The Pirate Ruse (12 page)

“Oh, unhand me! Unhand me!” she cried.

Cristabel was frantic to escape him—not
because she feared he might indeed ravage her but because her trembling and goose flesh were evidence of her pleasure at his attentions.

Navarrone the Blue Blade
was a rake! A rogue, a blackguard, and a pirate! There was nausea churning in Cristabel’s stomach—nausea borne of the sudden knowledge that she was as affected by his charm and allure as easily as any other woman he had endeavored to seduce. Yet she would not be as weak-minded as the others—as weak-willed as the wife of South Carolina’s governor.

He raised her wrist
and somehow spun her in his arms so that she faced him, her hands pinned at her back in his strong grip. Her body was flush with his, and she was breathless as she glared up into his face—breathless with fear, morbid desire to be kissed by a rogue, and self-disgust in even owning attraction to him.

Cristabel felt tears fill her eyes
, though she struggled to keep them from escaping—to show no further weakness. Still, her heart was aching, for she had hoped there was some measure of good in his character—entertained notions that he might not own so black a heart as it was said he did. Yet now—now she knew the truth of it. Navarrone was a pirate. Whether or not he went wenching in taverns while in port, he was a seducer and defiler of women, and the disappointment frothing in Cristabel’s stomach was insufferable.

“Do not struggle so vehemently, love,” he said.
The soothing tone of his voice drew her attention, and she frowned at him—did cease in her struggles. “It will go better if you simply choose to—”

“Is that why you returned?” she interrupted.
“After all I’ve confided in you…after all your proclaiming that you wish to ransom me for a price…to best the traitor that is William Pelletier? You returned to your cabin to…to…”

“Ravage you?” he finished when she could not speak the words.

She nodded, frustrated with herself for not being able to hold back her tears.

“No, love,” he said.
He still held her hands at her back, but she felt his grip loosen. “I returned to take rest in my berth. But opportunity presented itself…and you are a tempting little morsel after all. What man would deny himself such a savoring of succulence?”

“Please, sir,” Cristabel begged in a whisper as near panic overtook her.
“Please…I am certain Richard will pay you well to have me returned…unharmed.”

He had her! Navarrone had her in his power once more. Certainly he felt sickened with himself for having been so brutal—at having threatened her with despoiling. Still, he yet sensed much was at stake—much more than simple wealth gained in besting one British ship. And Cristabel Albay was too willful and undaunted a woman for him to allow her to own much confidence, else she endanger herself and the crew of the
Merry Wench
.

He chuckled
and released his hold on her, certain she understood she should yet fear him.

“I would not have harmed you, my ripe little pomegranate,” he told
her. He leaned forward—whispered in her ear, “I would simply have bathed you in such ambrosial bliss that you—”

He startled as her slap stung his cheek.

“Enough!” he growled. The little vixen was too pertinacious for her own good. “I’ll bed you this moment or slice your throat and forsake any ransom you might bring!”

Cristabel gasped—cried out as the pirate Navarrone stooped, scooping her up onto one broad shoulder.

“Don’t you dare to touch me!” she cried.
“Don’t you dare!”

She gasped once more as he indecorously dumped her onto the berth.
She began to evade him—to try to move from the berth—but the blade of his cutlass was at her throat in an instant.

“Do you know why I am christened
the Blue Blade, love?” he asked. He stood looming over her, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead to slightly shade one eye. His scowl was intense, and Cristabel knew she was bested by his will.

“Y-yes,” she stammered, breathless with dread.

“It is for the sake that I am as quick with a blade as blue lightning is at striking,” he explained nevertheless. “Therefore, remember this, girl. I am weary…for the bloody
Chichester
and its troublesome female passenger have robbed me of my sleep for two days and a night. Thus, I will take my rest now…there on the chaise.” He nodded toward the chaise lounge. “And you will not move from this berth. You have spoiled my appetite for ravaging you this night, love…but I still wish to rest. Hence, remain where you are, else you provoke my temper again and I keep good my threat to slit your pretty throat.”

“Aye,” she whispered.
She had vexed him too far. She sensed he would tolerate no further obstinacy from her.

Navarrone sighed—returned his cutlass to its place at his hip.

“Here is another moral lesson taught you by a pirate,” he said, glaring at her. “Strong will…it is a strength in character. However, pure belligerence leads to foolishness, recklessness for the sake of pride. Do not let your pride keep you from your righteous goals, love. You and I own the same desires.” His eyes narrowed; a mischievous grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “That is to say, our desires own congruence where the outcome of the mystery of traitors and the
Chichester
is concerned. Consequently, it would bode well for you if you were to cease in attempting to do battle with me at every turn. I want the bloody bastard who is aligned with the British and selling women abroad. You want to return to your home…to your beloved Richard. Then do not let your arrogance and determined defiance defeat you.”

Cristabel said nothing
, for she could see there was wisdom in his sermon. She was at the mercy of pirates, and yet she did naught but provoke her captors. In that moment, she again realized how fortunate she was to be the pirate Navarrone’s prisoner, instead of the vile Bully Booth’s. She frowned, wondering why it was she could not hold her tongue and remember her good fortune whenever he provoked her.

“You have nothing to say?” he asked.
“No retort dripping with sarcasm?”

Cristabel only shook her head—brushed the tears from her cheeks.

“Good…for I am very worn and need my rest,” he mumbled.

She watched as he turned toward the painting on the wall—seemed to study the image of the beautiful woman it owned.

“And do not disturb me while I sleep,” he said. “I would hate to be startled and accidentally run you through.”

Cristabel watched as he sat down on the chaise
and raked a strong hand through his dark hair. He removed his boots and stretched out on the chaise. He was, of course, too large to fit on it properly, and she owned a moment of guilt for his discomfort.

“This bloody day is nearly over,” he mumbled.
“I expect you to be asleep before the green flash of sunset, love.”

He closed his eyes
, and Cristabel lay down in his berth. She rolled to her side—watched him for long moments as the light in the cabin further dimmed—until the sun dipped below the sea’s horizon and only the moonlight shone through the portholes to illuminate his form lying in pure masculine repose on the chaise.

She did not know how long she wept
, though it seemed hours. Cristabel Albay wept for the sake of the anguish and fear she had kept buried in her bosom. She wept at the horror of what might have been had Bully Booth bested Navarrone and the crew of the
Merry Wench
. She wept for the revulsion welling in her at what may have become of her if the
Chichester
had reached England. She wept for her mother—a pawn in the hands of a treasonous monster. She wept and wept—until, at long last, her tears were spent and sleep claimed her.

*

“Cap’n!”

There was a pounding on the door.

“Cap’n Navarrone!” the anxious voice called.

C
ristabel opened her eyes to see Captain Navarrone sitting on the cabin floor in front of the door—his back resting against it, his head drooped forward.

“Cap’n!
The
Screaming Witch
is at us aft!” Baskerville called from beyond the cabin.

Navarrone roused then
, raised his head, and ran a hand through his hair.

“What’s that, Baskerville?” he asked as he rather struggled to his feet
, as if there were a stiffness about his limbs that was not familiar to him.

“The
Screaming Witch
, Cap’n,” Baskerville answered as Navarrone opened the door. “She’s followed us, she has. She’s gaining on the
Chichester
at our back!”

“Her crew knows ours is split between the
Chichester
and the
Wench
,” Navarrone mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “The crew of the
Witch
is fewer than before we met her…yet we are only half a crew on each ship.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Baskerville agreed.
“What are your orders?”

Again Navarrone rubbed his eyes—raked a hand through his hair.
He glared at Cristabel a moment, as if to place the blame of the
Screaming Witch
’s reappearance on her.

“Since Bully Booth is dead,
the
Screaming Witch
has a new captain,” he said. “Thus, does her new captain mean to avenge Bully’s death? Or did he have some knowledge of the riches aboard the
Chichester
?” He paused a moment, seeming to study Cristabel. “Signal Fergus to move aport of us,” he ordered. “Have Fergus make for the bay, send the schooner out to us, and then take the
Chichester
to the place we determined. We’ll see who the
Witch
follows and make our plans accordingly.”

“Aye, Cap’n!” Baskerville agreed.

Cristabel startled as the q
uartermaster then began barking orders to the crew.

“Looks to be Bully Booth’s men were not so easily bested as we supposed, love,” he said.
“So think hard, Cristabel Albay. In whose arms would you rather spend your last night of life? Mine…or whoever the crew of the
Screaming Witch
elected as their new captain?” When she did not answer, he arched one eyebrow, adding, “Think quick, love…for your answer may determine how boldly I defend you if they board us.”

“Yours!” she spat
with writhing resentment, though no tears welled in her eyes—for she had spent them all the night before.

He smiled—nodded.
“That’s a good lass. Now, you best get dressed. We may be entertaining company.”

He was gone then
, shouting orders at Baskerville’s heels.

Hurriedly, Cristabel left the be
rth. She quickly brushed her hair, braiding it into a long plait. Using the water left in the tankard James Kelley had brought to her the night before, she refreshed her throat and face, placed several drops of the peppermint oil on her tongue, and attended to other necessities. She chose a dress from the trunk—blue—and hurriedly pulled it on. She could hear the men racing about the deck—saw the
Chichester
pass the
Merry Wench
on the port side.

It did not take her long to realize that n
o one was guarding the cabin door. The members of the remaining crew were too busy in preparing for battle. Cristabel went to the back of the room—looked with utter terror upon the bow of the
Screaming Witch
fast approaching. Her figurehead was a maiden, as Cristabel would have expected. Yet the maiden’s hair was a flaming red, her mouth agape to display sharpened teeth and the protruding tongue of a serpent.

Terror instantly washed over her!
What if Navarrone were harmed? Or James Kelley? Or any of the others aboard the
Merry Wench
? What if she were taken by Bully Booth’s vengeful crew?

“Oh, God, please!” she pleaded in a whisper.
“I know he is a pirate…but please…please see him the victor once more!”

She startled—nearly screamed as the cabin door burst open.
James Kelley entered, strode to her, took hold of her arm, and began pulling her with him.

“The
cap’n says you’re to remain in here, miss…until the fighting’s over,” James Kelley explained as he went to a panel in the wall near the front of the cabin and pushed on it. Cristabel was astonished when the panel separated from the wall by the tiniest margin. James then pried it back with his fingers to reveal a space just large enough to cache one person.

“I hate to shut you in, miss,” James said.
“It’s awful close-looking in there…but it’s the cap’n’s orders.”

None to
o gently the lad pushed her into the space then—pressed the panel into place once more.

“Not
to worry, miss,” he said. “The cap’n says it’ll all be over soon enough…one way or the other.”