It was then that thoughts of Captain Navarrone intruded her musings. She gritted her teeth with aggravation, for it seemed the rogue was ever lingering in her mind. In truth, Cristabel had begun to wonder if she truly wished she could accompany the land party in the schooner in order to see William Pelletier bested and to discover her fate—or for the sake that she was wildly unsettled each time she thought of being without Navarrone’s presence.
“Bloody pirate,” she mumbled as she thought of him—as she felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the memory of his lips caressing her shoulder when he had held her bound in his arms in his cabin. She closed her eyes, determined to cast the scoundrel from her thoughts. Yet with no more visions of the sea before her, her mind was pummeled with images of the handsome rogue! She thought of the breadth of his shoulders—the sun-bronzed tone of his torso when he was roaming the ship without his shirt, which he did often. She thought of his finely trimmed mustache, goatee, and side-whiskers—of the charming manner in which his dark hair would tumble over his forehead to veil one smoldering eye. She thought of his adeptness with a cutlass or other weapon—of how he had now twice saved her life.
“Miss! Miss!”
James Kelley’s enthusiastic call drew Cristabel from her disquieting thoughts. She turned to see James ascending to the quarterdeck, a jolly smile on his youthful face.
“Hello, James,” she greeted, smiling at him, for he was a cheerful boy.
“The cap’n’s allowing me to go…to the meeting with the governor!” he exclaimed.
Cristabel giggled. The boy fairly beamed with delight.
“That’s wonderful, James!” she said.
“Yes, miss,” he sighed, nodding with pure pleasure.
Cristabel wistfully looked to the horizon. “I wish I could go as well,” she mumbled.
“You, miss? Why, whatever for?”
“To witness the dumbfounded expression on William Pelletier’s face when he realizes he has been bested by Captain Navarrone,” she explained. She looked to him, adding, “And to see if my fiancé will truly pay a ransom for me.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt in that, miss,” James assured her. “Why…any man would give all his earthly possessions to win you back.”
Cristabel giggled, touched by James’s earnest and very complimentary declaration.
“You’re so good to me, James…so kind and thoughtful.”
“It’s you who’s good to me, miss,” James said. His smile faded. He seemed thoughtful for a moment. “You saved my life.”
Cristabel shrugged. “You would have done the same for me. You were doing the same for me, in fact—facing pirates…risking your life.”
“Naw, it was Captain Navarrone who saved you, miss…not me.”
Cristabel put a hand on James’s shoulder. “You championed me first, James. I heard you from my place behind the panel in the wall. You battled the Devil Wallace for my sake. I can never repay you for that.”
James frowned, again thoughtful. Cristabel wondered what was in his mind, for his jaw was clenched, his brow deeply furrowed.
“I might be able to repay you though, miss,” he mumbled.
“You have nothing to repay me for, James. You owe no debt to me.”
“Yes I do, miss,” he argued, however. His expression had turned very solemn, and Cristabel was saddened that it had, for he owned such delight a moment before.
James studied her; his eyes narrowed. He carefully considered her from head to toe, and more than once. Yet it was not a lustful sort of perusal—rather one of ponderous scheming.
“Dressed as you are, miss, I’d wager you could pass for me in low light…if the brim of your hat was pulled low on your brow and your hair hidden down the back of your shirt…maybe a sailor’s scarf wrapped ’round your neck,” he mumbled.
“What are you suggesting, James?” Cristabel asked, nearly taking offense that he had suggested she resembled an adolescent boy.
His face brightened, his cheerful smile returning.
“I’ve thought of a way to repay my debt to you, miss,” he said.
“James, I told you, you are in no way obligated to—”
“Cap’n Navarrone says he’s never seen a woman as fearless and wild for adventure as you,” he interrupted. He lowered his voice, his eyes fairly gleaming with excitement. “Are you up for it then, miss?” he asked. “And be sure of your answer before you give it…for the cap’n will have me and you both flogged with the cat if we’re caught.”
“Am I up for what, James?” she asked—though the anticipation welling in her bosom already whispered to her of what James was planning.
“I think you should take my place on the schooner tonight,” he whispered. “Cap’n has told us we won’t sail until the sun’s set. They always set sail at night…so it ain’t so easy to be seen. They’re to meet the governor at a small settlement north of here in order to gift him the Chichester and the British sailors while the Merry Wench waits near Alligator Bend.”
“James,” Cristabel began, lowering her voice to a whisper, “are you suggesting that I pose as you in order to accompany the away party tonight?”
“Yes, miss,” James admitted, still smiling.
“Oh no, James,” she said. “I could not possibly do it!” Yet in her thoughts and heart she was wildly provoked to attempt it.
“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 desc
ending 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 were 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 Kelley,” 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 they 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.
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