He strode away then, descending the stairs with furious determination. Cristabel heard him begin to explain matters to his men.
“You did not know the painting was of Vienne,” Claire began, “not until I told you of her this evening…did you?”
Cristabel wept once more, shaking her head with painful remorse. “No. No, I did not,” she answered. “I would not have kept my sighting of her a secret if I had known. I thought…I thought she was perhaps Trevon’s lover and that…”
“And that you would lose him?” Claire offered.
Cristabel nodded. “Yet in the end…one wrong choice has fatally determined that my life will take a very different path than I had begun to hope.”
She began to sob as Claire took her face in her hands, smiled, and said, “You made no wrong choice, darling. You could not have known it was Trevon’s sister you saw. He does not place blame on you for Vienne’s misery…only on himself.”
“You did not see the loathing in his eyes!” Cristabel cried.
Yet Claire smiled. “Oh yes, darling…I did. Loathing of self.” Claire embraced Cristabel for a moment, yet it little soothed her. Trevon did loathe her; she had seen it in him.
“Now, darling,” Claire began, releasing Cristabel and brushing tears from her own eyes. “Let us prepare…for Vienne’s sake, yes?”
Cristabel nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We will find Vienne, and she and Trevon will both begin to heal. I promise,” Claire said.
Cristabel nodded once more, forcing a trembling grin. Still, she wished persons would not make promises they could not keep.
“Now hurry up to your trunk,” Claire encouraged. “Don your most tattered dress…for you must not appear too genteel, or Vienne may flee from you as well.”
“Of course,” Cristabel agreed.
She turned then, hurrying up the stairs to the second tier of the tree house and to her trunk. Opening its lid, she began to rummage through the clothing allotted her. She did find a dress that was perhaps far from tattered yet a plain sort of brown fabric—simple and without embellishment. It would do—it must.
As she pulled the dress from her trunk, however, her attention fell to the two pieces of eight nestled within. She picked them up—considered them for a long moment. She would bring them with her. The two silver coins were the only items she would take from the trunk. The rest she would gift to Vienne. Nevertheless, she would need the two pieces of eight—in order to return to New Orleans. She would need to pay someone—for a carriage and driver or passage on a schooner—in order to return. Thus, she must keep the gifts of thought and wonder that Claire Navarrone had presented to her. Trevon would put her off for good once Vienne was with him, and Cristabel would return to her mother—no matter the consequences. She would construct a tale of some sort—a lie of adventure and escape in order to protect Trevon from retaliation.
Shaking her head, Cristabel began to change her dress. She would consider how to return to New Orleans and what to tell her treasonous stepfather after Vienne was safely in the care of her brother and mother once more. For now, she would simply consider what she must say to convince the battered beauty to return to her family. And Vienne must return to Trevon and Claire. She must!
*
As Trevon steered the schooner through the black of night, he tried to subdue his anxiety—his fearful trepidation. In truth, he still struggled to believe Vienne was the woman Cristabel had seen at the tavern inn. Yet he had seen the sincerity in the deep violet of her eyes, and he knew she spoke the truth. Whether the woman she had seen truly were Vienne or not, Cristabel Albay believed her to be. Thus, Trevon had begun to hope—to hope as surely as his self-loathing deepened.
He glanced to where his mother sat, a comforting arm about Cristabel’s shoulder. His mouth began to water at the sight of his lover, and he prayed that in rescuing Vienne at last, he might win back a part of the fondness Cristabel claimed to own for him. Still, he must prove himself first. He must demonstrate to Cristabel that he would not fail his sister again—that he could be trusted to protect anyone and everyone he loved—that he could be trusted to protect her.
As the sea sailed him closer to La Petite Grenouille—to Vienne—his mind began to strategize. If Cristabel could not convince Vienne to leave La Petite Grenouille, he would have the other men take her from it. Still, he wondered if perhaps there were something he could do while he waited for Cristabel to speak with Vienne.
As his mind mulled over the varying circumstances and outcomes of his determination to rescue his sister, Trevon attempted to ignore the trepidation causing his innards to quiver. He must find Vienne—liberate her from the life of misery she had lingered in since Rackham Henry had taken her. He must find Vienne, and then—then he must win back Cristabel Albay. He would find Vienne, and he would have Cristabel—and not man nor devil nor any other circumstance could keep him from either!
Chapter Fourteen
Cristabel glanced over her shoulder to where Trevon stood leaning against a nearby building. He nodded to her with encouragement, and she was astonished that, even for her fear and trepidation about speaking with Vienne, Trevon’s handsome appearance still caused a wave of butterflies to flurry in her stomach. She must convince Vienne to come with her to the inn across the way—to return to her brother and mother waiting there for her.
A room had been prepared for Vienne—comfortable, clean, a bath drawn and Cristabel’s aromatic oils mixed with the water. Good food would be waiting and, most importantly, protection and love.
Cristabel could not imagine that Vienne Navarrone would not want to return to her family—to comfort and safety. Yet she had seen the manner in which Vienne fled when hearing the Merry Wench’s crew lingered in the tavern in which she labored. Cristabel’s sensitivities whispered that Vienne’s experience with Rackham Henry, and perhaps beyond, had not only caused her unfathomable pain and misery but also perhaps destroyed her spirit—caused her to feel spoiled for any good thing, unworthy of happiness and love. Cristabel had thought long of what might have become of herself had Trevon not found her in Bully Booth’s clutches—had he not thrown them both into the sea and taken her aboard the Merry Wench. Sympathy then told her what Vienne must have felt when she at last escaped Rackham Henry—despair, unworthiness, fear, self-loathing. Thus, she must approach Vienne with care and understanding, calmly and with patience. She must not demand Vienne return to her family. It must be Vienne’s choice—a choice that would well change the entire course of her life from that moment forward.
Furthermore, Cristabel knew that Vienne’s choice might likewise change the course of Cristabel’s own life. She hoped that if Vienne returned to her mother and brother, then perhaps Trevon could forgive Cristabel her failings. If she were successful in helping to reunite Vienne and her family, perhaps Trevon could find something in Cristabel to care for once more. She knew it was folly to hope for such a happy ending to it all. Still, she did hope—for hope was the only thing fanning her courage as she entered La Petite Grenouille.
It had been difficult to wait through the long morning—to wait until the majority of the patrons of the tavern had finally staggered away to find drunken rest in an inn room or alleyway. Yet Trevon thought it best to approach Vienne when there were not so many men about—when the tavern was lingering in the quiet of day. Still, Cristabel feared Vienne would not be about her labors when there were not ready customers.
She stood just within the doors of La Petite Grenouille, glancing through the gloom and near visible stench of the establishment. She saw first the woman called Celestine. She was in conversation with a man—an ugly, disheveled-looking man. The man seemed to be giving instruction, and Cristabel wondered if this were the man Celestine had warned Vienne of the night Vienne fled at having heard mention the Merry Wench. Cristabel remembered how Celestine had warned Vienne that Christophe would be angry at her absence. She again wondered if this were he.
Cristabel stepped furthe
r into the room—glanced at every face seated at a table. Her hopes were beginning to quickly dwindle. She feared that Vienne had indeed left La Petite Grenouille, fearful of being found by her brother, captain of the Merry Wench. Nausea fair engulfed her, for she knew it would be her fault if Vienne had fled—none but hers.
She gasped slightly as she saw Vienne enter from another room then, however. She could scarcely draw breath, for she was again assured that it had been the very woman from the painting in Trevon’s cabin that she had seen that first night. It was Vienne! Vienne was there—just beyond several tables.
Cristabel observed her a moment before approaching. The beauty that was Trevon’s sister and Claire’s daughter appeared tired, worn, and weathered—unhappy as well. Cristabel was overcome by a sense of urgency. She must not tarry; she must not pause. The moment was upon her, and the course of her life would be decided in the next minutes—of her life and Vienne’s.
Swallowing the lump of trepidation in her throat, Cristabel walked to Vienne.
“Pardon, miss,” she began.
Vienne frowned, glancing about her. Frowning with uncertainty, she said, “Are you speaking to me, miss?”
Cristabel forced a smiled. “Yes. May I speak with you a moment please?” she asked.
“Why?” Vienne asked. It was obvious she was suspicious. No doubt Vienne had learned that few people were to be trusted.
“I…I am looking for work,” Cristabel lied. “I was wondering if perhaps you could tell me if this establishment might be in need of another woman to—”
“Oh, do not bind yourself to this low place,” Vienne whispered. “Surely you can find other means of making your way.”
“Who is that?” the man speaking with Celestine shouted. “Who are you talking to when you should be working, woman?”
“J-just an old friend, Christophe,” Vienne answered. “I will only be a moment more.”
“Make certain of it,” the man growled.
“Come with me,” Vienne said, taking Cristabel’s arm and leading her to a room toward the back of the establishment. “Sit here,” she said, gesturing toward a chair at a small table. Cristabel did as Vienne instructed, watching as Vienne took her seat in the chair across from her.
“Why ever would you come here looking for work, miss?” Vienne asked in a whisper. “Do you not know that this is a place of pirates and criminals? Christophe does not care who drinks his beer and rum…as long as they pay for it. You would be in constant danger here, and I can tell you are yet unspoiled…as sweet as the day you were born. You must not come in here again.”
There was a marked desperation in Vienne’s voice and expression, and Cristabel was touched—her heart warmed by the manner in which Trevon’s sister offered protection via wisdom and experience.
“If…if I confide something in you, miss…will you give me your word that you will not flee from me?” Cristabel asked. Time was waning, and she knew she must hurry. Oh, certainly she wished to be soft—to ease Vienne into the knowledge that her brother and mother waited only across the way to welcome her. Yet Christophe was too wary, and she knew she could not pause.
Vienne frowned. “What could you want to confide in me?” she asked. “I am a stranger to you.”
“Will you give me your word you will not leave me…once you have heard what I must confess to you?” Cristabel asked.
Vienne studied Cristabel for a moment, and Cristabel almost smiled, for the expression of curious wariness was so like that of Trevon’s that it warmed her very soul.
“Very well,” Vienne said at last. “Confess what you will…but hastily, else Christophe decides you are too pretty to resist.”
Drawing a deep breath of courage, Cristabel began. “My name is Cristabel Albay. I was abducted from my home in New Orleans in the dead of night by Acadian mercenaries.”
Vienne frowned. Cristabel knew painful memories were washing over her—as well as empathy.
“What has this to do with me?” Vienne asked.
“I was taken…and given over to the British,” Cristabel whispered. “Put aboard a bloody British ship bound for England. We were set upon by pirates…a ship called the Screaming Witch.”
“Bully Booth’s ship,” Vienne whispered.
“You have heard of it then?” Cristabel ventured.
“Yes.”
Cristabel swallowed, reached out, and took hold of Vienne’s hand that lay on the table. “Remember, you promised you would not abandon me…no matter what I confess.”
“I did,” Vienne confirmed—yet Cristabel saw her body grow tense.
“Bully Booth set upon the British ship, as I said, but in the midst of battle, another ship appeared. It attacked the British ship…beat back Bully Booth’s crew. The captain of the third ship boarded the Screaming Witch…killed Bully Booth. He took me ’round the waist and cast us both into the sea.”
Vienne’s eyes were wide with astonished curiosity. Cristabel gripped Vienne’s hand more firmly.
“You promised,” she reminded Vienne.
“Yes,” Vienne whispered, assuring her she would not flee.
“The man who saved me, he swam me to his own ship, took me prisoner…for I had been found to be a passenger of the British ship after all,” Cristabel continued. “The man who saved my life…sails the Merry Wench. He is the pirate Navarrone the Blue Blade…and he is your brother, Vienne.”
Instantly, Vienne pulled her hand from Cristabel’s, fairly leaping from her seat.
“Please! Please, Vienne!” Cristabel begged in a whisper, else Christophe should hear them and intrude. “You promised you would not run from me! Please…I must speak with you.”
“Is he here?” Vienne gasped, tears springing to her eyes to escape over her cheeks. “Is Trevon here with you?” She was near to panic.
“Please, Vienne,” Cristabel soothed. “Please just listen to me…to my confession.”
Vienne frowned. “Your confession? What more could you confess than to tell me you have trapped me for my brother? And you have, haven’t you? You have come here at Trevon’s bidding.”
“I have come here of my own bidding, Vienne,” Cristabel said. “Please…I have more to tell you…that I must tell you.”
“Where is he?” Vienne demanded, however. “Where is Trevon? Is he already here?”
Cristabel shook her head. “No. He waits across the way. But please, Vienne…there is more I must confess. You promised you would not flee.”
“That was before I knew you meant to trap me!” Vienne cried in a whisper.
“I do not mean to trap you,” Cristabel said. “I mean to speak with you…to confess the great wrong I have done you and your brother.”
“Great wrong?” Vienne asked. “What great wrong could you have done me? I have been wronged many times, girl…and nothing you offer can compare.”
“Please, only hear me,” Cristabel begged. “You promised.”
Vienne glanced beyond Cristabel, out into the other room.
“He is not here,” Cristabel said.
Vienne sat down once more. “Tell me this wrong you have done me,” she demanded. “Though I warn you…nothing you could have done would be worse than the fact you led my brother to me.”
Cristabel sighed, relieved Vienne had kept her promise—at least for the moment. She inhaled a deep breath and told Vienne the whole of it then. She told Vienne of being prisoner aboard the Merry Wench, of the second battle with the crew of the Screaming Witch. She told her of James Kelley, of his feeling of indebtedness, and of the pirate ruse they had contrived. She told her of William and Richard Pelletier—and of Trevon’s anger. She told her then of having been in La Petite Grenouille following the meeting with Governor Claiborne—and of having recognized Vienne from the painting.
Cristabel brushed tears from her cheeks. “I did not tell Trevon I had seen you…the woman from the painting that hangs in his cabin. I-I did not know you were his sister. I thought you were perhaps a lover of his
past…and I was afraid he would come for you. Thus, I did not tell him…not until your mother told me of the Wasp and Victoria’s Revenge…that you had been taken by pirates…and killed.”
“My mother?” Vienne exclaimed in a whisper. “How is it that you came to speak with my mother?”
Cristabel wiped more tears from her cheeks as Vienne dabbed at her own tears.
“Trevon did not know what to do with me, for he meant the Pelletiers to think me dead,” Cristabel explained. “He could not return me to my mother…or to anyone else. Furthermore, he had promised not to kill me. Therefore, with no alternative before him, he sailed me with them to the bay…the hidden pirate community where the crew of the Merry Wench and their families reside. Your mother was there…and was very kind to me…even after I confessed what I had done to you and Trevon.”
“Is she well?” Vienne asked. “My mother? Is…is she well?”
“She is well,” Cristabel said, “though she painfully misses her daughter.”
Vienne glanced away. “She would not miss me so if she knew what I have become.”
“She misses you…and loves you…no matter what you have endured. As does Trevon,” Cristabel said, reaching across the table and taking Vienne’s hand. She was encouraged when Vienne did not pull her hand away but rather squeezed Cristabel’s in return.
Vienne shook her head. “No. No…I am dead to them, I am certain,” she said. “Rackham Henry captured me…and I do not remember what I endured. My mind will not allow me to remember it. Though I do remember the pain…the terrible pain piercing my entire body when I awoke on the shore. A fisherman found me and took me to his kind wife. They told me they did not know how I survived Rackham Henry…but I did. I have a brief wisp of a memory of standing on the bridge of Victoria’s Revenge…of gazing into the sea and thinking death would be welcome. I somehow knew the ship was close to some shore. I remember thinking that I was a good swimmer…that perhaps I could make my way to the shore and freedom. But if I drowned in trying…it would be better than remaining where I was. That is all I remember of it.” She looked to Cristabel, frowning with agony, more tears traveling over her cheeks. “Yet I know what happened, though I do not remember. I know what abuse I endured aboard Victoria’s Revenge.”
The Pirate Ruse Page 23
