The Pirate Ruse (16 page)

“Oh yes
, you could, miss!” James assured her. “I’ve heard tell they don’t speak a word, none of the crew…not while they’re sailing to such an end. It will be very dark, and you won’t be allowed to speak. Cap’n Navarrone will give over the
Chichester
to the governor, set the terms of his ransom for you, and come straight away back to the
Merry Wench
. No one will be the wiser.”

The excitement spreading through Cristabel’s body and limbs was near overpowering!
To stand witness to it all? It would be marvelous!

“But if we’re caught, he’ll have us both flogged.
You said so yourself, James,” she reminded him.

James shook his head.
“We won’t be caught,” he assured her. “Even the lanterns on the
Wench
are put out before we board the schooner. It will be easy as eating pudding.”

“James
, I just don’t know if—”

“We can do it, miss,” he interrupted.
“I’ll let you knock me cold if it will help. Then if the cap’n questions me, I’ll just say you hit me over the head. We’ll need to exchange clothes, of course. You can’t be wearing my best, or they’ll know.”

“James…I-I cannot possibly
—”

“Think of it, miss
. You’ll be witness to it all!”

Cristabel bit her lip
and considered the plan a moment. It was too tempting to refuse, yet she was concerned for James.

“But you were so delighted about being chosen,” she offered.

He shrugged. “I don’t mind missing it, miss. I think it means more to you. And besides, if you do well in my stay, I’ll be invited to go next time.”

Cristabel smiled.
“Very well, James. When do we exchange our togs?”

James chuckled.
“I’ll come to you, miss…when the time is ripe. I’ll come to you, and we’ll swap them. All right?”

Cristabel nodded.
She knew she should refuse—that it was dangerous to deceive, especially pirates and traitors. Still, she could not neglect the opportunity to witness William Pelletier’s defeat.

“Good,” he chuckled.
“Then I’ll come to you when the time arrives. And remember, miss, you must not speak…to no one…at all. I give you the same instruction the cap’n gave me.”

“I understand,” Cristabel agreed.

“Now I must go,” he whispered.
“Cap’n Navarrone has the eyes of an eagle, he does. If he sees us speaking in hushed voices, he might suspect our conspiracy.”

Cristabel nodded
and bit her lip with barely restrained enthusiasm. “Thank you, James…truly.”

“Thank you, miss…truly,” he countered before hurrying away.

Navarrone leaned against the mast—watched as James trotted
down the stairs in descending from the quarterdeck. He wondered what James had said to Cristabel Albay to make her smile with such obvious delight. In secret he wished she would smile such a smile for him. Yet he was her captor—a villainous pirate captain who did not deserve to be the recipient of such virtuous charms. He swallowed his rising jealousy—silently reminded himself that James Kelley was no more than a boy. James had not made Cristabel smile for the sake of his wooing but more likely for the sake of his boyhood wit. Navarrone determined he would not fester over it, that he would drive the unwitting vixen, Cristabel Albay, from his thoughts—though in truth he had been unable to cast her from his waking mind for any length of time longer than an instant, not since the moment he had come upon her aboard the
Screaming Witch
. Even his unconscious mind was not free of her feminine wiles, for during the few hours of sleep he struggled to capture each night, she was there, haunting him like some siren temptress of legend.

Navarrone sighed—raked one strong hand back through his hair.
He was perturbed with himself for once again entertaining quixotic sentiments of his prisoner. Perhaps if he had been born a different man—or at least maintained the man he once had been before Vienne—then perchance he might entertain fancies of winning the heart and hand of the fair Cristabel Albay. But he was not the man he had been, nor would he ever be that man again, and he owned a deep, aching regret in the knowledge—for Cristabel Albay was unlike any other woman he had theretofore known. She was strong-willed, witty, brave, and beautiful. She was feminine yet not fragile—a woman of rare worth.

He growled
and turned his back on the quarterdeck in attempting to divert his thoughts. Yet they would not be diverted, and his mouth began to water as the sudden memory of the feel of her soft flesh against his lips broke over him.

“Ship, Cap’n!” a man in the crow’s nest shouted.

“The schooner?” Navarrone called.

“Aye, Cap’n,” the man confirmed.
“Looks to be Mr. Fergus at the helm.”

“Aye!”
Navarrone smiled and nodded with approval. Fergus was as prompt as ever he had been, and Navarrone was glad. The more quickly he discovered the depths of the intrigue and treason surrounding Cristabel Albay, the more quickly he could release her and continue about his business.

“If I w
ere a better pirate, I’d ravage her whilst I had the chance,” he mumbled to himself. But Navarrone was not a better pirate—for he was, in truth, a supreme patriot instead.

*

“Now remember, miss,” James Kelley whispered as he helped Cristabel on with his boots, “you mustn’t utter one word…not one…not for any reason or no matter what happens at the assembly.”

“I won’t,” Cristabel assured him.

“You cannot,” he reiterated, “else it will be both our heads on a post.”

Cristabel nodded
, even as the nausea of trepidation and uncertainty rose within her.

“The
cap’n told me to be the last one in the schooner and the last one off each and every time we board or disembark. All right? Last…always last,” he said. “It will work to our advantage…for you will never be in front of anyone.”

“I understand,” she said.

“And when you’re at the assembly, we stand apart from each other in two rows…like sentries lined up on either side of a pathway in ushering in the governor,” he continued. “We face opposite directions every other man…so that we can see all sides of the place where we are meeting and not be ambushed. If you are able, position yourself with your back to the meeting. Then there’ll be little risk that they’ll even see your face.”

“I-I am a bit frightened, James Kell
ey,” Cristabel admitted. She was indeed trembling. In that moment, she was uncertain as to whether she had made the correct choice in accepting James’s offer and plan.

Suddenly, the words of
Navarrone the Blue Blade echoed in her mind.
One decision can change the entire course of a life
, he had told her. Navarrone was wise—she knew it—especially at that moment. What if her self-serving decision to accompany the away party found both her and James under the fury of Navarrone’s cat-o’-nine-tails? What if she made a mistake during the meeting with Governor Claiborne and was recognized?

“There’s the
cap’n’s whistle, miss,” James whispered. “It’s too late now to change your mind…even if you wanted to.”

“But
, James, I-I—”

“Hurry, miss!
Cap’n Navarrone will be suspicious if you’re not in line,” he said. In the next moment, James blew out the lantern that had been lit nearby. “The whistle means the lights are to be extinguished and the men going ashore are to board the schooner,” he explained. “Go! Go, miss…now!”

Without further thought or hesitation, Cristabel hurried out onto the deck.
All was dark—only the moon and stars to show her the way. As she quietly made her way toward the rope ladder that would take her to the sea and the schooner, she thought how uncanny the silence was. There was no sound but the sea—no voices—nothing but the rocking of wood in the water and waves.

Anxious, she watched as Navarrone disappeared over the side of
the
Merry Wench
. Baskerville followed, Fergus nodding at him in assurance that the able first mate would guard the ship well. Four other men disappeared over the side—then another. It was Cristabel’s turn, and she did not pause.

As deftly as possible (considering James’
s boots were far too large for her), she descended the rope ladder and stepped into the small boat waiting there. Two men began to row toward the schooner. Not one man spoke—not a word. The night was dark, and even Cristabel could not ably discern the faces of the men in the boat with her. She knew Navarrone, of course, for his size set him apart from the others. Likewise his powerful allure drew Cristabel’s awareness. She thought that if she could not see at all—could not even see the shadows and shapes of the men in the boat—still she would know where Navarrone was seated, for his very essence educed her, like a moth to a candle flame.

The schooner was not far
, and in a matter of mere minutes, all the men were aboard, Navarrone at the helm. The ship slipped through the darkness and water as an imperceptible spirit—a ghost—the breath of a ghost.

Near an hour they sailed
, silent. James had instructed Cristabel that Navarrone had set him as stern watchman. Thus, Cristabel stood her post well—strained her eyes to see through the darkness and ensure they were not being followed.

At last the anchor was dropped.
Navarrone lit a lantern and began to swing it in signaling someone on the shore. The lantern was quickly extinguished, however, and Cristabel exhaled a sigh of relief, for the small flame in the lantern light had illuminated the night with such brilliance that she had feared she might be found out. Yet she was not, and save two men who stayed aboard to guard the ship, she was last to leave the schooner for the small boat with two occupants that rowed them to shore.

Still
they did not speak, even as they disembarked and followed the two men who had rowed them ashore. They were led past several buildings, two of which were tavern inns. Cristabel glanced in through one of the warm-lighted windows of the nearest tavern—felt her eyebrows arch as she witnessed drunken men and scantily clad women cavorting within. People dressed in dark clothing watched them proceed with suspicion. Cristabel heard several men speaking in hushed tones—Acadians. She did not speak fluent French, yet she understood enough of the words and phrases being exchanged to know the local inhabitants suspected there were pirates in their midst.

Cypress
trees grew tall, fairly dripping with Spanish moss, darkening out the stars and moon. Cristabel found it difficult to find her footing at times—could only follow the line of pirates before her with blind trust that each man owned for the one ahead of him. The smells of the bayou were strong—water, moss, prolific vegetation. And yet there were sweet and spiced scents as well, and Cristabel’s mouth watered at knowing there was good food cooking somewhere nearby.

At last the
y approached a large building. There were lanterns lit within, and the old house glowed with an inviting warmth. Cristabel thought how very deceptive a thing could look. To the random wanderer approaching the place, the house looked no different than any other, restfully alluring with its glowing orange windows. Yet the truth was that pirates and traitors were meeting within. Yes—deception at its finest.

Cristabel followed the pirates
into the building. Her eyes widened as she saw the seven British sailors, shackled and standing in one corner of the room. Apparently Navarrone had not revealed all the details of the instructions he had given his first mate concerning the
Chichester
and her remaining crew—for indeed the British prisoners had already been delivered to the governor.

“Captain Navarrone
,” Governor Claiborne greeted, “what a fine service you have rendered in defending your country.”

Cristabel had recognized the
governor at once—recognized William Pelletier standing at his side and Richard Pelletier standing against one wall. So distracted was she in fact by Richard’s presence that she nearly neglected to align herself with her brother pirates in the manner in which James had instructed.

Quickly she fell into
position—between Baskerville and a man whose name she remembered as being Elias. She was fortunate to be in place with her back to the goings-on between the two rows of pirates, as James had instructed—for the astonishment of seeing Richard in attendance had thoroughly scattered her thoughts.

“Thank you, Governor,” Navarrone said.
“And you found the
Chichester
and her remaining crew where I indicated she would be?”

“We did,” Governor Claiborne said, nodding.
“It was a wise man who issued you your Letters of Marque, Navarrone. The
Chichester
will make a fine addition to the navy fleet of these United States. I believe she is the seventh ship you have captured and contributed.”

“
Yes, Governor,” Navarrone said, bowing in slight.

Cristabel almost gasped aloud.
Letters of Marque? Of course! She was disgusted with herself over her own ignorance. How could she not have fathomed it? How could she not have seen that the pirate Navarrone was, in fact, a privateer! Letters of Marque had been issued for hundreds of years, and though she had no previous notion the United States had ever issued them, Navarrone the Blue Blade stood as pure example.