The Pirate Ruse

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m sorry I led you astray, miss,” he mumbled. “I’m sorry I led you into…into sacrificing your…yourself to the cap’n for my sake.” He frowned as if puzzled. “Though I will say…your spirit, at least, don’t seem damaged.”

  Cristabel’s smile broadened. Navarrone had been correct. James’s guilt was worse punishment than a flogging might have been. She glanced ahead to where the pirate captain and his mother were steeped in conversation.

  Lowering her voice, she spoke to James, saying, “Do you feel that you know your captain well, James?”

  “Aye, miss,” the lad answered.

  “And you yourself told me he does not go wenching, yes?”

  “Aye.” He was puzzled, and she giggled.

  “Then do you truly think he would despoil me, simply as punishment…simply to be cruel?”

  James thought a moment. Cristabel watched as understanding caused an expression of pure delight to capture his features.

  “No, miss!” he exclaimed in a whisper. “Indeed, I do not think him capable of it.”

  Cristabel giggled again. “Then you have proven you do indeed know him well. For I am as unharmed as I was when first he found me on board the Screaming Witch.”

  “Oh!” James sighed, placing his free hand on his chest in a gesture of profound relief. “Oh, miss, I am so comforted. I have been having nightmares…carrying such awful and burdensome guilt.”

  “I know,” she said. “It was to be your punishment…finding no respite from the matter.”

  “I understand,” he said. He shook his head with admiration, saying, “Cap’n Navarrone is a wise man indeed…for I might well have endured less pain under the lash of the cat.” He chuckled. “At least less pain of the mind.”

  “Yet this must be our secret, James,” she whispered. “I could not allow you to linger in misery, but I owe Captain Navarrone my life…just as you felt you owed me yours. But you are young and—”

  “And still learning from my own mistakes, miss,” James finished for her.

  “We are both young and still learning,” Cristabel offered.

  “It’s like Cap’n Navarrone is always telling me. One decision—”

  “Can change the entire course of a life,” she finished.

  “Yes, miss,” James chuckled.

  “She is our prisoner, James,” Navarrone growled, glancing back over one broad shoulder, “not our court jester.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” James called.

  Navarrone shook his head with frustration—raked a strong hand through his dark hair.

  Cristabel bit her lip to keep from giggling as she exchanged amused glances with James Kelley.

  “You’re our prisoner, miss,” James whispered, “not a court jester.”

  Cristabel covered her mouth to stop the laughter bubbling in her throat from escaping.

  “James Kelley!” Navarrone bellowed.

  “Aye, Cap’n. My apologies,” James said.

  They stepped into a clearing then. Cristabel gasped as she saw the wondrous vision that greeted them. There, built into the limbs of an ancient and enormous bald cypress tree, was a vast and finely crafted tree house. Looking quite like a large brown gazebo with shutters, the house’s center was founded around the tree’s massive trunk. A smaller enclosure, looking the exact miniature of the first, was poised just above its counterpart. It was obvious that the shutters, though propped up and open in that moment, could be lowered and fastened in cases of inclement weather. Yet for all its functionality, the pure craftsmanship and enchanting nature of the tree house fairly took Cristabel’s breath away.

  “It’s magnificent!” she breathed. “Like something from a dream!”

  James Kelley smiled. “Aye. And it’s home.”

  Cristabel watched, still awed, as Navarrone and his mother climbed the two flights of steep stairs.

  “After you, miss,” James said. He stepped aside and gestured that she should precede him.

  A delighted giggle escaped her throat as she did, however, and Navarrone glanced down at her.

  “It’s like inviting an imp in and asking it not to cause mischief,” he mumbled, glaring at her.

  “Prisoner or not…you treat her as a lady should be treated, Trevon,” Claire told her son.

  Navarrone nodded to his mother, turned his back to the railing of the stairs, and motioned that Cristabel should precede him.

  As she passed him, her shoulder brushed his broad chest, and he mumbled, “Watch your step, love.” Cristabel tried to ignore the thrill of breathless euphoria racing through her limbs as he put a hand at the small of her back, allowing it to linger as she reached the platform at the top of the stairs.

  “Here we are,” Claire cheerily exclaimed, smiling as she turned to Cristabel. The woman sighed and placed a tender, warm hand to Cristabel’s cheek. “Oh, but you are lovely, dear. However has Trevon kept his hands from you?”

  “I haven’t,” Navarrone said. Cristabel looked to see him striding toward a nearby hammock. He climbed into it, sighing with obvious fatigue and closing his eyes. “Nor have I known a decent moment’s sleep since taking her aboard the Merry Wench.”

  Claire Navarrone sighed with exasperation, shook her head, and rolled her eyes with impatience. “I will choose to ignore your insinuative remarks, Trevon. You are so like your father sometimes.”

  “Thank you for having me here, Mrs. Navarrone,” Cristabel said, dropping a polite curtsy.

  Claire smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from Cristabel’s cheek.

  “You’re welcome, dear,” she said.

  “Mother!” Navarrone exclaimed from his place in the hammock. Cristabel looked to see him scowling at them. “She is my prisoner…not my playmate!”

  “Prisoner or playmate, she will be treated well in my home, Trevon Navarrone,” Claire said. “Now sit down and have a bite to eat, dear.” Cristabel nodded as Claire offered her a chair near a small table. “You must be famished! I know they could not have possibly fed you well with what stores they might have had left. The Merry Wench was at sea so very long this time. James? Darling, sit here with our lovely prisoner, and I will prepare something savory for you both. Trevon? Darling? Oh, don’t sleep yet, love! You must be famished!”

  Yet Trevon Navarrone kept his eyes closed and allowed the overwhelming fatigue that had been chasing him for weeks to overtake him. At last he could rest. The men guarding the ship would warn those ashore of any intruders or danger. His mother would see to Cristabel Albay and James Kelley. Suddenly, his body ached with weariness.

  “Yes,” he heard his mother say—though it was as if listening through a dense fog. “Trevon is named for my brother who was lost as an infant.” He should scold his mother for revealing his given name to his prisoner, yet he was too exhausted to care in that moment. “And you are quite sure he behaved with the utmost propriety?” he heard his mother ask.

  “Of course, ma’am,” Cristabel lied. “I owe him my life…more than once over. And what a thankless harpy I would be if I did not defend his good character.”

  Navarrone grinned through his fatigue. She was a clever little vixen. He was, in fact, astonished she had not exposed the truth of all that had passed between them. His mouth flooded with excess moisture at the thought of hers—of her warm, ambrosial kiss. He grimaced, forcing his thoughts to return to the extreme weariness of his mind and body. He would leave her in his mother’s care and rest—rest from privateering, from worry, from the growing desire in him to simply cache Cristabel Albay away in his tree house and never return to the sea. War was afoot—and treason—and neither could be ignored.

  Navarrone forced his tired mind to other venues—to memories of childhood—to visions of the rural beauty of the fields and foliage surrounding Salem. The leaves of the trees would be changing just then, turning from green to brilliant crimson and orange. The old churches would be framed by the glorious flames of gold, ginger, and scarlet le
aves gently dancing in the breeze. It soothed him, the beautiful images of his home—visions of fields of ripening corn and pumpkin—visions of children at play in the cemetery where generations slumbered in peaceful repose.

  “He is overweary, as always,” Claire said.

  Cristabel smiled as she watched Trevon Navarrone sleeping in the hammock nearby.

  “I have not seen him sleep…not since he found me,” Cristabel muttered.

  “That’s because he ain’t hardly done no sleeping since he brought you aboard, miss,” James said, gratefully accepting a small loaf of bread when Claire handed it to him.

  “Now, tell me, dear,” Claire began, taking a seat at the small table, “how did you come to be Trevon’s prisoner? And what is it you know that is so important?”

  Cristabel paused, however, fearing Navarrone’s wrath should she reveal too much. She now knew that each decision she made would have consequences, and though she could not foresee what consequences any particular choice would bring, she was wary.

  “Don’t worry, miss,” James Kelley said then. “He’ll be snoring in another minute.”

  Cristabel smiled at James, accepting a piece of bread when he offered it.

  “In truth, your son saved my life…more than once,” she began.

  “Indeed?” Claire prodded. “Tell me the whole of it, Cristabel Albay. Oh, I do so favor that name! Cristabel…it’s lovely…like the tinkling of tiny silver chimes.”

  Cristabel smiled, mustering her courage as James nodded to her with encouragement.

  “Well, I suppose I must begin with my abduction from New Orleans,” she began.

  “Abduction?” Claire exclaimed, obviously unsettled.

  “Not by Captain Navarrone, ma’am…by mercenaries,” she explained.

  “Oh, thank heaven!” Claire sighed. “I should drop dead if Trevon ever stooped to abduction.”

  Cristabel smiled, delighted with Navarrone’s mother’s apparent admiration of her son.

  She spilled out the remainder of the tale then—of how she had been taken to the Chichester, of the Screaming Witch. She told Navarrone’s mother nearly everything, leaving out only her experience with the rum and her tryst with Navarrone in his cabin. James Kelley interjected here and there, describing events or occurrences he felt might be of worth. Through it all, Navarrone slept—slumbered nearby in the comfortable hammock, stretched within the walls of the wistful house nestled in an ancient bald cypress tree.

  *

  “So,” Cristabel began as she watched Navarrone enjoying the fine meal his mother had prepared, “Trevon, is it?”

  A grin tugged at the right corner of his mouth, causing butterflies to flutter in her bosom. He was ever so handsome! Even more so now that he lingered in a state temporarily void of angst and battle.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “Trevon Navarrone. Mother does not consider before she speaks at times.”

  “No secondary name? No midname?” she inquired.

  He chuckled. “Oh, it must needs be I retain some secrets, love,” he answered.

  Cristabel sighed, somewhat perturbed that he would not reveal his middle name.

  “And how long have you lingered here…on this island or inlet or whatever it is?” she asked.

  “Two years,” he answered.

  “Who constructed this house?” she queried, glancing about the house.

  “A pirate named Don Gabriel. He was a Spaniard,” he mumbled.

  “Was?” Cristabel whispered.

  “Yes, was. He died…not four months ago.”

  “Was he your great friend?” she asked.

  “Yes…and a master carpenter.”

  Cristabel paused to press Navarrone further, for she could see the agony of loss suddenly apparent in his countenance. Don Gabriel had been someone Navarrone cared for deeply.

  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

  “I miss him…but he was near ninety years when he gave up the ghost,” he said. “A good long life for an outcast Spanish don turned pirate, eh?”

  Cristabel smiled as she saw a grin of remembrance spread over his lips. “Indeed.”

  “Do you plan to riddle me with questions and prodding all through my meal, love?” he asked, winking at her.

  She blushed, suddenly ashamed that she was pestering him. “No, of course not,” she answered, though still continuing to stare at him.

  He shook his head, obviously amused. “James Kelley!” he called.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” James said, quickly removing himself from the hammock that had only a short time before served as Navarrone’s respite.

  “Have the men brought the Chichester’s treasure ashore?” he asked.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” James said, “whilst you was asleep.”

  “Good. Then would you be so kind as to escort my mother and the Spanish inquisition here to see it?” Navarrone asked, nodding toward Cristabel. “You would like to see the wealth that was hidden aboard the bloody British ship, wouldn’t you, love?” He did not wait for her to answer—simply added, “Mother always enjoys sifting through jewels and gold and silver coin.” He winked at Cristabel again, and she felt her cheeks pink with delight. “Once you’ve settled our prisoner and my mother midst our plunder, return to me, James. I have an errand for you.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” James agreed. “Come along, miss,” he said, taking Cristabel’s hand. “It’s quite a jolly thing to sort through the plunder.”

  Cristabel was disappointed—almost wounded of the heart—at being so perceptibly dismissed by Navarrone. Still, she could see he was in want of solitude. Furthermore, the treasure did intrigue her, as well as did the idea of being in company with Navarrone’s mother once more.

  “Off with you now, love,” Navarrone said as she stood and followed James Kelley. “Enjoy your game of sorting jewels and coin.”

  “As you enjoy your meal, Captain?” she could not help but tease.

  “Exactly,” he chuckled.

  She followed James then, down the stairs leading to the ground to the place where they found Claire visiting with other members of the crew.

  “The booty is ashore, Mrs. Navarrone,” James said as they approached.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Claire exclaimed, clasping her hands together in delight. “Has Trevon given permission for me to see it?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am,” James said, smiling. “And Miss Albay as well.”

  “Lovely!” she said as she fell into step beside Cristabel. “It’s one of my favorite delights,” she began to explain as they walked, “sifting through whatever treasure the men gather on their voyages. It will be divided evenly, of course…and a fair percentage gifted to the poorhouses and asylums. Still, I do so love to see what rare and wonderful things have been collected.”

  “The poorhouses and asylums?” Cristabel asked.

  “Oh yes, dear. Of course,” Claire assured her. “You did not think we kept all the plunder gathered from other pirates and the bloody British all to ourselves, did you?”

  “Well…well, yes,” Cristabel admitted.

  Claire laughed and then sighed. “Oh, I suppose Trevon would not have told you that…especially if he wishes for you to tremble with fear whenever he advances. God forbid you should mistake him for a philanthropist instead of a pirate, eh?”

  “God forbid,” Cristabel mumbled as she mused over what had only just been revealed to her concerning the captain and crew of the Merry Wench. She followed James and Claire Navarrone while lingering in a near trancelike state. Poorhouses and asylums? The privateers of the Merry Wench were charitable as well as patriotic? It was near inconceivable! Yet as her mind reviewed all she had witnessed, she felt as if she were indeed painfully ignorant not to have conceived it before.

  As James led them into a thick outcropping of cypress and onto a dilapidated houseboat, Cristabel pulled her thoughts from that of curious wonderment over Navarrone’s character to the vision before her. There, strewn throughout the entire interior of the
houseboat, were piles of jewels, gems, gold coins, and silver pieces of eight!

  Baskerville greeted Claire as she gasped and giggled with merriment.

  “We was quite surprised and well pleased when we opened them barrels and crates from the Chichester’s hold to find all this, ma’am,” he chuckled.

  “I have no wonder of it!” Claire exclaimed. She glanced around a moment and then asked, “And Trevon thinks it all belonged to this William Pelletier?”

  “Aye, ma’am,” Baskerville said. “A treasonous traitor who deals in bartering human flesh as well.”

  A shiver of horror traveled up Cristabel’s spine. To think she had been dwelling in the home of such a man—to think her mother still lingered near to him—it sickened her.

  “Well, I’ll sift through it a bit, and then you boys can dole it out as you see fit,” Claire said.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Baskerville chuckled.

  “The cap’n allows his mother to search through the plunder…choose a few items to keep or give as Christmas gifts to the wives and children of the crew,” James whispered aside to Cristabel. He smiled as she looked to him, adding, “Last year she gave me a gold doubloon…minted in 1751 it was.”

  Cristabel smiled, for it was sorely apparent that the fact Claire had presented James a gift for Christmas was far more valuable to the boy than the coin itself.

  “She seems a very kind and worthy woman,” Cristabel whispered.

  “Aye, miss. That she is,” James agreed.

  “Come along, darling,” Claire called to Cristabel then. “Come and sift through the treasure with me. Oh, it is such fun!”

  As Cristabel joined Claire in looking into a chest filled with pieces of eight, she heard James Kelley say to Baskerville, “The cap’n asked me to return to him at once, sir. Says he has an errand for me.”

  Baskerville chuckled. “Then it seems you did not linger long under his temper, boy. Count your blessings in that.”

  “Aye, Mister Baskerville, I will!” James said with a nod before exiting the houseboat.

  “It is a clever place to cache treasure,” Cristabel said as she glanced around the one-room houseboat.