The Duke's Daughter -Wattys2014 Collector's Dream Award Winner-

Chapter Sixty Six

Marcus Bailey was strung up for the first time in his life. Always before, he had been the one in control. He was a man. This should not be done to a man, over a trifling thing like a woman. Women were inferior creatures, put on this earth to serve man's pleasure.

He had no tolerance for the weaker sex, other than when it suited his whim or anger. Even then, the encounters always left him needing something more.

He'd had to restrain himself on the island with the slaves, the beatings had to be within reason, killing anyone there would have led to an uprising. His hold on the slaves had been tenuous as it was.

He had been able to keep himself in check then as he'd had the pawn he needed to finish the game. Having control over the Duchess had been enough for him. He had been able to release some of his baser needs upon the slaves, and that had also helped control the need to kill.

He had been raised by a domineering mother who had beat him into submission, all the while telling him, as a man he should be the rightful heir to their blood relations, that since he was not, he was worthless to her.

He had killed her first. Her 'accidental' tumble down the stairs was never questioned.

His mother was his model for women. It was her face he saw when he murdered the others after her. It seemed he could never kill her enough times to deem her truly dead. He still heard her voice berating him as he beat those women, he would beat them and beat them until he couldn't hear her voice anymore. Until she was gone, and he could hear Sophie instead.

Always his mind darted back to Sophie, she had been the first. She had been the one to show him how much pleasure went along with pain. She had thrived on the pain, only finding release when he had tortured her beyond enough. He however, only found his when she had finally succumbed to death under his hands. He had found then that he too needed the pain, to inflict it on others, that was his release.

He knew all the women he had killed after Sophie had ultimately found that they too, craved the pain. Of course at first they denied it, then as more and more pain was inflicted, they had all begged for the ultimate release. He had given it to them, and in doing so, had found his own.

But as always, it wasn't long until his mother came crawling back into his mind, berating and belittling him until he had to lash out again. It always started with her.

She would never be dead until he held his rightful place as sole owner of Isla de Cabellete.What could she say then? He would be master of two isles in the Caribbean. He would have found a way to inherit all that should have been his.
There were two women standing in his way. If he could only escape his bonds, and Tiny, he could be about doing away with them both. He had used the Duchess, to have a lever against Arianna, he just hadn't had a chance to carry out his plans before they had drugged him and trussed him up.

He wasn't sure who would suffer more before dying, Arianna for drugging him, or her mother for shredding him to ribbons.

He was absolutely livid at the fact he couldn't use his hands. At dusk had come some relief from the heat after he had baked in the sun most of the day. However, with the sun's descent, also came the mosquito's buzzing and biting. He couldn't swat at them, and now he couldn't even itch where they had feasted on his body.

"Some decent clothing might help! Something that isn't shredded and hanging off of me!" He screeched in Tiny's direction.

Tiny just lifted his head, then put it back down, tending to his small fire that kept the bugs at bay. He did smile slightly, as he knew the crimes this man was guilty of, and felt no pity for the man whatsoever.

*****

The pirate ship lay just on the horizon, hidden in the inky blackness of the night. Her captain stood on the bridge with his spyglass pointed towards the island. The fires still burned bright but there were not so many moving bodies around them.

With the rum barrels they had seen rolled about during the evening it was safe to say that a celebration had taken place.

A smile formed upon his bearded face revealing the few blackened teeth that remained. At dawn, they would attack.

*****

The Duke of Marlborough’s day began with coffee on the covered veranda as he attempting to listen to by the overseer to Bailey's estate. He sighed in frustration, staring down into the steaming mug he held in his hand. Frowning with displeasure, he inhaled the fine aroma of the brew while and thought of how strongly he disliked the bitter taste of coffee. He much preferred a rich chocolate in the morning and a good, quality, English tea in the afternoon. Though, he did have to admit, the coffee he sipped at presently was far smoother, and much more pleasant than any other he had previously tried.