The Ghosts of Purgatory Island (A Ravynne Sisters Paranormal Thriller Book 6)

By Merabeth James

A serene Caribbean cruise on a tramp steamer (their long awaited idyllic vacation) turns into a complete nightmare for the Ravynne sisters when they are lured to Purgatory Island by fellow passenger, Graeme Leighton, who believes they can rid him of the dark entity possessing him.
Trapped there, with no hope of rescue any time soon, the sisters square off against the monstrous evil that inhabits the old Spanish fort with its myriad secret rooms and passages haunted by the ghosts of the very long dead. Fighting for their own survival, they uncover , one by one, the dark secrets that lie at the heart of Purgatory Island....murder....lust...betrayal and a centuries old promise that must be kept at any cost...perhaps even the ultimate one.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Merabeth James
• Release date: Jul 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005014537

Merabeth James

There are six things important to me...well, most important to me: To love unconditionally, to always keep a sense of 'wonder', to always be kind, to find joy in simple things, to never take myself too seriously, and to make sure I don't leave this earth with a list of "if only I hads".I've taken many 'leaps of faith' in my time and, so far, have landed on my feet or, in one case, on a dilapitated houseboat with my dog, and a lot of enthusiasm. I named her 'Sanctuary Annie' and hoped for the best. I knew nothing about boats, couldn't swim and wondered how long she would stay afloat. In the middle of the night, when my dog jumped up to join me on the antique Victorian bed I had moved on board, I would check to see if he was wet, knowing, if so, we were both in big trouble. But Sanctuary Annie hung in there, even surviving a hurricane, when others around her were not so fortunate.Living in the small marina, with the sea as my back yard, I found a profound sense of peace..and the love of my life....my Jim, captain of 'Wings', a beautiful racing sloop that flies across the water, when the wind fills her sails.I often think how much I would have missed out on, if I hadn't taken that leap of faith and followed my heart. Life is meant to be lived and I intend to keep on doing just that.

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This book is entirely a work of fiction. All characters are entirely fictitious and do not represent any persons living or dead. Product, business, location names used remain the property of any all trademark holders and do not represent an endorsement or association of any kind, either expressed or implied.

copyright 2013 Elizabeth Repka all rights reserved

The Ghosts of Purgatory Island

by

Merabeth James

PROLOGUE – The Year of Our Lord 1608

"You dare disobey a direct order?" she drawled eying the man who slumped insolently in front of her.

"The way I see it, Capt’n, a woman ain’t got no right bossin’ men the likes of me around," Joe Doyle told her with a sneer that displayed a row of rotted teeth.

She raised one dark brow and purred, The way you see it? You just signed on this ship last month knowing I was the captain, didn’t you?

"Aye, that I did but I don’t fancy climbin’ that riggin in this wind when there be others who can do it."

She narrowed her violet eyes and her full mouth thinned. Others? Let them take the risk while you sleep off the rum you stole in the cargo hold? You know what will happen to you now that you’ve defied me? she told him even though she knew she was overstepping her authority as captain.

"Aye. And you’ve got the others to back you up all neat and proper like. If you be a man, you’d be handlin’ this yerself."

"I won’t be needing them. Choose your weapon."

"It’ll be me cutlass, and I ain’t above killin’ a woman," he told her wiping a thin trail of spittle off his chin with the back on his hand.

"You are a bone-lazy coward, a bully, and a would be mutineer," she told him as she circled him slowly with cat like grace.

She was as tall as he was, but he was heavily muscled…a brute of a man with a jagged scar slicing across his swarthy face. With a grunt, he drew his cutlass and lunged at her, his blade finding only air where she had been just a second before. He whirled in surprise and found her standing with sword drawn just behind him.

"They may call you Capt’n, but to me yer jist a trollop in boots and breeches who oughta be lying on her back spreadin’ her legs for her betters," he snarled lunging again.

Her blade flashed so fast it was all but invisible as it searched for and found her opponent’s throat. There was no expression on her face as she slashed it open with a single thrust then watched as he fell to the deck with a look of surprise frozen in his eyes.

Hiding the revulsion she felt for what she’d just done, she bent down and coolly wiped the dead man’s blood off her sword. She had killed in battle many times, but this was different…different but necessary. He had been one of her crew. A mistake on her part she needed to correct personally. How many times had her father told her, Never show weakness, or you will lose the men’s respect and once lost you’ll never get it back? And he’d been right. No one ever knew she had moments of fear, weakness, and uncertainty. Moments she had never let influence her decisions as captain….or ever would.

Shaking the ugly scene off, she turned her eyes on the sky where dark bellied clouds were driven by a fierce, relentless wind. It had been the wrong time to have a problem with the crew, she thought with a frown. They all needed to focus on the fast coming storm. Have the men clean up that mess and bring the sails down, Jonas, she shouted to her quartermaster. From the looks of that sky and the rising wind, we’re in for a helluva blow.

Jonas Clarke shook his handsome head and smiled ruefully. You might remember next time that it’s my place to discipline the crew your title, boots, and breeches not withstanding.

She grinned back at him. He’s been insolent to me since he boarded my ship, but you’re right. You’re in charge of the men and what happens above and below deck. A lowly captain and boat owner needs to know her place.

"You take risks you may regret some day," he told her curtly then strode away to give the crew their orders.

She watched the flurry of activity on deck. Masts were stripped bare leaving only the small storm sail aloft to help stabilize them in the building seas. Hatches were battened down, the decks cleared, and everything secured. They were good men…the best, she thought with pride. They’d all been in rough weather before…all except Little Ben.

She remembered the day she had found him lying in the street injured by a team of runaway horses. A homeless Scottish orphan and now one of her crew. Even though he’d been through storms at sea before, they’d been nothing like the one almost upon them, and she knew he would be terrified. They all would be right down to the most hardened of the lot.

"Make sure Little Ben is in my cabin and safely secured, Jonas, she shouted to be heard above the now keening wail. I’m going to take the wheel, but I’ll need you to help me spot the waves and lend me your strength when the time comes."

The wind teased his long black hair free of its leather thong, and he brushed it back impatiently, his white teeth flashing in a grin. Nothing like a little rough weather to make you need a man even if it’s just for his muscle, he shouted back.

She returned his grin then licked the salt spray off her lips. And his good sense. Make sure everything is secure in the cargo holds and have men at the pumps. All hell is about to break loose as you know only too well.

Bracing himself against the ship’s now violent pitch and roll, he made his way back to her side where he told her, They all know the drill. The men are standing by to man the bilge pumps when we take on water. Jim-john, Little Tom and the Lowry brothers have already secured the cargo holds and made sure the guns are tied down.

His narrowed eyes studied the lead bellied clouds galloping across the sky then swept the water ahead. The sea was much rougher…tossing their ship about like a child’s toy. Above him, the wind shrieked through the rigging banging it against the masts and yards as he watched those men still on deck scramble for every handhold they could find.

Turning his gaze on the tall woman next to him, he smiled. He had sailed with her father when he was captain of ‘Wings’ the fast, agile sloop that had easily out run the Spanish gunboats giving chase. When Captain St. Clair had died suddenly, he had left his daughter in charge of the ship to carry on his lucrative privateering…privateering that had become piracy when their Letter of Marque was withdrawn.

‘Wing’s had been shot out from under them in a sea battle they ultimately won, he remembered grimly. The prize had been the sleek schooner they now sailed. Renamed the ‘Freebooter’, they had stripped away interior bulkheads and cabins to make room for more guns, cargo and crew. With a shallow draft and faster than the single masted ‘Wings’, they had maneuvered themselves out of many situations that would have ended in them all dancing the ‘hempen jig’ after a mock trial. But could she carry them safely through what they were facing now or was hell waiting for them that day?

The ship seemed to sense his thoughts as she shuddered violently beneath him. The charcoal gray waves were higher now…white capped with froth that licked up the sides of the ship and over the deck reaching them where they stood.

"Lash me to the wheel, Jonas, Amity St. Clair ordered as she sent the crewman at the helm below deck. Then secure yourself, or you’ll be swept overboard, and I’d kind of miss having you around."

He smiled grimly. She should be down below with the others, but there was no way he’d be able to convince her of that. She would not let any man take a risk she wouldn’t take on herself. But he also knew that the waves could well reach 100 ft high in these waters…a colossal wall of water bearing down on their two masted schooner with fifty men on board. Correction. Forty-nine men and one woman. One helluva woman.

He studied her out of the corner of his eye as he secured her to the wheel. Her mouth was grim. Her incredible violet eyes narrowed against the wind and salt spray as she studied the sea ahead. She had to be as scared as he was, but not a sign of it showed on her beautiful face.

He sighed inwardly. How long had he been desperately in love with her? How many times had he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her down below where he would do what his body, his heart and his soul demanded? He shook his head as he remembered he had not been much older than she was, twelve to her ten, when her father had brought her onboard to the good natured ribbing of the crew who had asked how an old salt like him had managed to sire such a beautiful daughter.

And she was all of that, even then. Eyes the color of spring violets, long limbed and coltish with a sharp mind and tongue to go with it, to him she had seemed perfect. He had been smitten at first sight. A twelve-year-old cabin boy with all the romantic notions of a lad that age. And now? She trusted him...thought of him as a brother….a friend, but that was as far as it went or ever would. And why was he thinking of all that at a time like this, he wondered as he secured his own lifeline. Maybe because they were facing death together and it was reminding him of all the ‘might have beens’ had things been different.

Watching her skillfully maneuver the ship, he smiled in appreciation. She was expertly quartering the oncoming waves to prevent them breaking over the top knowing it would be a fatal error to let one catch them broadside. He felt the ship beneath him slide into a deep trough then ride the wave upward…and upward still. The masts, rigging and storm sail were giving them just enough headway to reach the top before it crested and drove them underwater. They came in sevens, and he kept count helping her judge the time and distance but there was always the chance of a rogue wave breaking the rhythm and catching them unawares.

Down they went then up again…the waves building higher and higher. The wind howled through the rigging and tore at their wet bodies. Long threads of sea foam clung to the deck before the water washed it clean just as it had Joe Doyle’s blood.

Beyond exhausted, they both held on to the wheel feeling the rudder respond sluggishly as the connecting ropes stretched and strained. Pray to God that we don’t lose helm, she shouted. In response, he pressed closer to her, sheltering her slender body with his own. It was the closest he would ever come to holding her in his arms, and he smiled ruefully to himself.

The boat shuddered and shook, but struggled valiantly to the top of one wave after another where, briefly, they had a view of the raging dark hell all around them before they plunged once more towards the watery bottom. She can’t take much more of this, he shouted as they crested the top and the wind clawed at them again.

She dashed the salt spray from her eyes, ignoring its sting, and leaned back against his long length. Grinning up at him, she shouted, We ladies are tough. She’ll take what she has to.

And she did. Creaking, groaning, and shuddering, she fought her way through the waves until slowly they began to subside as the storm pushed westward towards Jamaica. Though the gray, froth tipped waves were still enormous, and the wind still howled, the sky to the east had lightened. They had come through the worst and were still afloat.

Suddenly, a hatch popped open a crack and a man shouted, Cargo in the hold broke loose and rammed the side, Capt’n. We’re taking on more water than the bilge pumps can handle for much longer.

She freed herself from the wheel and turned it over to Jonas. Staggering across the deck…making her way from handhold to handhold...she reached the hatch and slid it open far enough to climb inside. Below it was far worse than she’d thought. A large crate had broken loose and slammed into the side of the ship breaking apart the seams below the water line in a 12 ft section.

Brushing her wet hair out of her eyes, she looked at the white faces of the men in front of her and smiled. Patch her up as best you can, Jiggs, she told the ship’s carpenter. We need to make for the closest island and ground her there so you can repair her properly.

"Purgatory Island is right close, her boatswain told her. Got a deep harbor, dock, and a beach we can slide her up on. Some of the men got banged up pretty bad including the surgeon we captured off that Dutch merchant. Hear tell there’s someone on the island who can fix ’em up."

"Then that’s where we’ll head as soon as we can get some sail up," she told him wondering why she hadn’t thought of Purgatory Island herself…wondering why she had a sudden sly foreboding probe her consciousness.

CHAPTER ONE – Present Day

Look here! Meg called to her sister from her almost comfortable chair in the guest lounge where she was using the hotel’s computer to search the Internet.

"Am I getting up again and coming way over there to see another picture of the baby pandas or was it a baby elephant last time. I’m losing track and patience. Let me enjoy my coffee and the London Times in peace and I won’t hurt you."

Meg laughed. You’re just indulging your usual morning grouch. Seriously this time…I’m checking out cruise ships per our discussion

Something we did not agree on as I remember, or am I wrong?

How could that ever happen? Meg asked with a sniff. It seems there are plenty of empty cabins for one way bookings because some people stay longer or prefer to fly home.

Which should tell you something.

"Look at this beauty! The Avalon due to leave Southampton in two days."

Charlie took a long sip of her coffee and sighed dramatically. You’re really serious about all this, aren’t you? What about Freddie? He’s bound to be missing you by now. Are you being a good dog mom?

Meg scowled. You know where to poke a sharp stick, don’t you? As you know, I talked with Agnes two days ago, and she said Freddie was doing just fine. Has even adopted an orphan kitten that he lets sleep on him at night. You have to admit that’s pretty cute.

Way beyond cute, Charlie replied wryly. So, it looks like I can’t talk you out of your high seas adventuring?

Nope. I want romantic island hops...live entertainment…maybe an outside cabin with a balcony so we can watch the moon on the water while sipping icy champagne from tall, crystal flutes. And then there’s the food and lots of it from all I’ve ever heard…a ten pound weight gain in one Atlantic crossing guaranteed, Meg told her dreamily.

Charlie groaned and slumped farther down in her chair. "That may be your thing, but not exactly mine. Let’s drive down to the Southampton docks tomorrow morning, and I’ll show you another option we both might enjoy."

Meg frowned and narrowed her blue eyes. Unless you know from your checkered past some zillionaire with a thousand foot private yacht, I can’t think of another option that will put me in a happy place.

Wait and see before you decide. We can leave the rental car in Southampton just as easily as London. By the way, it was interesting that you heard from Mother today.

"Interesting doesn’t exactly describe it, Meg told her dryly. It was good to hear that Jerome hired Mary, and she doesn’t have to worry about a job anymore even though Mother doesn’t consider her a proper addition to the staff at Thorne Hall. Willfulness being her major fault."

Must have been Mary’s experiences with us at Brackencliffe Abbey, Charlie replied, where she learned what real fear was like, and now Mother can’t intimidate her.

And Quentin sent his regards. Actually told Mother he would ‘pop in’ on us at Hensley Hall next time he was visiting the States on business.

Charlie shook her head and smiled. He seems to be making a full recovery.

Bet he hasn’t forgotten those moments with you, Meg told her with an impish grin.

Charlie sighed. "Nor me, even if I wasn’t exactly myself at the time, but where could it have led?"

Let’s see. Sex with a hottie leading to marriage with a billionaire followed by a slew of children romping about a fabulous estate…make it a castle…in the Highlands.

He doesn’t have a castle in the Highlands.

"It’s my fantasy for you, so he’ll have a castle near Edinburgh, if that’s in the Highlands, with stables and tons of servants to wait on you hand and foot. Me, too, since I’ll be visiting regularly and neither of us have the ‘housework gene’."

Charlie laughed. "What if my fantasy children turn out to be more Gwyneths? No thanks to all of that past the sex part."

And Zack? Meg asked before she could stop herself.

Charlie grimaced. There is that wrinkle in your fantasy. I must be crazy to still love him when all I seem to see is his back end headed out the door.

But you have to admit, it’s a very nice back end, Meg reminded her.

Charlie smiled in remembrance. Very! Now what do you say to dinner some place special on our last night in London before we head home by whatever means?

I’ll ask the concierge. Something within walking distance would be great since I’ve had you driving me around all day sightseeing though we’ve yet to see at least half of my list, she told her pointedly.

***

As it turned out, they decided to try pub hopping on their last night in London where Charlie’s prowess with darts and billiards won them more dark, cream topped Guinnesses than Meg could handle. It was past midnight, when Charlie helped her tipsy sister back to their hotel room and held her head while she vomited into the toilet. I’m not sure what you were trying to prove with that last pint, Charlie muttered as she fished a strand of wet blond hair out of the corner of her mouth and wiped her face with a warm washcloth. You should know by now that you don’t have a head for alcohol.

Or stomach either, Meg replied around a moan. Shoot me, please. I’d feel better dead.

Charlie grinned and helped her to her feet. Don’t tempt me. You’ll be okay. Quick shower and then to bed. Tomorrow we’re headed for Southampton which isn’t much more than and an hour or so from here. There will be plenty of time to sightsee along the way if we get out of here early enough.

Meg moaned again. That would mean opening my eyes and moving my legs unless you plan on loading me on the baggage trolley thing-a-ma-jig. Why is this room moving?

Charlie sighed. Shower…bed…sleep in that order with no arguments. There’s a lesson to be learned here.

"Oh, you just had to say that, didn’t you? Just wait till you’re tottering on the edge of death’s door from some hideous something and see how much sympathy you get from me. Everyone else was guzzling down whatevers and dancing. The bands were great, and we had our share of male attention, which is always fun even if the end result is……… Oh, Charlie! I feel too miserable to even babble."

The silver lining has been found, Charlie muttered to herself as she adjusted the shower temperature. I’ll be waiting in the bedroom. Holler if you need me.

Meg mumbled something incomprehensible under her breath as she shut the door on her sister. And I didn’t even like the taste of it, she added as she dropped her clothes on the floor and climbed under the hot water.

It was some thirty minutes later before they were both settled in bed. Charlie fell asleep almost instantly after telling Meg to keep one foot on the floor to stop the spins. Soon after, Meg fell into a restless sleep with only one hurried trip to the bathroom where Charlie found her, sound asleep, sitting on the cold tile floor with her chin resting on the toilet rim.

The next morning, Charlie was not too surprised to find Meg exhibiting far less than her usual insufferable morning perkiness. You’ll live, she reassured her with a grin. There’s a tea shop around the corner if the hotel breakfast doesn’t suit.

Meg gave a heartfelt groan. I must truly be dead ’cause even a donut…jelly filled with white icing and sprinkles…wouldn’t tempt me this morning.

Charlie tried