“Silence!” Richard shouted. “Let no man interfere here! You will not be paid if you do! I will vanquish this bloody pirate alone!” He gestured to Trevon again. “Come then, Navarrone the Blue Blade. Gather your cutlass, and meet your death.”
“You only face him because he is near to death from the flogging!” Cristabel accused.
Richard’s brows arched. “But he is Navarrone the Blue Blade. His skill with a blade is legendary…and surely no mere flogging could harm a legend.”
Cristabel felt Trevon straighten—looked up to see him unwind his hands and wrists from the rope. She wept as she saw the blood trickling from his palms and wrists—for he had held so tightly to the ropes during his flogging that they had cut into his flesh.
She gasped—sobbed as Trevon staggered from behind her to stand before Richard. The blood and torn flesh at his back were so plethoric—so gruesome—she wondered that he was still alive, let alone conscious.
“Trevon!” she breathed, suddenly overcome with a feeling of dizziness. “I’m so sorry. I-I…Trevon…no!”
“Give him his cutlass!” Richard shouted. When not one man moved to do as he ordered, Richard growled, picked up Trevon’s cutlass, and flung it toward him to land at his feet. “Pick it up, pirate!” He laughed, amused with himself—blind with fury and arrogance. “Let us see this Blue Blade they tell of.”
“Trevon!” Cristabel breathed as Trevon struggled to bend—struggled to grasp the hilt of his cutlass. “Trevon, no!” What had she done? In attempting to save him from death by means of the cat, she had only just sent him to die by the blade.
Glancing over his shoulder to her, Trevon winked at her. “Our men will be here to claim you, love. Just keep from harm until they arrive.”
He turned to Richard then, nodding toward one mercenary and then another. “You are all dead men,” he called to them. “The crew of the Merry Wench will have their revenge upon you for your deeds here…and your conspiring with traitors! Pray they slice your throats quick instead of putting you under the cat yourselves…or keelhauling you.” His speech was labored and breathless.
He turned to Cristabel then, quickly taking her face in one hand. “Now, give me one last drink of you, love.” He kissed her—his mouth open, moist, and demanding—hot and impassioned.
“Your last drink it is indeed, pirate!” Richard raged. “Now die…you dog!”
Cristabel screamed as Richard lunged and Trevon turned to meet him. Trevon was weak—brutally battered and wounded. What had she done in provoking Richard further?
She gasped then as Trevon quickly took hold of Richard’s wrist—of the hand with which Richard wielded his weapon. Holding Richard’s wielding hand high overhead, Navarrone the Blue Blade then plunged his cutlass into the villain’s chest. Trevon’s triumph took less than an instant, and in the next moment, Richard Pelletier staggered backward—an expression of pure astonished disbelief on his face. He fell to the ground then, exhaling his final breath.
At that very moment, Baskerville and the men from the Merry Wench appeared. James Kelley was with them, and Cristabel watched as, shouting, they attacked the mercenaries. Struggling, she tried to free herself. She could not—she knew she could not—yet she was desperate to protect Trevon, for she knew he was yet in danger.
Trevon Navarrone was weak, trembling with residual pain from the flogging and from loss of blood. Cristabel was not yet freed and safe, however. Thus, he called upon what strength was left him, pulled his cutlass from Richard Pelletier’s body, and ran it through the guts of an advancing mercenary.
He looked up in time to see James Kelley vanquish a foe, and the thought quickly flittered through his fevered brain that he had ordered Baskerville to see the boy stayed aboard the schooner and out of harm’s way. Still, he could not be angry—should not—for the boy was helping to defend Cristabel.
In mere moments, the mercenaries were beaten. Most were dead. Those who had survived were struggling to escape. Richard Pelletier was dead, and Cristabel would be safe.
Turning to her then, Trevon staggered to her. He knew he would not have the strength to reach up to untie her wrists and raised his cutlass, intending to cut the ropes from the poles and free her.
“Trevon! Trevon! You are so injured, Trevon!” she sobbed. “You must be attended to at once! Baskerville! Baskerville! Hurry! He will die if we do not hurry!” She paused, gazing at him with inquisitiveness and desperation. “Cut these ropes, Trevon! Hurry!”
Yet Trevon Navarrone paused. In truth, he felt his body was ready to give up the ghost. He knew William Pelletier would still be a danger to Cristabel and her mother. She was not so entirely safe as he first thought she would be—and he was in no condition to champion her.
“You are well, love,” he panted. “Well and safe from harm…for now. But I am not well. I do not know if I will survive this…for I fairly sense my body dying.”
“No! No, Trevon! You will be well! I will help you to be well!” she cried. “Untie me, Trevon! Please! Why do you pause?”
“James Kelley,” Trevon called. “Hurry here, boy.”
James was there at once. “Aye, Cap’n?”
“I gave orders that you were to stay aboard the schooner,” he said.
“Aye, Cap’n. I disobeyed the order,” James bravely answered.
“I see that,” Trevon panted. He could feel the darkness of unconsciousness at the threshold of his mind—sensed the Reaper himself was near to him. “But now I give you an order that you must not disobey, James.”
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“Stay here with Cristabel,” Trevon said. He was weak, his knees nearly numb, and he dropped to them in the grass.
“Trevon! No! Please, Trevon!” Cristabel screamed.
“Once we have gone—have had ample time to sail—untie her and take her to her mother’s house,” Trevon instructed. “I will have word sent to the governor explaining what happened here…to Richard Pelletier…and that William Pelletier is a trader in human flesh and a traitor. Stay with Cristabel and her mother until they are well, James Kelley…until you are certain they are safe.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” James Kelley whispered.
“No! No, Trevon!” Cristabel cried. “Do not leave me! I love you! I love you! We are to be wed! You cannot leave me!”
Trevon struggled to stand. The effort near killed him, he knew. Yet she must not know how close he was to death—she must not. If he died, he would have Baskerville send word, for he would not have her haunted the way he had been haunted when Vienne had been lost. Still, he would not have her watch him die; he would not leave her with that vision. Furthermore, if he lived—if he somehow managed to survive and heal—then he would come for her. He would find her, marry her, and live in wondrous simplicity and impassioned love with her. But he must survive first.
“Hush, love,” Trevon whispered, taking her chin in one trembling hand. “I will come for you. You know I will come for you. If I am able I will come for you. Know that, Cristabel. But I cannot allow you to linger in this pirate’s life any longer. It is a danger to you…in ever so many ways.”
“Trevon,” Cristabel sobbed, desperate to touch him—to hold him—to know he would be well. “Please do not leave me…please! I will be no further trouble to you. I promise it! I will be safe now. Richard is dead. Please let me come with you. Please!”
“I will come for you, love,” Trevon whispered. She could see the weakness in him. The pallid condition of his face, the absent smolder in his eyes—he would die if he were not attended to immediately! “I will come for you. If I live, I promise I will come for you. And if…if I do not come…if I cannot…I will send Baskerville to you…with my heart sealed in a box so that I may ever be with you.”
“Trevon, no!” she sobbed, struggling in a vain attempt to free herself. “Do not leave me, Trevon! No! Do not!”
“Keep her safe, James Kelley,” Trevon said aside to James. “No matter what comes to pass.”
�
��Aye, Cap’n,” James mumbled, his lower lip trembling with restrained emotion.
A strange dizziness began to overtake Cristabel. She would lose him! She would lose her lover! Trevon may die from the wounds inflicted him by Richard’s cat-o’-nine-tails. She did not want to live if Trevon were to die!
“I love you, Cristabel,” he said, pressing his mouth to hers in one last kiss. It was driven and moist as ever his kiss was. Yet it was weak, and his lips were cold. “Wait for me, sweet pomegranate,” he mumbled. “Wait for me…or for Baskerville. Either he or I will come to you. I promise.”
With panicked desperation, Cristabel looked to James. Trevon would not listen to her, for he was too weakened to think with clarity and reason.
“James!” she cried. “Do not let him leave without me! Please! He needs me!”
“Aye, miss,” James said, tears welling in his eyes. “But I have my orders. I will do as my cap’n commands me.”
“Good lad,” Trevon said as Baskerville stepped up to place one of Trevon’s large arms about his shoulders.
“No! No! Trevon! Do not leave me!” Cristabel cried as Navarrone the Blue Blade turned and began to stagger and stumble away. “No!” She was suddenly breathless—dizzy. And then there was only darkness.
“I will not survive to see the bay, Baskerville,” Trevon mumbled. The pain had already numbed his arms and legs, yet he could feel the warm blood streaming over his back. “Find the nearest doctor to attend me.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Baskerville said.
“And Baskerville…”
“Aye, Cap’n?”
“If I expire…go to Cristabel and tell her. Do not let her linger in not knowing my fate.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n Navarrone,” Baskerville said.
“I love her, Baskerville. I would die for her,” Trevon Navarrone whispered a moment before the black of unconsciousness overcame him.
“Aye, my cap’n,” Baskerville mumbled. “Aye.”
Chapter Seventeen
Cristabel Albay gazed out over the horizon. The sun was nearly set. Soon it would dark, and another day would have ended without word of Trevon Navarrone.
As ever it did at eventide, Cristabel’s anxiety heightened. She silently reminded herself that Baskerville had not come to her—that if Baskerville had not come, then surely Trevon was alive.
The war with the British Empire was at an end, the final battle having taken place in New Orleans. It was rumored that Colonel Jackson had bartered with Governor Claiborne to issue pardons to all privateers who had fought to defeat the British during the Battle of New Orleans. In the darkest corners of her mind, Cristabel wondered if the crew of the Merry Wench had been soldiers in the battle. She wondered if perhaps Trevon had survived the wounds of the flogging—healed to good health only to die in battle under Colonel Jackson. Perhaps Baskerville had been killed and was unable to come to her as well. Yet she would not give up hope. After all, she knew the kind of warriors that were Trevon, Baskerville, and all the crewmen of the Merry Wench. Thus, she surmised that Trevon was not dead—only delayed in coming to her.
She reminded herself that it would indeed take longer for Trevon or Baskerville to reach her and her mother in South Carolina as well. William Pelletier had been arrested and hung for treason shortly after James Kelley had returned Cristabel to his home in New Orleans. And though his estate fell to her mother, neither Cristabel nor Lisette wished to linger in a city that had wrought them with such pain and fear. Thus, they had returned to South Carolina and purchased a home near the seashore, now lingering in quiet waiting.
“Come inside, darling. Won’t you?” Cristabel’s mother said, placing a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders.
“In a moment, mother,” Cristabel said. “I’ll watch for the green flash first.”
Lisette sighed. “Very well,” she said, kissing Cristabel’s temple. “But do not tarry too long…else James will worry that you are despairing.”
Cristabel smiled at her mother. “Dear James Kelley,” she sighed. “He is like a brother to me now. I hope he will never leave us.”
“I wish for him to remain as well,” Lisette said. “Yet he is restless over Claire Navarrone…and his shipmates. I can see it growing in him daily. It may be that he cannot bring himself to settle in with us forever.”
“I know,” Cristabel said. “Still, I do not want him to leave.”
“Nor I. Therefore, do not linger too long. He is always comforted with your company once the sun has set. It settles his anxiety, as well as yours.”
“I know, Mother,” Cristabel said. “I know.” And she did know. Cristabel knew that her mother so encouraged James and Cristabel to soothing one another for the fact it gave them both hope. Whenever Cristabel and James were in conversation—in reminiscing of their meeting and adventures aboard the Merry Wench—each was reassured that nothing could triumph Navarrone the Blue Blade—even the brutal beating of the cat-o’-nine-tails Richard Pelletier had inflicted.
Still, even for all James’s assurances—even for all Cristabel’s assurances to James—she wondered why Trevon had not come. Her deepest fears whispered that he did not truly love her as deeply as he professed. Yet her faith told her that no man would take such a beating or stare death in the face unless he loved the woman he championed. Therefore, Cristabel continued to hope—to watch the sea and the horizon for the Merry Wench and Trevon Navarrone.
The sun set, and the sky flashed green. Yet again, the Merry Wench had not sailed toward the shore.
“Come, darling,” Lisette said. “Your dinner will be cold.”
“Very well,” Cristabel mumbled.
She turned, accompanying her mother back into the house. She caught the scent of the herbs in her mother’s small garden, of thyme and rosemary—and of peppermint. Her mouth began to water, and she knew that no matter where life found her in the end, the scent and taste of peppermint would ever send her thoughts to Trevon—to the kiss of the pirate captain she would love for all eternity.
*
Cristabel held her breath. Something had awakened her—the quietest noise—as if someone were in the room and had exhaled a sigh. She opened her eyes, sat up in her bed, and peered into the shadows. Clouds lingered before the moon outside, allowing no light to penetrate the windows of the room. There was only complete darkness.
“Wh-who is there?” she called as panic near over took her. She was suddenly awash with fear—for the memory of being abducted from her bed once before came to her full and terrifying.
There came no answer from the dark, yet she fancied she heard footsteps—the sound of boots on wood. “Who are you?” she asked, her heart hammering with dread.
“I’ve come to ravage you at last, love,” came the voice Cristabel had only dreamt of hearing once more.
“Trevon?” she gasped, leaping from her bed. “Is it you? Truly?” She could not believe he had come—thought certain she was dreaming. Rubbing her eyes, she peered into the shadows once more—saw the outline of a figure standing in her doorway.
All at once, a candle was lit and flickered to life. Tears swelled and spilled from Cristabel’s eyes as she saw the illuminated face she so dearly loved. He was there—Trevon—handsome, powerful, and alluring, his dark hair having tumbled over his forehead to hide one eye.
“Trevon!” she cried, collapsing to her knees. “Oh, Trevon!”
Quickly Trevon strode to her, gathering her weakened body from the floor and into the strength of his embrace. Cristabel wept into his shirt—his shirt that smelled of the warm spice of masculinity, the salty essence of the sea, the breath of the breeze, and the comforting savor of grass and trees—his shirt that smelled of him!
“You’re alive!” she sobbed. “Are you well?”
“I am,” whispered his beloved voice in response. “But only for the sake that I was determined to have you, Cristabel Albay. I promise…it was our love and my desire that found my life spared.”
“And
you’ve come for me?” she asked, clutching the fabric of his shirt in desperate fists—for she yet feared she was only dreaming.
“Aye, love,” he answered. “If you’ll still have me. If you still wish to be a pirate bride…then I am fair mad to be your pirate groom, love.”
“Oh yes!” Cristabel breathed. “Yes!” She looked up to him then, still clasping the front of his shirt in her fists. “Kiss me,” she whispered. “Kiss me so that I will know you are truly here and that I am not dreaming. Kiss me as you’ve never kissed any woman before, Trevon Navarrone. Kiss me now!”
“I’ve already kissed you as I’ve never kissed any woman before, love,” he chuckled. “But if it’s proof that your pirate still lives that you desire…”
He took her mouth with his then, and Cristabel’s heart swelled to near bursting. Tears streamed from her eyes to mingle with their kiss—their heated, moist, impassioned kiss! The sense of his kiss—the taste of it—sent her emotions rising, her body to thrilling. He was there! Trevon was there, and she bathed in his affections—shared his desire.
It was all too soon that he broke the seal of their mouths. Cristabel was desperate for him to continue kissing her, yet she realized her breath was rapid and irregular—as was his.
“Your bed lingers too close for my will to resist you to be maintained long, love,” he chuckled. “Thus, come with me…for I mean to sail you to our new life.”
“Our new life?” she asked, warm and comfortable in his arms.
“Yes, love. We are done with privateering…you and me…everyone,” he began to explain. “The families have been relocated from the community near the bay. It is only the small remnants of the crew that now sails the Merry Wench—Baskerville and me…Fergus and only a few others. We will sail her to our new life…in Salem…then set her adrift to whatever fate finds her.”
“Salem?” Cristabel asked, smiling.
“Aye, love,” Trevon said. “Baskerville and Vienne have wed already, and Mother is near beside herself with wanting to embrace James Kelley. They all await us aboard the Wench…your mother too. James is speaking to her now, and I’m certain she will come with us.”
The Pirate Ruse Page 27