The Pirate Ruse (25 page)

“Yes
, she does,” he admitted as his eyes narrowed and he studied the oldest coin. “One’s attention is always drawn to the more weathered coin, is it not?” He chuckled and returned the coins to her. “I am glad to know my mother has corrupted you in some virtuous manner. Perhaps it will atone for the manner in which I endeavored to corrupt you…in which I still endeavor to corrupt you.”

“In the first of it,” she began, turning and lifting the lid of her trunk, “I am entirely incorruptible.”

“Entirely incorruptible?
No one is entirely incorruptible,” he chuckled as she carefully placed the cherished pieces of eight in one corner of the trunk. She smiled, grateful that James and Navarrone had maneuvered her trunk into the upper tier of the tree house. Having her trunk near did comfort her somewhat.

“And in the second
, you would not dare to endeavor to do anything improper to me with your mother so close at hand.”

“Are you so certain, love?” he asked.

“Very,” she said. Yet considering him a moment, she added, “At least I think I am certain.” For in truth she was not so certain. In truth, she was hopeful that he would endeavor to corrupt her—but only a little.

Again Cristabel silently chastised herself for allowing such ridiculous and romantic musings to amble through her brain.
Quickly she straightened the top layer of clothing in her trunk. Smiling, she said, “I know your reasons for ransacking the contents of my trunk, Captain Navarrone. Still, I do wish you would at least have left the sprigs of…”

Cristabel paused—for a startling understanding had instantly begun to wash over her.
She could not believe she had not thought of it before.

“What is it?” Navarrone asked.
He took hold of her shoulders, turning her to face him. It was obvious by his curious and rather concerned expression that he sensed her disconcertment.

“The sprigs of lavender,” she whispered.

Navarrone’s frown grew more severe.
“Sprigs of lavender?” he asked.

“Y-yes,” Cristabel stammered.
“I-I am so very used to seeing them…whenever Lavinia prepares my trunk.”

The girl appeared far too unsettled—had instantly grown pale. Trevon tightened his grip on her shoulders and asked, “Who is Lavinia?”

“One of the servants…a servant girl w-who lingers in Richard’s employ,” she whispered.

“Richard’s servant?” Trevon inquired. “Why ever would she be attending to you?”

“Richard always and ever has her attend to me.
I-I’m very fond of her. There’s a certain lack of pretentious attitude I admire in her. Yet…yet if it were Lavinia who prepared this trunk…Lavinia who prepared my trunk in anticipation of my abduction…”

Trevon could see the pain and returning fear welling in her eyes
, and he felt the need to comfort her somehow.

“This Lavinia prepared your trunk, love,” he said.
“It does not mean she knew for what purpose she prepared it.”

“B-but
—” she began.

“Furthermore, it may indeed reveal something further to us concerning this ambiguous treason swirling about you,” he continued.
“It is true that after our meeting with the governor, we know Richard is somehow dabbling in your stepfather’s treasonous activities. But now I am led to wonder if it was not, in truth, Richard himself who orchestrated your abduction and passage aboard the
Chichester
.” He paused, for tears brimmed in the girl’s eyes; disappointment and fear the like he had never before seen in her owned her countenance.

“What is it?” he inquired.
“Is there something else?”

She shook her head
, yet his heart felt as if some bloody dagger had been plunged into his bosom as he watched tears spill from her violet eyes.

“I-I cannot believe it all,” she confessed in a whisper.
“I dwelled in that house with William Pelletier as my stepfather, agreed to marry a man I do not even care a wit for. And yet…they endeavored to—”

“It is all in your past, love,” he interrupted.
He was surprised—in truth astonished—for Cristabel Albay had thus far weathered more than some men could manage, but here she stood before him, weak and vulnerable—wounded and frightened. “And I’ll see them hang for what they did to you…and for their efforts to betray this country,” he growled.

“But my mother…she thinks I am dead…that I have abandoned her to a life of further misery with William Pelletier.”
Panic seemed to wash over her, and she reached out, desperately fisting the fabric of his shirt in her small hands. “She is all alone and in the hands of traitors!” she cried.

He must settle her—was desperate to soothe her.

Taking her face between his hands, he brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, saying, “All will be well with your mother, Cristabel.”

“No!
No, she…” she began as near hysteria began to overtake her.

“Hush, now, love,” he assured her.
“I have sent word to your mother concerning your safety and well-being. She will be comforted.”

Though tears still spilled from her lovely eyes, the expression of panic began to abandon her pretty face.

“Y-you sent word?” she asked.

“Yes,” he assured her.
He felt his own anxiety begin to lessen as she calmed.

“Why?” she inquired in a whisper.
“Why would you wish to give her comfort?”

Navarrone smiled.
He would not tell her that he wished to comfort the mother who had given birth to such a beautiful, brave young woman. He would not tell her his heart was tender toward her, that he had grown protective of her—wildly protective. It was too much for a pirate to reveal. He was certain she would see it as weakness in him.

Therefore, he simply answered, “I would not want to witness my own mother suffer in vain over me
. Thus, I would not wish to know yours is in unnecessary pain and grief. You have showered the wealth of the
Chichester
upon me, love…handed me treason and traitors to best. I would be ungrateful to my tempting little prisoner if I did not offer some sort of remuneration.”

She grinned.
“I have no doubt that you’re babbling off some sermon of morality. Yet I am too weary…too relieved in knowing my mother will be comforted to make sense of it.”

He chuckled.
“If you are too weary to take my sermons to heart, then perhaps you should retire, love.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, releasing the fabric of his shirt
, smoothing the wrinkles she had caused with her warm palms. Her touch was far too invigorating, and Navarrone released her, straightened his posture, and stepped back from her.

“I bid you sleep well then,” he said.

The pirate bowed in slight, and Cristabel smiled, charmed by his gallant gesture. He had sent a message to her mother! It was far more than could ever be expected of a pirate—even a privateer. She was assured that her growing admiration of Trevon Navarrone’s character was not so perfectly ill placed, after all. She thought of his compassion, consideration, affection, and love toward his mother. She thought of his philanthropic attitude where distributing plunder to poorhouses and asylums was concerned. She thought of his treatment of James—of his treatment of his entire crew, for that matter. Furthermore, she realized that, though he may have been brutal and threatening toward her, he had never truly harmed her. Rather he had thrilled and delighted her more often than not.

The privateering pirate Trevon Navarrone was more hero than anything else—a patriot
, fighting for the country’s safety under the guise of piracy. It was indeed a ruse of sorts, for what pirate captained his ship with such camaraderie, trust, and respect of his men? What pirate did not violate a young woman when given the chance? What pirate kept his mother in such safe comfort? Furthermore, what pirate would care enough for his prisoner to offer her own mother comfort?

Cristabel smiled as she thought of her own pirate ruse—of dressing as James to attend the meeting with the governor.
She mused that Navarrone the Blue Blade was not so very different than she, and her heart swelled—accepted what it had been fighting to accept. Cristabel was drawn to Navarrone, like a moth to a candle flame. She craved his attention, his conversation, his affections, and in those moments she did not experience guilt in owning such thoughts toward him. In those moments she saw him for what he truly was—a hero—a patriot—a champion.

“I will leave you to your sleep then,” he said.
He turned to leave her but paused. Looking back over his shoulder to her, he warned, “But remember, love, you remain my prisoner…a woman associated with traitors, and you are my means to thwarting them. So do not attempt escape. You would become lost in the swamps and perish, and the Pelletiers would continue in their treachery. Do not let my mother’s kindness to you veil the truth of the reasons for your presence here.”

“I may be motivated by defiance on occasion, Captain…but I’m not entirely asinine,” she said, somewhat offended he would think her so ignorant as to attempt to escape from such obvious and complete isolation.

He chuckled. “I see I’ve pricked your tender little pride once more,” he said. “You know what is said of pride, don’t you, love? Pride goeth—”

“Before the fall,” she interrupted.
“I well know it.” Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. “I cannot fathom why it is you chose a life of piracy…when you seem so much better suited to that of a preacher.”

He laughed then, and his smile lit up the night like the stars in the heavens.

“Oh, I own too many sinful desires where you are concerned to ever fathom becoming a preacher, love,” he said. “Thus, keep a wary eye about you as you sleep…for my mother’s proximity will not stay me from coming for you if the preacher precedes the pirate to slumbering.”

“I bid you good
night then, Reverend Captain,” she mocked.

Navarrone’s smile broadened.
“Good night then, Sister Temptress.”

As she watched him stride from her, Cristabel experienced the overwhelming desire to rush after him
, take hold of his arm, and demand his attention—to kiss him! She gritted her teeth—clasped her hands tightly at her waist to keep from running to him. She listened to him descend the stairs leading to the main tier of the tree house before she exhaled the breath she had been holding.

“I would be locked away in the furthest basement corner of the asylum if my thoughts could be read,” she whispered to herself.
“A pirate? What hope is there in loving a pirate?” Cristabel gasped, her hands moving to cover her mouth. Love? Had she truly spoken the word in reference to Navarrone? It was madness! Surely it was proof of literal lunacy!

Quickly she turned toward the small bed
and collapsed upon it as waves of dizziness and fatigue overtook her. She knew any woman would be drawn to Trevon Navarrone, but to consider allowing oneself to fall in love with him—insanity!

“I have become a lunatic pirate woman!” she breathed as the memory of the villain she had run through for the sake of James Kelley washed over her.
She briefly wondered where James had gone. She had not seen him since the afternoon. Still, her thoughts quickly returned to Navarrone—to the goose flesh racing over her arms as a vision of him lingered in her mind. She thought of the kisses they had shared in his cabin, and her mouth watered for want of tasting his again. A sudden and near consuming aching to be held by him began in her arms, spread through her bosom and stomach. Tears welled in her eyes as an internal echo whispered through her being:
I love him!

All at once Cristabel’s emotions were too great to bear.
As her tears escaped her eyes to trickle over her cheeks, she thought of her mother—hoped she would find comfort from the message Navarrone had sent. She thought of the treasonous traitors that had been surrounding her for two years. She thought of her dead father, missing him with excruciating pain of loss. She thought of James Kelley—wondered where he dallied—hoped he was well and happy. She thought of Trevon Navarrone, the pirate Navarrone the Blue Blade, and it was her undoing. Her weeping turned to sobbing, and she prayed for sleep to take her—to ease her mind—that she would find her strength renewed by morning.

Brushing tears from her cheeks, Cristabel contemplat
ed a moment the two pieces of eight gifted her by a pirate’s own mother and now cached safely in the trunk Lavinia had prepared for her. She mused that she was now more akin to the older and worn silver coin than she was the new one. Her weathering had begun with her father’s death and continued until she found herself the prisoner of a pirate she had fallen in love with. She wondered if her new weathering was as evident on her face as the coin’s was.

“Trevon Navarrone,” she whispered, choking on her own emotions.
“I am as much yours as the treasure in the houseboat…for you have plundered my heart as you plundered the
Chichester
’s riches.”