The Pirate Ruse

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  “I-I have as much courage as I did the day you cast me from the deck of the Screaming Witch,” she bravely told him—though in that moment, it was not true.

  “Then come along, love…for we are too much in view of others here.”

  Cristabel’s heart hammered—pounded—caused her pain so brutal did it beat within her. As Trevon Navarrone kept hold of her arm, leading her from the open shore and into the trees beyond, she knew she should run from him—flee whilst she was still able. And yet he had beguiled her, and the joy she knew each time she lingered in his company was forefront in her mind—and her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  The cypress grew thick where Trevon Navarrone stopped at last. Cristabel was breathless—both from the hastily trod escape into the privacy of the trees and from the effects of being kissed by her pirate. She gasped as he took hold of her arms, none too gently pressing her back against a cypress trunk.

  “Now tell me, love,” he rather growled, leaning toward her, “as I have only just proved to you I can be tamed…if I so choose.”

  “However…” Cristabel breathed as hope welled in her heart—hope that the pirate in him was about to emerge once more.

  He smiled, pleased with her prodding. “However…the pirate in me would be a far better lover.”

  Trevon watched as a visible, smoldering desire illuminated Cristabel’s violet eyes. She was no timid lily, and as her lips parted in indication she would speak, he sensed what words would fall from her pretty mouth.

  “Then loose the pirate, Captain…and prove that as well,” she whispered.

  “Aye, my pretty temptress,” he mumbled, taking her face between his hands. His breath was already labored simply for the euphoric sensation washing over him as he softly caressed her parted lips with one thumb. He could feel her trembling—trembled in slight himself as he felt her palms press his chest—slide under his arms—around and up his back to cling to his shoulders.

  Her touch was his undoing, and he took her mouth with his own—claimed her. He was ravenous for the taste of her kiss, desperate to deepen their exchange. He pulled her away from the tree and into his arms, holding her to him, reveling in the feel of her soft body pressed to his own.

  Where was her decorum? Where was her sense of propriety? Cristabel’s mind struggled to think with a semblance of order, but there was nothing but Trevon Navarrone! Nothing but the rapturous joy of being held in his powerful arms—the wild, sublime pleasure induced by his mouth melding with hers. She thought of his words, the words he had spoken after he had kissed her as the tamed man on the shore. He had claimed that if he were not a pirate—if he were a better man—he would endeavor to hold captive her heart. Yet Cristabel knew he could not be a better man than he was, for he was everything a supreme man should be. Furthermore, he already held her heart captive. She was his prisoner—body, mind, heart, and soul!

  She wondered for a moment if he truly wanted to own her heart or if he had simply been toying with her, attempting to lure her to his will. Yet in that very moment, he broke the seal of their lips—held her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. She could hear his heart hammering within his strong, broad chest—could feel the trembling irregularity of his breathing. He nearly crushed her in a desperate embrace, and it was more than carnal desire she sensed in him: it was raw emotion.

  “I would own you if I were a better man, Cristabel Albay,” he mumbled into her hair.

  She wanted to encourage him—to tell him he was a better man—the very best of men. Yet her own powerful emotions struck her mute.

  Trevon lowered his head, slowly brushing her cheek with his own, the whiskers of his burnsides, mustache, and goatee deliciously chafing her tender skin. She felt his shoulders slump in a manner of defeat. Though she knew not what had turned him from kissing her as his lover to near despair, Cristabel would not lose the affections of her pirate—not yet.

  “Trevon,” she breathed against his neck. “Trevon…please…I want you…I want you to…”

  But Trevon was recovered already. Indeed, memories of Vienne had briefly intruded on his pleasures in kissing Cristabel—plagued him at the very zenith of knowing pure joy in her affections. The truth of Vienne’s demise had indeed distracted him. Yet as he felt Cristabel’s breath on his skin—as he felt her hands slide up and over his chest to his neck to embrace him—he pushed aside the recollections of his greatest pain and failure. He would not let even Vienne’s death keep him from being Cristabel Albay’s lover for a time. Moments were fleeting—as Trevon Navarrone well knew—and he would not let this moment pass him by. He would have Cristabel’s kiss for as long as she would gift it to him.

  He was nothing if not determined and resilient; thus, he cupped Cristabel’s chin in his hand, gazed into the sweet violet of her eyes, and whispered, “Prepare yourself, love…for I have not yet begun to quench my thirst for you.” He kissed her lightly, grinning as she sighed with delight and adding, “Or yours for me, it would seem.”

  Gasping as his mouth captured her own once more, Cristabel abandoned all timidity—allowed her fingers to be lost in the soft darkness of Trevon Navarrone’s hair. She kissed him with full as much fervor and desire as he kissed her—met each ravenous demand of his mouth with the answering eagerness of her own! He would not harm or defile her; she knew he would not, for he had done nothing but protect her from the moment he had found her aboard the Screaming Witch.

  The common man on the shore was gone, and in his place was the pirate Navarrone—his consummate masculinity further kindling Cristabel’s feminine fervor. In mere moments more, a fevered passion overwhelmed Cristabel, and she was briefly conscious of tears lingering in her closed eyes. She pulled herself more tightly to him—clutched the hair at the back of his head in trembling fists of desperation. His powerful arms wrapped around her, and he lifted her from her feet as his mouth ground to hers with ravenous, amorous desire.

  He set her feet on the ground—briefly broke the seal of their lips as he gazed at her with such an expression of barely restrained desire smoldering in his dark eyes that she gasped, rendered breathless by the broiling passion evident in his countenance.

  She stumbled as he pushed her backward, bracing her against the trunk of the tree, his hands pressing her waist as his mouth ravaged hers! Cristabel relished his kiss a moment more, but a sudden fear traveled through her—fear of her own will being compromised, her will to resist should Trevon press their passion beyond the kiss.

  It was sure he sensed her trepidation, for he paused, and though he did not release her, he drew his face in slight away from hers.

  “I’ve frightened you,” he mumbled. He frowned an expression of regret and self-loathing—glanced away a moment.

  “No. I…I frighten myself,” she whispered.

  Still frowning, he looked back to her, inquisitively.

  “I am not at all certain in this moment that I own the will to…to keep my wits about me,” she awkwardly confessed.

  “An impassioned pirate is a dangerous venture indeed, love,” he said as his expression softened to that of understanding—of gratification in understanding. The right corner of his mouth curved into the hint of a grin as he brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “And you are ever the genteel lady in claiming it is your will of self-control that concerns you, instead of mine.”

  Cristabel frowned. “But I am in earnest,” she assured him.

  Yet he chuckled. “Of course you are, love.”

  It was obvious he did not believe her—that he thought she was fearful that he would force her to intimacy beyond a kiss. She frowned, suddenly feeling quite indignant that he would arrogantly assume he knew her thoughts.

  “Come,” he began, turning from her. “I’ll take you back to the safety of the…”

  Trevon was curious when he felt Cristabel take hold of his arm, tugging on it until he turned to face her once more. She wore an expression of deep defiance, determination, and desire.

&n
bsp; “I am not finished with you yet, Captain,” she rather growled at him.

  Trevon’s brows arched in astonishment as his lovely prisoner then reached up, taking his face between her hands and pulling his head to hers once more. She kissed him—fervently kissed him—kissed him with coaxing passion. There was a manner of seduction about her, as if she were daring him to resist her.

  He gathered her in his arms at once—pulled her body tight to his as he devoured her offered affections.

  He broke from her a moment—whispered, “I will not press you beyond this kissing between us,” against her lips.

  “I know,” she breathed, trailing soft fingertips over his lips as if priming them for further passion to come.

  “But I may well press you to the brink of something beyond it,” he confessed.

  She smiled—a purely alluring smile—and whispered, “I know.”

  Trevon took her then—took her in his arms—took her mouth with his—took them both on a voyage of such shared kisses of bliss and passion as to cause the very trees to tremble with rapture from the leafy limbs to their shallow yet ancient roots.

  *

  “And she was ever as happy as any woman could be, miss,” James Kelley said, smiling.

  Cristabel closed her eyes—sighed with blessed relief in knowing her mother would not mourn her any longer.

  “And she is well? Safe?” she asked the boy.

  “Yes, miss,” he said, nodding with reassurance. “Well and safe she is…and much more so since reading the cap’n’s letter.”

  Cristabel glanced to where Trevon sat nearby, enjoying one of his mother’s delicious meals. He did not look up at her, only continued to concentrate on the plate of food before him. She wanted to thank him—to rush to him, throw her arms about his neck, and kiss his warm mouth. Goose flesh riddled her body as the memory of their shared tryst among the trees washed over her. She could hardly fathom it had happened. It seemed such a dream. Furthermore, there he sat, only an arm’s length from her, looking as if he were nothing more than a man at a table enjoying a meal—instead of a pirate who so recently played the attentive lover to her.

  Cristabel knew she could not race to him—could not kiss him. He was the captain of the Merry Wench and must ever appear in dominant control of everything, everyone, and every emotion. This she understood, though he had not spoken it to her.

  Therefore, since she could not thank Trevon for his kindness to her and her mother, she returned her attention to James. “Thank you, James Kelley,” she said, placing a hand on his forearm. “I am forever in your debt…again.”

  “No, miss,” James said, placing a hand over hers that lay on his arm, “I am in yours.”

  “Very well, you two,” Trevon rather grumbled. “Enough of this sentimental slathering over indebtedness to one another. You are both fortunate you do not bear the marks of the cat for the sake of your tomfoolery in the past.”

  James grinned at Cristabel, and she bit her lip to keep from giggling.

  “Aye, Cap’n,” James managed.

  “Find my mother, James,” Trevon commanded then. “She is at the houseboat and has chosen a prize for you, something in addition to your part of the Chichester treasure…my reward to you for having completed this errand.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” James exclaimed, fairly leaping to his feet. James’s eyes were purely glistening with wild anticipation. Cristabel giggled as he looked to her and said, “Have a good evening, miss.”

  “And you, James Kelley,” Cristabel said a moment before the boy bounded down the stairs of the tree house, heading for the treasure houseboat at a dead run.

  “That boy is far too fond of you, love,” Trevon mumbled as he pushed his plate away. He drank water from the tankard his mother had provided. “I think you may own his loyalty more deeply than I do.”

  Cristabel shook her head. “No. He fair worships the ground upon which you tread.”

  “I very much doubt that, love,” he said, rising from his chair.

  She felt awkward—strangely uncomfortable in his presence suddenly. She was his prisoner. He had held her captive and intimidated and threatened her. Yet only hours before, they had stood together among the cypress sharing kisses the like only lovers share. It was a peculiar circumstance indeed.

  She watched as he strode toward her, her heart’s beat increasing its frantic rhythm with each step of advancement to her.

  “Perhaps it would be wise for me to accompany James to the boathouse.” He smiled and chuckled, adding, “Else my mother gifts him the entire contents of it. She dotes on him as if he were an infant at times.”

  “He seems adept at evoking maternal feelings in women, for he elicits them in me as well,” she said.

  She smiled as Trevon took hold of her arm, pulling her to her feet and into a strong embrace. “And what feelings do I elicit in you, love?” he flirted.

  Cristabel’s heart began hammering; her mouth watered, her limbs tingling with delight at his touch. “I-I cannot say, Captain,” she nervously stammered. “I-I cannot think of how to term them…not properly.”

  Trevon smiled, his handsome brows arching in approval. “Oh, I well like that answer, love. I well like that indeed.”

  He pressed his mouth to hers in an alluring, teasing manner—as if daring her to refuse him. She did not refuse him, however, and shivered with the thrill his hot, moist aggression on her mouth sent rippling through her when his kiss deepened.

  “Come along, love,” he said, ending their embrace and taking her hand. As he laced their fingers, leading her down the stairs from the tree house to the ground, he added, “It needs be we make our way to the houseboat…for Mother often struggles to keep from spoiling James Kelley.”

  Cristabel smiled, her heart fairly swollen to bursting with joy! She had feared the passion they had shared earlier in the day would be the end of his romantic involvement with her—that he had simply let down his guard—that once he owned his wits again, he would berate himself for softening toward her. Yet now, as he held her hand in walking to the houseboat, she had reason to hope that he truly cared for her beyond simply quenching a momentary thirst.

  She would not think about the truth of it all—ignore that she was a woman surrounded by traitors and treason, the prisoner and pawn of his patriotic ambition. She would linger in his approval and affections for as long as fate allowed her to. She would dream that she might find herself in the company of the secreted pirate community forever—that she would wait on the shore for the Merry Wench to return with its captain and her lover, just as the other women and children waited for their loves to return.

  Oh, it was well Cristabel knew in her heart that such dreaming was folly, but in those moments she cared nothing for reality. Trevon Navarrone cared for her—at least in some regard—and she would bathe in the knowledge and truth of it for as long as providence would allow.

  *

  As Cristabel accompanied Trevon’s mother back to the tree house, Claire Navarrone shook her head, still smiling. “Trevon is right to scold me,” she giggled. “I cannot keep from gifting James Kelley doubloons and gems…nor love and affection.” Claire wistfully sighed. “He simply owns my heart,” she added.

  “I understand,” Cristabel confessed. “There is something…something darling about James. One cannot quite determine it in words, but he somehow takes ownership of a heart the moment he meets it.”

  “Yes,” Claire agreed. “He is such an angel boy. I am so grateful…so thankful that it was Trevon who found him wandering the streets of New Orleans, instead of someone who would have abused him…exploited his innocence or endeavored to turn him to villainy.”

  “Indeed,” Cristabel whispered, for she too was ever thankful it was Trevon who watched over James Kelley. Oh, it was true the pirate captain attempted to treat the boy as any other member of the crew. Yet it was ever more evident that Trevon viewed James as more a sibling than anything else.

  “I suppose Trevon thinks of hi
s brother Vortigem often when James is in his company,” Claire said in a lowered voice. “Vortigem was ever Trevon’s hero.” She smiled—lightly laughed. “Oh, how Trevon followed after his elder brother. He trailed along in Vortigem’s footsteps like a happy little pup. I know it nearly broke his spirit when Vortigem died of illness.”

  Cristabel frowned. “I-I did not know he owned a brother,” she said.

  “Oh, yes…my eldest child, Vortigem Navarrone. He was a patriot like Trevon and his father. He died five years past. Consumption claimed him.”

  “I am so very sorry,” Cristabel said, reaching out and taking Claire’s hand in her own.

  Claire paused in walking—turned to face Cristabel. Forcing a smile, she returned Cristabel’s reassurance with a squeeze of her hand.

  “Thank you, darling,” she said. “I nearly died myself when Vortigem was lost.” Cristabel smiled and brushed a tear from her own cheek as Claire reached out and took a long strand of Cristabel’s hair between her fingers. “As I nearly died when Vienne was lost.”

  “Vienne?” Cristabel inquired. An odd anxiety began to burn in her bosom, yet she assumed it was merely for the sake of discussing loss and mourning.

  “Yes. Beautiful Vienne,” Claire whispered. She tucked the strand of Cristabel’s hair behind her ear—softly caressed Cristabel’s cheek. “I nearly died with her,” she whispered. “As did Trevon. In truth, he has never recovered himself fully.”

  Cristabel’s stomach broiled with nausea.

  “Were…were they married then?” Cristabel asked, certain the contents of her stomach would reveal themselves. It was true then! Trevon’s heart had belonged to another—another woman who had once waited on the shore for the handsome pirate to return.