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 contemplated 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.”
Chapter Eleven
“Thank you, boy,” Cristabel’s mother whispered. “And tell your captain he is correct in his estimations of me…as well as in his estimations of my husband, William Pelletier.”
“I will, ma’am,” James said, offering a smile of assurance.
The bell at the door tinkled, indicating another patron who favored Marie Blanchard’s pastries had entered the shop.
James glanced up to the elderly baker woman. No one must suspect he was not the homeless orphan he was pretending to be, and Marie Blanchard knew it as well. Thus, taking hold of her broom, she forced a frown at him.
“Out with you, boy,” she growled, swishing the broom at him. “I have no time for beggars to be bothering my patrons. Out!”
“Is everything in order?” the tall man who had only just entered the shop inquired, scowling at James.
“Oh, he doesn’t mean any harm, I’m sure of it,” Lisette Pelletier said. “Here, boy. Take this.”
James nodded and mumbled, “Thank you, ma’am,” as Cristabel’s mother pressed a silver coin into his palm.
“Now, off with you before you unsettle anyone further. Very well?” Lisette encouraged.
“Yes, ma’am,” James said. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Out with you, boy. Be on your way,” Marie said, waving one hand in a gesture of dismissing him.
James nodded to Marie Blanchard—thought what a perfect patriot she was, for no one would suspect her of such secretive doings. Her white hair and blue eyes gave her the look of an angel, even for her weathered and wrinkled appearance. He nodded once more to Cristabel’s mother, thinking he knew then just how Cristabel would appear with twenty more years to her name, for her mother was as beautiful as Cristabel was—simply more matured.
The male patron growled with impatience, and James took his leave of the shop. Once he had turned onto another street, he chuckled. Success! He had delivered Captain Navarrone’s letters—both the letter to Marie Blanchard and the one to Cristabel’s mother! No other wonder in the world could compare to the joy that leapt to Lisette Albay Pelletier’s face when she read of her daughter’s being alive—and safe. James knew he would never forget the look of pure happiness in her eyes at having read the news. Oh, certainly it had been plain obvious to James that Cristabel’s mother wished to speak with him further—to inquire after details of where her daughter was and how she had come to be taken and then rescued. Yet the woman was wise—as all patriots must be—and she simply scribbled a short response to Captain Navarrone’s letter. Lisette had, in fact, handed the letter of response to James only moments before the other patron of the shop had entered.
It had been four days since James had ventured out to complete the errand Navarrone had asked him to undertake. He had traveled to New Orleans—waited for his best opportunity to contact Marie Blanchard first and then Cristabel’s mother. Yet now the errand his captain had asked of him was finished, and pride swelled within his young bosom. He had not failed his captain; he had not failed Cristabel. Her mother now knew she was alive and safely guarded. Jame
s would return to the hidden community of pirates and their families knowing he had endeavored to do his captain’s will—and succeeded. Perhaps Captain Navarrone would truly forgive him for having allowed Cristabel to accompany the away crew to meet the governor.
James Kelley shoved his hands into the tattered front pockets of the worn trousers he wore as part of his disguise. He would seek out his fellow crew members awaiting him at the docks and return to Captain Navarrone, triumphant and ready for a new errand.
As he sauntered along the streets of New Orleans, James Kelley began to whistle, for his heart was happy and his hopes high once more.
*
“Yet how do you know they will keep their word?” Cristabel asked, dipping her head back into the water. The water was refreshing. She felt as if her skin and hair had not been properly bathed in years! Still, she was wary, for she could not believe that the men who dwelt in the secreted pirate community were gentlemen enough to honor rules—rules such as not visiting the freshwater bathing pool on certain days.
“They may be pirates, darling,” Claire explained with a smile, “but we women keep them lined up just as they should be where these sorts of things are concerned.”
“And their days to bathe here are in opposition to ours?” Cristabel asked.
“Yes,” Claire confirmed. She smiled, her eyes fairly dancing with mischief. “Therefore, you must be wary to well remember which days to visit the bathing pools and which days not to…else the innocence of your eyes be lost.”
“Indeed,” Cristabel giggled. Again, she dipped her head back in the water—savored the feel of freshness over her skin.
It had been five days since the Merry Wench had dropped anchor in a small hidden bay, and Cristabel had relished every moment of them. Navarrone’s mother was delightful, so very like her own mother—kind, loving, attentive, and considerate. She enjoyed Claire’s company and conversation. Yet it was Trevon Navarrone’s company and conversation that Cristabel savored. The pirate Navarrone the Blue Blade was yet severe at times, for he and the crew had been laying plans for their next voyage as well as discussing strategies to reveal William Pelletier’s treason to the governor.
Still, even for all the concerns he bore—even for his obvious desire to best William and Richard Pelletier, and any other man who dared to involve himself in treason—there was a certain manner of calm that had begun to settle over Navarrone. Oh, he was ever the leader of his men—ever the strategic genius and thoughtful admiral of war. Yet his brow was not so consistently puckered with worry, his voice more often the deep intonation of allure rather than the growl Cristabel had grown accustomed to while aboard the Merry Wench. It was often he sat with Cristabel and his mother at the small table in the tree house, sharing humorous stories of his childhood or adventurous tales of his privateering expeditions. He was yet guarded in her company; Cristabel was not naive enough to think he was not. Still, he was all the more attractive, all the more fascinating in his current condition, even than he had been (and would be) in his pirate-captain-at-sea circumstance.
Furthermore, with each passing day—with each passing hour and moment—Cristabel found herself deeper and deeper in love with him! It was as if he were some sort of handsome quicksand of perfect masculinity, drawing her deeper and deeper into the smoldering warmth of his eyes. The beguiling knowledge that his kiss was more desirable and satisfying than any confectionary wonder often consumed her thoughts—caused her mouth to water for want of his again.
Cristabel knew that the dream of lingering in the pirate community with Navarrone would end—that she must awaken and face the truth, the reality of all that had transpired before. Yet she in constant pushed such thoughts of consequence and future from her mind, determined to bathe in Trevon Navarrone’s attention for each precious moment allowed her.
Cristabel finished her bath, toweled, dressed, and combed her hair. She did not braid it into a plait, however, for she enjoyed the feel of liberation wearing it down allotted her.
“Do you feel quite refreshed, darling?” Claire asked as she sat in brushing out her own hair.
“Oh yes!” Cristabel chimed. “Bathing always offers such renewal and vigor.”
“Indeed, it does,” Claire agreed. She smiled at Cristabel, suggesting, “Why not allow yourself a little wandering on the shore? I often enjoy meandering there, searching for sea glass on the sand or tiny creatures to observe.”
“Is it allowed?” Cristabel asked, for she had not been to the shore since the Merry Wench had dropped her anchor in the bay upon arrival.
“Occasionally,” Claire answered. “I know there are others who have gone today. Therefore, Trevon must’ve granted this day as one when we can venture there.”
“I do not want to provoke him,” Cristabel began.
“Oh, you won’t,” Claire assured her. “I would not send you out if I did not think he would approve.” She smiled, winked at Cristabel, and added, “What’s good for the pirate is good for the pirate’s prisoner, eh?”
“Very well,” Cristabel giggled. “If you’re certain it would be all right…for I am terribly bored with no horizon to view. The trees conceal everything so perfectly. I feel as if I am lingering in a hole or some such thing.”
“I understand perfectly,” Claire said, nodding with emphatic understanding. “I sometimes think I might go mad if I have to live out the entirety of my life here…even for its ethereal beauty. Thus, take your stroll. Enjoy it. But please do not tarry too long…else Trevon begins to worry you have endeavored to escape him.”
“Of course,” Cristabel said. “I will return soon. Thank you, Mrs. Navarrone.”
Claire smiled, attempting to restrain her pride in her own cleverness. She knew Trevon was at the shore—that he had gone there for respite and thought. Yet Claire was impatient with her son. It seemed as if there were certain things in life that he leapt into, fearless of harm or death being the possible consequence. Yet in other venues, he paused. It was as if Trevon feared pain more than death, and though Claire knew why this was so, she had grown impatient with him where Cristabel Albay was concerned.
Therefore, she saw only one road to take: she must intervene on his behalf. Hence, she sent Cristabel out to unwittingly find him—hoped Trevon’s good sense would own him for once and that he would finally weaken enough toward his lovely prisoner to admit to himself he was keeping her for very different reasons than he professed.
“Let us hope, however, that your father’s chivalry is well founded in your character today, Trevon Navarrone,” she whispered to herself as she watched Cristabel disappear into the line of trees that would lead her to the shore and Trevon. “For I would not wish the pirate in you to compromise your restraint where your prisoner is concerned, boy.”
Still, Claire smiled, for she knew Trevon’s heart—and it was ever so good.
*
Trevon closed his eyes. As the sun warmed the shore, the rhythm of the surf lulled him to rare tranquility. He savored the feel of the sand beneath his feet—between his toes. The air was fresh and zestful, untainted, so unlike the stale, stagnant vapor of New Orleans. He could hear the distant call of gulls—imagined fish and other creatures of the sea frolicking in the cool depths beneath the water’s surface. For long moments, Trevon knew a measure of serenity. His mind was uncluttered—temporarily void of worry, strategizing, anger, or frustration. As his soul found respite, he felt his strong body begin to relax as well. He mused he would like nothing more than to lie on the warm sand forever, lulled by the breeze and the calm cadence of the gently breaking waves.
Yet void-mindedness never lingered long for Trevon Navarrone’s sake. As a vision began to form in his thoughts, the pirate Captain Navarrone the Blue Blade permitted himself to indulge in a luxury he rarely allowed, abandoning reality to linger in fantasy—and Cristabel Albay was there. As the sun and sand soothed him—as the savory air filled his lungs—as the soft waves lapped at the shore—he thought of Cristabel. In his mind
he could see her vividly, clothed as he secretly preferred her—in her long chemise, her corset worn over it. Trevon envisioned Cristabel wandered along the shore—approached the place where he lay. In this yearning visualization, her long, dark hair feathered on the wind, an alluring smile donning her sweet, pink lips. He imagined her smile was meant for him: an invitation to kiss her, to own her. Oh, if he were another man in another life, he would move the moon and stars in the heavens to own Cristabel Albay’s favor—to win her heart—to bed her as his wife. Yet he frowned, for he was not another man, and he owned no other life. Thus, nearly as quickly as it had begun, Trevon Navarrone’s alluring daydream ended.
He moved one hand from behind his head, rubbing at the sudden burning in his eyes.
“Does your head pain you, Captain?”
At the sound of her melodic voice, Trevon opened his eyes, shading them from the sun’s intensity with one hand.
“A bit, love,” he answered. His mouth began to water at the sight of Cristabel standing over him. “Only a bit.” He grinned as she sat down next to him, burying her toes in the sand.
“You’ve had too much sun today, perhaps,” she suggested.
“Perhaps,” he agreed.
He watched as she gazed out to the sea and smiled.
“It is a lovely space in which you all linger here,” she sighed. “No noise…no strangers. I can well see why everyone loves it so.”
“It is our haven,” Trevon said. “Jean Lafitte prefers excitement and risk. Perhaps if he had been less indulgent, he would have been left to his smuggling and exploits in Barataria. As for me and my men, we enjoy our solitude. And yet…often I still long to be somewhere else.”
“Where?” she asked—and he wished he had not spoken his thoughts aloud.
The Pirate Ruse Page 18