The Pirate Ruse (5 page)

“Stepdaughter of a wealthy
New Orleans politician,” she corrected. “And I assure you, he will pay no ransom. Moreover, you are still a pirate. They will hang you.” She frowned, mumbling, “And I am certain I would have remembered brushing shoulders with Jean Lafitte.”

Captain Navarrone chuckled, and Cristabel was intrigued that she had amused him.
Perhaps her wit could work to her advantage somehow.

“Now,” he began, “I have told you my plans.
Therefore, reveal to me what you know about your abduction and placement aboard the
Chichester
. If you do, perhaps you will be returned to your
step
father’s home as virginally unspoiled as you left it.”

His threat reduced her confidence once more
, and she stepped back from him.

“I have t
old you everything I know of a surety,” she said. “I was taken and put aboard an enemy vessel. They would tell me nothing. That is all I can tell you.”

The pirate’s eyes narrowed.
“All you
can
tell me…or all you
will
tell me?” he growled, striding toward her.

“P-perhaps I am mistaken in thinking my stepfather will not pay a ransom,” she said, stepping further back from him.
She had been too brazen in her defiance of the pirate. Suddenly she thought that if he believed William Pelletier would indeed ransom her, then perhaps Navarrone the Blue Blade would not ravage her. “Perhaps he will ransom me…for my mother’s sake…if I am unharmed.”

Captain Navarrone’s chest rose to its full breadth as he inhaled deeply.
His eyes narrowed; he studied her for a moment.

“You’re still keeping secrets,” he said.
“Yet I will allow you a measure of time to consider your situation. Cooperate with me; tell me all you know of the British ship
Chichester
, of your suspicions where your stepfather is concerned—for I know you own them. It is obvious. Thus, reveal your full knowledge to me—as well as a sampling of your feminine charms perhaps, as thanks for my rescuing you from the appetites of Bully Booth—and I may return you to New Orleans…essentially unscathed.”

“I have told you everything I know,” Cristabel insisted.

He was upon her at once, her chin gripped firm in his hand.

“No!
You have not!” he roared. His eyes flamed with fury, his teeth clenched tight. “Do not lie to me again, love. Do not lie to me again.”

Even for the discomfort caused by his strong hand at her face, Cristabel quickly reached around him to where the dagger lay sheathed at his back.
Drawing it quickly, she gasped when his free hand deftly took hold of her wrist, causing her to drop the dagger once more.

“And pray
,” he growled, “cease in trying to best me. If you persist…it will not go well for you.” With one final glare and a slight push, he released her. He retrieved the dagger, returning it to its scabbard at his back. “Now change your clothes, girl. I’ll not have you dropping dead of pneumonia before my purposes in rescuing you are satisfied…all of them,” he growled at her, turning and striding toward the cabin door. “Baskerville!” he shouted as he opened the door.

“Yes, Cap’n?” the q
uartermaster asked, nodding as he appeared in the doorway.

“Keep the wench guarded,” Navarrone ordered.
“No food or drink until I give the order.”

“Yes, Cap’n,” Baskerville said.
“James Kelley!” he shouted.

Captain Navarrone left the cabin.
Cristabel heard his heavy footsteps ascend to the quarterdeck overhead.

“Aye, Mister Baskerville?” a young man said, appearing behind the
quatermaster.

“Cap’n wants his cabin
door guarded, lad,” Baskerville instructed. “You’re to keep the woman inside. All right, boy?”

“Aye, Mister Baskerville,” the young man said.
The boy was small, blond. Cristabel thought he could not be more than fourteen. She thought it sad that his life was in ruins. After all, he was so youthful—and already mixed in with pirates.

“Enjoy yourself, lassie,” Baskerville said to Cristabel.
“At least yar not lingering in the likes of Bully Booth’s cabin.” He closed the door then, and she heard him give the boy named James Kelley further instructions.

Cristabel was frightened—indeed
, she was terrified! However, instead of allowing fear to conquer her, she determined to let indignation and hope be her allies.

“Bloody pirate,” she grumbled as she stripped off her boots and stockings.
Angrily she threw one sopping boot at the door. Yet the boy guarding her did not even glance back through the small window in the door to look at her. “Arrogant blackguard!”

Quickly she stripped herself of Captain Navarrone’s heavy,
blue brocaded vest. She began to discard it to the floor but paused.

“Hmm,” she said, holding the knee-length vest up in front of her.
She studied it for a moment. “Excellent stitching…beautiful brocade. A very fine garment indeed. And no doubt it owns a corresponding frock coat…both very costly, I’m sure. Hmmm.”

Walking to a nearby porthole, Cristabel opened it, stuffing the opulent brocaded vest out to tumble into the sea.
She closed the porthole, dusting her hands together with satisfaction, and returned to changing her sopping undergarments for the dry ones Captain Navarrone had supplied.

“And there goes yar finest vest, Cap’n…swept away on the waves of the sea,” Baskerville chuckled, leaning on the quarterdeck railing and gazing into the sea below.

Navarrone growled.
“I wonder that the British did not keelhaul her. She’s a stubborn little vixen.”

“Indeed,” Baskerville agreed.
“It takes a strong will to risk provoking Navarrone the Blue Blade.”

“She only possess
es the will of defiance because she is an innocent,” Navarrone said. “She has heard tales of pirates, no doubt…tales of swordplay, treasure, and rum. Yet I know…I know she has no conception of what her fate would most assuredly have been at the hands of Bully Booth and his men. She could not know, else she would not be so stubborn…so brave in defiance of me.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Baskerville said, nodding his concurrence.
“Aye.”

Navarrone felt the familiar nausea rise from his gut to burn in his throat.
He ground his teeth and turned, striding to the helm.

“We sail for
New Orleans, Baskerville,” he snarled. “Signal Fergus to keep the
Chichester
at a close distance…port.” Shaking his head, he added, “I will discover what is amiss…whether treason, treachery, or trifle! And while we’re about it, we will venture with Governor Claiborne and become even richer men!”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Baskerville said.
“All hands to the deck and rigging! We sail for New Orleans and glorious bounty!”

As Baskerville
barked orders to the men, Navarrone stood at the helm. Closing his eyes a moment, he tried to vanquish the heinous vision from his mind. It was not the ever-lingering sensation of the cat on his back that anguished him—not the beating, the starvation, or the memory of the stench of the hold. Rather it was the vision of Vienne that haunted him—his beautiful Vienne. It was the vision of her being taken that devoured his mind—the vision and the knowledge—the knowledge he owned of all she had endured before her merciless, savage death.

“
Vienne,” he breathed as he took the wheel. He glanced aft, to the
Chichester
behind, and hatred boiled in his veins. He loathed the British for their part in it all and for a moment considered setting the seven surviving British sailors adrift. Let the elements take them. Let Bully Booth’s crew torture, flog, or keelhaul them! They deserved no better treatment. They were the enemy!

Still, for all his rage, Navarrone knew there was treason afoot.
Someone was bartering with the British and the girl—with Cristabel Albay. Navarrone had never asked the vixen her name, for he knew she would simply have lied to him. Yet Cristabel Albay—it was the name on the trunk his men had found aboard the
Chichester
, her trunk.

“Cristabel Albay
,” he mumbled. “Are you a victim…or a traitor?”

Navarrone sneered
, infuriated, filled with hate. He would discover the truth concerning the bloody British
Chichester
and its passenger, Cristabel—even if he had to drive his own hand down her throat and rip the truth from her lungs!

*

Cristabel stood before the looking glass secured to the cabin wall. She wondered what disease she might contract in using the bone comb she had found in Captain Navarrone’s desk drawer. Yet there had been no evidence of lice among the teeth of it, and she could not endure matted hair. She was thankful the pirate had brought one of her long chemises. Perhaps her shoulders were bare save her corset straps, but at least her feet and ankles were fairly covered. She wished there had been stockings included in the items Navarrone had allowed her. Yet she was grateful to be dry and warm—and somewhat more modestly attired.

She heard his voice outside the cabin—heard Captain Navarrone speaking to the boy, James Kelley.
A wave of sudden terror rippled through her, and she dropped the comb. It clattered to the floor, and she hurriedly retrieved it, tossing it to his desktop and raking a hand through her now dry, smoothed hair. Would he keep to his threats to sample her feminine charms? Would he truly return her to New Orleans? And what if her stepfather would not pay ransom? What then?

Cristabel had no more time for thoughts
, for Captain Navarrone burst in upon her in the next moment. He closed the door behind him, and Cristabel stepped back. His presence filled the room as fully as breath filled the human bosom.

“You have had hours to
consider your predicament,” he said, striding toward her. “Therefore, being that you appear to be an intelligent young woman…will you now tell me all you know?”

“I-I have already told you all I know,” she answered.
“I have no more to tell.”

“There is always more for the telling, love,” he said.
“I think you well know that.” He cocked his handsome head to one side—considered her for a moment. “Are you not hungry? Do you not thirst? Reveal your secrets, and I will have you fed and your thirst quenched.”

It was not difficult for Cristabel to ignore the appetite in her stomach
. Yet her mouth was so in want of drink she could not swallow.

“I have no appetite in your presence,” she bravely ventured.

She watched as the right corner of the pirate’s mouth curled. His eyes narrowed, and he approached. Cristabel stepped back from him, but his desk foiled her retreat.

“And
what of thirst?” he asked, standing directly before her. He reached out, raking a powerful hand through her hair from her temple back over the top of her head. “Is there nothing I can offer to quench your thirst? Is your mouth parched, love?” He bent toward her and in a lowered voice purely provocative in nature mumbled, “For mine is moist…and will quite eagerly lend its moisture to yours.”

Cristabel was breathless with fear—fear and something akin to elation—something
she did not understand. Yet she would not be bested by the pirate’s use of intimidation and lewd coquetry.

“If that is the only choice you offer,” she began.
He grinned—yet she continued, “Then I will wait until I may quench my thirst with your blood!”

He continued to grin, however.
“Ah, I think not, love. I think not,” he said. “Hunger may not drive you mad. I see that in you. But thirst will, woman. Thirst will have you begging to tell me your secrets. That I promise.”

He
turned and strode from the room. “Give her nothing, James Kelley,” he ordered the boy as he closed the door.

Cristabel attempted to moisten her burning lips and throat
, but there was no saliva in her with which to dampen them. Captain Navarrone was right. She would succumb to him—reveal her suspicions regarding her stepfather—else she would go mad!

Going to the chaise lounge, she sat
, raking her trembling fingers through her long dark hair. Perhaps she had run the length of belligerence. Perhaps the only hope she now had was concurrence. Captain Navarrone had not wounded or killed her, and he had not even made to ravage her, though pirates were notorious for ravaging innocent women. Yet she well knew that had she remained in the clutches of the pirate Bully Booth, she would surely have been dead already.

She thought then of Navarrone’s obvious loathing for the British.
Yet her mind fought to believe a pirate could own loyalty to anyone or anything—especially a country. Still, it seemed his anger was provoked by thoughts of traitors and treason, and Cristabel knew no alliance with either. Thus, perhaps her best chance was to tell him her suspicions of William Pelletier, her stepfather. Even if William did not pay the ransom Navarrone demanded, perhaps he would take mercy on her and release her all the same.