The Pirate Ruse

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  Cristabel was undone—helpless to resist him! As his hands roved over her back, caressed her shoulders, and again grasped her waist, lifting her down from the crate to pull her into his powerful embrace, her body grew weak and pliable to his will. Tears filled her closed eyes—for he was a privateer! Captain Navarrone was not a captain in the regular navy; he was a privateer—a mercenary! He was a scoundrel, a rogue, and a rake! Yet her body begged for his touch, her mouth watering for want of his continued kiss, her heart silently crying out an admission that she cared for him—cared for him in a manner she should not!

  Desperate to salvage her pride, her heart, perhaps her life, she allowed her arms to slide around his waist. She felt his body tremble from the caress—wanted to weep for what she was about to do—what she did not want to do but must.

  Grasping the hilt of the dagger he kept sheathed at the back of his trousers, she quickly unsheathed it, gently drawing the blade to his throat.

  At once Navarrone broke the seal of their lips, chuckling as he released her. Struggling to restrain the tears brimming in her eyes—tears of regret, tears of something akin to heartache—Cristabel stepped back from him.

  “I-I could have cut your throat,” she stammered, feigning intention. She had not meant to best him at his own game, but fear of the emotions that had nearly overcome her in his arms had forced her to it.

  A grin tugged at the right corner of his alluring mouth, and he said, “Well played, love. Well played.” He smiled then, breathed a chuckle, and added, “Though do not attempt to convince me that you would have been so agreeable in Bully Booth’s cabin.”

  “S-so certain, are you?” she countered, though her innards were a chaos of knotted desire and regret.

  He smiled again. “Yes, love,” he answered. “Remember…I’m a pirate. I can taste desire on a woman’s tongue as surely as you can taste sugar on yours.”

  “Why are you keeping me?” she asked, humiliated as a tear managed to escape her eyes to travel over her cheek. Their tryst was over, as was the competition of wills he had set in motion. Thus, she offered him the dagger, and he accepted it, sheathing it in the back of the waist of his trousers once more. “There will be no ransom to collect. Why keep me a prisoner?”

  “Perhaps to satisfy my wanton, pirate lust,” he grumbled, frowning at her.

  “It is obvious that is not your reason,” she said. She glanced to the portrait hanging on the cabin wall beyond him—wondered if the beautiful woman in the portrait had known the warm wonder of his kiss. The thought of his kiss caused her mouth to water. Another tear escaped her brimming eyes.

  “Very well,” he said, inhaling a deep breath. “I do believe you are still of worth as a pawn in my hand.” Navarrone’s frown deepened; his breathing became rapid with restrained anger. “We fought hard to forge this country…and not so long ago. Still, the British are yet moved to test us! Many men died for our freedom, and I will not stand idle by and watch more men wasted under the British thirst for power! I will see your bloody Richard hang with William Pelletier at his side!”

  Navarrone had not known she could hurt him—wound him so deeply as she had when she had feigned pleasure in his kiss only to best him at his own game. He had been nearly certain he had sensed a desire in her—a desire for him that was nearly as powerful as his desire for her was. Yet he had been mistaken, fool that he had become. Even yet he trembled within, his innards quivering with hope and desire. The feel of her caress still lingered on his arms, on his face, in his hair.

  “And I will gladly witness it as well,” she said. She looked to him, and he fancied there was pain in her eyes. “But if you do not want me for any…for any carnal purpose, Captain Navarrone,” she began, “then I have nothing to offer in exchange for James Kelley’s flogging.”

  He frowned, for it near seemed she was disappointed that he was not going to attempt to ravage her further. He thought for a moment, reflected on her involvement in their kissing—on the fact that she indeed kissed him first. Could it be there was more to her reasons than the simple besting of him?

  “I promised I would not flog him if you gave me what I intend to have,” he said. “And I intend to see the Pelletiers stretch their necks for treason and slaving.”

  She still seemed disappointed somehow, and he began to wonder if perhaps she had more attachment to him than he surmised. Hence he added, “Thus, come at me again—as if I were your lover and you meant to seduce me—and I will stay his flogging.”

  “D-do you mean that I should kiss you again?” she asked. He grinned when her cheeks pinked with something akin to delight.

  “Indeed,” he confirmed. “Kiss me as you would kiss your lover, Richard…though I suppose he is no longer your lover, is he?”

  “I-I never kissed Richard.”

  “What?” Navarrone exclaimed in disbelief.

  “I told you before. I never liked him.”

  Navarrone chuckled. “Then kiss me the way you would kiss a man you wished to coax into being your lover…and I will stay James Kelley’s flogging.”

  “Do you promise?” she asked, tears welling to her eyes. Oh, how loath she must be to kiss him again. He knew it, yet he would have the flavor of her mouth to haunt his dreams. Once more he would know her kiss, even for her loathing of him.

  “I do,” he said.

  He watched then as she pulled the old crate to position before him once more—took her place upon it.

  “F-for the sake of James Kelley,” she whispered as she took his face between her soft hands.

  “For James Kelley, love,” he mumbled.

  Cristabel’s body trembled with desire, her arms and legs engulfed in goose flesh at the anticipation of knowing his mouth once more. Tentatively she pressed her lips to his in a soft kiss—grew breathless as she felt his lips begin to meld with her own—felt the piloting of the exchange transfer from her will to his.

  “Aw, but I want a lover’s kiss,” he mumbled against her mouth. “For James Kelley’s sake…it must be your lover’s kiss you gift to—”

  She silenced him with her kiss—melted against him as his arms encircled her. Again he was captain of their exchange, sailing her on waves of bliss with the heated moisture of his mouth. She could feel his whiskers at her chin, her cheek, against the flesh of the perimeter of her lips, and she shivered with pleasure at the knowledge the pirate Navarrone was kissing her!

  His hands went to her waist, and she gasped—drew away slightly when his hand inadvertently slipped beneath her shirt a moment. His palm was warm, his touch purely vitalizing!

  She blushed, and he grinned. “Why, you’re not wearing a corset, love. Not even a chemise, for that matter,” he mumbled.

  “I-I was afraid I might be found out if…” she stammered.

  His hand left her skin, returning to the outer of her clothing, and she frowned—relieved yet somewhat astonished at his not taking advantage of her immodesty. Instead, his hands slid up her back, and he pulled her against him as he ravished her mouth in one last driven drink of her.

  “I’ll stay James Kelley’s flogging, Cristabel Albay…and yours,” he mumbled against her mouth. “For now.”

  He released her, and she stumbled off the crate, leaning against the wall for support, for he had quite weakened her knees with the rendering of such impassioned kisses.

  “Change your pirate’s clothes for your own now,” he commanded, turning and striding to the chaise. “We sail for the bay and a period of respite and planning.”

  “Do you mean I am to accompany you to your home?” Cristabel asked.

  “Yes, love,” he said, stretching out on the chaise. He chuckled. “I suppose you could say I’m taking you home to meet my mother.”

  “My own mother will think I’m dead by now,” Cristabel mumbled as the thought occurred to her.

  “Yes, love. I suppose she will,” Navarrone said. “Now exchange James Kelley’s clothes for your own. I will avert my gaze.” He exhaled a heavy breath of
fatigue and mumbled, “James Kelley…poor lad. I suspect his misery will be punishment enough.”

  “His misery?” Cristabel said.

  “Yes…for I intend to allow him to believe you indeed sacrificed yourself to me on his behalf,” Navarrone explained. “He must learn that each choice offers a consequence. Mustn’t he, love?”

  “I suppose so,” Cristabel mumbled, knowing full well Captain Navarrone was again playing moral tutor to her.

  Chapter Ten

  Cristabel could sense the crew’s excitement. As they rowed the boats to shore, the men chuckled with mirthful anticipation—exchanged conversation concerning their delight in the prospect of seeing their loved ones. She gathered they had been at sea for much longer than was usual and were desperate for shore and family.

  Then—all at once it seemed—women, children, and a few men began to appear on the shore. They waved, calling out to the boats.

  Cries of “Papa!” and “Darling!” filled the air, and tears filled Cristabel’s eyes—for she knew the families of the crew of the Merry Wench were desperate to see those they so adored.

  The boats were brought ashore, and all those aboard them disembarked to be met with squeals of joy, tears, hugs, and kisses. Cristabel stood aside, smiling as she watched small children throw their arms around the necks of their privateering fathers. Wives kissed their husbands and wept. Pirates kissed their wives and children, held them with desperate embraces. It was a tender scene to witness—such rough, sea-weathered men displaying gentle, loving hearts. Upon witnessing the affectionate, loving exchanges, Cristabel was once again joyous for the sake that none of the men had been lost in the battles with the Screaming Witch. Tears escaped her eyes and rolled over her cheeks at the realization that, had the battles waged with different consequences, some families might have watched the Merry Wench’s return only to know suffering and unbearable heartache at being told a husband and father had been killed. Even James Kelley was greeted with smiles, warm embraces, and kisses, though it was obvious he had no family of his own. Once welcomed, James stood near Navarrone, smiling as a beautiful older woman owning silver-streaked, raven hair threw her arms about Navarrone’s neck.

  “Oh, my darling boy!” she wept. “You were gone so long this time…so very, very long!”

  “I am sorry, Mother,” Navarrone said, holding her fast in a firm, affectionate embrace. The woman kissed each of his cheeks and held his face between her hands, gazing into his dark eyes with boundless motherly love.

  “And everyone is well?” she asked.

  He nodded. “And here?” he queried. “All is well here?”

  “Yes, love,” Navarrone’s mother assured him. “The men have kept us safe and well cared for.” She smiled and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. “How long will you stay this time, darling? Please tell me this is to be a longer stay than the last.”

  “Perhaps several weeks,” he said, “for I am weary…and have much to plan.”

  “Oh! I am glad for it!” the woman exclaimed, embracing Navarrone again. “And you, James Kelley,” she said, embracing James then. “Have you kept yourself from mischief?”

  “I attempted to, Mrs. Navarrone,” James said.

  The woman held James at arm’s length a moment, smiling at him. She kissed his cheeks and giggled, “Well, that’s all we can ask for, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said as she hugged him again.

  The woman glanced aside and caught sight of Cristabel then. She released James and took hold of Navarrone’s hand, gasping and offering a broad smile.

  “At last, Trevon!” she exclaimed. “At last!” Cristabel was astonished when the woman suddenly threw her arms about Cristabel, embracing her. “At last you have found her!” The woman released her embrace but kept hold of Cristabel’s arms, studying her from head to toe with a purely delighted expression of approval. “She’s lovely, Trevon! Exactly what I would have expected you to choose for yourself. Are you already wed? Or have you yet to—”

  “She is my prisoner, Mother,” Navarrone interrupted.

  His mother’s smile faded. A frown puckered her exquisite brow.

  “Your prisoner?” she asked. “Trevon Navarrone…what mischief are you about?” She released Cristabel, and Cristabel was somehow disappointed that she did.

  Navarrone sighed—raked a hand through his dark hair. “It is a woefully long tale, Mother,” he answered. “Cannot we simply rest awhile, enjoy a meal? Then I will tell you all about it. I promise.”

  Navarrone’s mother returned her attention to Cristabel. “Have you been ill-treated in any manner, Miss…Miss…”

  “Albay,” Cristabel offered. “Cristabel Albay, ma’am.”

  “Cristabel, is it?” Navarrone’s mother inquired.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, I am Claire Navarrone…the mother of your apparent captor.” Cristabel smiled when the woman cast a scolding glance to Navarrone. “And I would hope that you have been treated as a lady should be treated.”

  “In truth—” Cristabel began.

  Yet instantly Navarrone was upon her—at her back, pulling her against him, his strong hand suddenly covering her mouth.

  “Trevon!” his mother scolded.

  Still, he kept hold of Cristabel—continued to cover her mouth with his hand. Cristabel was unsettled by the wild delight rising in her. To be held by him—even for the sake he was merely trying to silence her—it was ferociously enlivening!

  “She has been treated far better than any prisoner may expect, Mother,” Navarrone said, “especially for one who owns a tendency to be a nuisance.”

  “Oh, for mercy’s sake, Trevon! You release that young woman this minute!” Claire demanded. She stamped one foot on the sand of the shore, wagged a reprimanding index finger at her son, and repeated, “This minute!”

  “Mother,” Navarrone began, “she is aligned with traitors and treason.”

  Cristabel began to struggle, for she did not want the woman to think badly of her. But Navarrone held her fast.

  “Traitors?” Claire gasped, frowning at Cristabel. “She is a traitor to the country?”

  “No,” Navarrone answered. “But she holds information regarding traitors…in the least, one. Furthermore…” He paused—sighed as if resigned to some sort of defeat. “Furthermore, she is believed dead. And if it is found out she is yet living…it will not bode well for any of us.”

  Claire still frowned—studied first Navarrone and then Cristabel.

  “I will hear this tale, Trevon,” she announced. “Yet I know you are weary. The men need time with their families, and you and James Kelley need nourishment. Thus, I will wait to hear of it all…but only as long as it takes you to be fed.”

  “Very well,” he resigned. “Allow me a moment of respite, and I will tell you everything I know concerning this little vixen.” He removed his hand from Cristabel’s mouth, yet taking hold of her chin as he placed his mouth close to her ear. “My mother will be your companion while we’re here, love,” he told her. “But I will never be far…so do not attempt any of your usual tomfoolery.”

  “Tomfoolery?” Navarrone’s mother inquired.

  “Ah, yes, Mother,” Navarrone chuckled. “You’d best keep the rum hidden from Miss Cristabel Albay if you do not wish to find her tinkered up and gallivanting about in her undergarments.”

  “What?” Cristabel gasped, horrified that Navarrone would misrepresent events.

  “Gallivanting in your underthings, is it?” Claire asked. Cristabel was certain she saw a twinkle of amusement in the woman’s dark eyes. “Well, it’s no wonder Trevon has held you captive.”

  “I swear to you, madam…on my father’s grave I swear—” Cristabel began in defense of herself.

  “No need to swear, darling,” Claire interrupted, however. She looked to her son, cupping his chin in one hand. “I am certain Trevon will see to any swearing that needs doing.” Taking James’s hand, she said, “Come along,
James Kelley. You’re far too thin for my liking.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said, smiling with the gleeful anticipation of a child on Christmas morning.

  Navarrone chuckled and kissed his mother on the temple.

  “Come along then, love,” he said, taking hold of Cristabel’s wrist. “I’d wager it has been a long time since you enjoyed a meal as fine as the one my mother will provide for you.”

  At the thought of good food, Cristabel’s mouth did begin to water. As she followed Navarrone into the tree line, she glanced about at the others. All were advancing to the trees or had already disappeared into the safety of their cover. The only people remaining were men who were already boarding the small boats, obviously preparing to row back to the ship. However, these men were not the crew members with whom Cristabel was familiar.

  “Those are other members of the Merry Wench’s crew. They stayed back to protect the families whilst we were out,” James explained. He smiled at Cristabel. “When the Merry Wench sets sails again, they will go with her, and some of us will be chosen to stay until she returns once more.”

  Navarrone stopped and turned to face James Kelley. “Heaven preserve us if you’re to reveal every secret we own, James,” he reprimanded, glaring at the boy.

  “Sorry, Cap’n,” James said, looking like a scolded puppy.

  “Here,” Navarrone said, offering Cristabel’s arm to James. “I’m weary. Lead her home, lad. You know the way.”

  “Aye, Cap’n!” James smiled at Cristabel and took hold of her arm.

  Cristabel watched as Navarrone placed a strong arm about his mother’s shoulders as they walked together. She smiled, pleased by his obvious affection for the woman.

  “Them two is thick as mud,” James whispered. “I’m grateful they treat me so well.”

  “So am I, James,” Cristabel whispered, smiling at him.

  James’s smile faded, however. She watched as a wave of something akin to discouragement seemed to wash over him.