reluctant to tarnish her dashing image of Captain LaFlamme any further. But, she remembered that her father had often said that where there was smoke, there was fire. If people talked like this about Captain LaFlamme, then there must be a reason for it.

  “Gaspard raised Buck by himself,” Cesare added.

  Just like Papa and me, she thought, feeling another link with her new employer. They’d both lost their mothers when they were babies and had been raised in the wilds of the Florida Keys by their fathers. She felt better having found common ground with him.

  Cesare began trimming the sails to reduce their speed. As they were nearing the moorings, Julienne noticed a young man sitting on an outcropping of jagged rocks. The tide was in and the boulders were surrounded by the sea. She waved, but the rock-sitter only stared at her.

  “Who’s that?” she asked, pointing the man out to Cesare.

  Cesare shaded his eyes with one hand. “Ah, that is Ootay.”

  “Ootay? That’s odd-sounding.”

  “Probably means something witchy.” Cesare’s gold teeth flashed. He let out the anchor alongside a stretch of pier. “He lives on the edge of the estate with his grandmother, the witch.”

  “You don’t believe in such things, do you?” Julienne scoffed.

  “Señorita, I am Cuban. I would be crazy if I did not believe.” He tossed thick ropes onto the pier, then sprang out of the sloop with the agility of a youngster. He tied the sloop securely before offering his hands to her. “Let me help you, señorita. Be careful, now. Take your time.”

  “Thank you, Cesare, and please call me Julienne.”

  “As you wish.”

  Julienne lifted her black skirt with one hand and settled her other in Cesare’s. He’d brought the sloop steps to the edge of the pier, so it was easy to leave the bobbing vessel for more solid ground. When she’d gained her balance she released Cesare’s hand and tried vainly to brush the wrinkles from her traveling ensemble. The black skirt, gray blouse, short gray jacket, and scuffed high-top shoes were serviceable, but hardly fashionable. But what did one need with fashion at an orphanage and abbey? She fit her ash gray hat securely over her dark auburn hair. She could feel places where the velvet had been rubbed slick along the crown and short brim. The black bow and chin strap had been so moth-eaten, she’d torn them off and clutched the hat in her lap during the voyage. Her hair, she knew, was a mess, having been thoroughly windblown, so she piled it up under the sad-looking chapeau.

  “We will go to the house and I will leave you with Rosa. She’ll see that you are settled in.”

  “Rosa … Is that the housekeeper?”


  “Sí. She has been with the family since before Isabelle.”

  “Was Isabelle the first or second wife?”

  “First. Buck’s second wife was Magdalena, and she was quite beautiful.” Cesare lifted her satchel and hatbox, then offered her his arm. “It is a short walk to the house. If we hurry, we will beat the rainstorm.” He nodded ahead to a bridle path cut through the dense foliage. “Do you feel at home here already? This must look familiar to you.”

  Julienne nodded, the crying of gulls in her ears, the smell of wild orchids filling her head. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “I feel right at home. It’s wonderful to be back in the Keys.”

  The pathway was bordered by majestic royal palms fronted by the smaller queen palms that swayed in the wind, their fronds whispering urgently. Cesare pointed out groves of avocado, guava, papaya, and banana trees. Yellow-blossomed prickly poppies and flame-colored spider lilies grew thick under the bordering palms. A kingfisher swooped from branch to branch, and a skink, as long as a man’s foot, darted across the path ahead of Julienne.

  “Don’t be frightened,” Cesare said. “It’s a harmless lizard.”

  “I know. Remember, you’re talking to an island girl, born and bred.”

  “Ah, but of course.” Cesare winked. “I forgot for a moment. You probably know the names of all these plants, while I am ignorant of many. For instance, what is that one with the yellow flowers?” He pointed out a bushy plant.

  “Why, that’s a yellow elder,” Julienne replied.

  “And that one …” Cesare indicated another. “That one with the little green and red blooms. It’s very pretty.”

  “Those are some of my favorite flowers. Papa called them cathedral bells, but I’ve heard other people call them air plants.”

  “I like your papa’s name for them better.” Cesare focused his attention ahead of them again. “And here we are at the heart of Moonspell Estate.”

  Julienne’s stride lengthened as she was drawn to the imposing two-storied structure at the end of the bridle path. Dingy white against the green and gray backdrop of earth and sky, the house was surrounded by palms. Dead brown vines draped the front of it. Terraces ran all around the outside on both floors, except for the north side, where a small house had been attached. The smaller structure reminded Julienne of an adult-sized doll-house, and she could tell by the architecture that it has been constructed later—an afterthought, and a rather intrusive one at that.