The Pirate Ruse

by Marcia Lynn McClure

  *

  “I should have died before I let them take you,” Trevon growled, still kneeling before his sister.

  “No!” Vienne sobbed. “No, Trevon! I know the pain you feel, and the guilt, for I thought you were dead for a time…and I owned guilt for it.”

  Trevon gazed into Vienne’s blue eyes—the eyes he had known for as long as his memory could allow. “What?” he asked. “Why would you think me dead?”

  Vienne sniffled and dabbed at her red nose with a handkerchief. “I saw them beating you, Trevon. I saw them put you under the cat until your body was drenched with your own blood…until you collapsed…unconscious. But I thought you were dead…that you had been beaten to death before my very eyes. It was not until months later that I heard you had been found and lived…that you had taken to piracy.”

  “I should have died, Vienne,” Trevon said, kissing the back of her hand. “For a very long time I wished that I would have died. I existed with the knowledge I failed you…allowed you to be tortured and murdered.”

  Trevon felt his lower lip tremble as his sweet sister gazed into his eyes, smiled at him, and brushed a lone tear from his temple.

  “And if you had died, Trevon, you would not have saved your sweet Cristabel, and she would have known the same fate I did…worse even than mine. Furthermore, it was Cristabel who brought me to you in the end…was it not?”

  “Yes,” Trevon whispered. He knew it was true—had been cognizant of it since the moment Cristabel had revealed having seen Vienne. “She is my rescuer in many ways, for she rescued you…and my heart.”

  Vienne giggled, and Trevon frowned. It had been near two hours since his mother had left them alone—left brother and sister to begin the healing of their wounds. Two hours he had lingered in her company, and it was the first time she had laughed.

  “So you set sail in search of traitors and treason…and found your true love instead. Is that it, brother?” Vienne asked, her eyes bright with merriment in teasing him.

  Trevon breathed a chuckle as he stood. He raked a weary hand through his hair, shaking his head.

  “I am not worthy of her,” he sighed. “She deserves a better man than I will ever be.”

  “In the first of it, you are the best of men, Trevon,” Vienne said. She stood, taking hold of his arm and smiling at him. “And in the second, we are none of us perfect. No one is without fault…or damage. Whether physical, emotional, or both…we are all of us human.”

  Trevon frowned as Vienne reached into the small pocket at the waist of her dress. Holding her hand toward him, she opened it to reveal two silver pieces of eight lying in her palm.

  “Your Cristabel gave these to me, Trevon,” Vienne explained. “She told me the tale Mother told to her when first she gifted them to her.” She took his hand, depositing the coin into it. “But only after she had told me her own tale of them at La Petite Grenouille. And now…I give them to you…with my tale to tell.”

  “You women and your coins,” Trevon chuckled.

  “You know our mother; therefore, you know she dotes on the older coin because it has known adventure and experience,” Vienne said. “Cristabel dotes on it, for to her it is an example of the worth of souls…that each person God has placed on the earth is of equal value, no matter their worn and tattered condition. I give them to you now with this contemplation. Who would love better, Trevon? A youthful, naive man who has no experience in hardship, loss, and agony…or the man who knows the value of love?”

  Trevon shook his head. “I am not a coin, Vienne.”

  “Exactly. You are a man…a man who can love Cristabel as she deserves to be loved—passionately, desperately…a man willing to give his life for her.” Vienne paused and brushed a tear from her cheek. “There are not so many men like you in the world, Trevon. Cristabel seems a strong, passionate young woman. Only a strong, passionate man could know how to love her as she must be loved. Likewise, the same is true of you.” Vienne pointed to the newer coin. “View this coin as Cristabel…young, fresh, shining, and full of hope and desire.” She pointed to the worn coin. “What better companion than this worn and weathered coin to protect her through life…to keep her fresh and untainted, eh?”

  Trevon sighed, shook his head, and smiled. “You women and your coins,” he repeated. “Will a coin ever be simply a coin in your eyes?”

  “No. Never again,” Vienne said. “Not after today.”

  Trevon fisted the coins in his hand. “Still, she was purely disgusted with me for my failing of you,” he mumbled, frowning. “I may not be able to win her heart.”

  Vienne shook her head. “You were disgusted with yourself, Trevon…and needlessly,” she told him. “Furthermore, you already own her heart, darling. So do not waste another moment in claiming it.”

  “I cannot leave you,” Trevon said—wild with wanting to seek out Cristabel.

  Vienne smiled. “I will be here when you return. Send Mother in if you are worried that I will flee…though I will not. I am returned to you and Mother, and I will not be parted from either of you ever again.”

  Trevon nodded. Taking Vienne’s face between his hands, he pressed a firm and loving kiss to her forehead. The pain he knew at having failed her would never leave him. Vienne’s soul would be scarred forever as well. Yet they were together—two worn pieces of eight who were still of worth.

  “I go then,” Trevon began, “though I may not survive it if she will not have me.”

  Vienne smiled. “She will have you, Trevon. The love she owns for you is easily visible…and nothing could keep her from you now.” She giggled, adding, “And I shall have a sister at last!”

  “Do not be too hopeful, Vienne,” Trevon warned, anxiety and trepidation churning within him. “She may not—”

  He was silenced as Vienne placed a hand over his mouth. “She loves you, Trevon…far more than even a ship loves the sea.” She released him. “Now go to her. She has been suffering miserably. Champion her once more in ending her torment.”

  Trevon sighed. Inhaling a deep breath, he summoned his courage—the same courage that attended him in battle, allowed him to best traitors and pirates. He shook his head, thinking he was far more fearful at the thought of confessing his love to Cristabel and facing rejection than he was at battling an angry mob of pirates in preservation of his life.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “Here…take your bloody coins.” He deposited the coins into Vienne’s hand, smiling and adding, “For in a moment, I hope to have my hands otherwise occupied.”

  Vienne giggled, playfully slapping his arm in a manner of scolding. “You truly are a pirate, you dashing devil.”

  “I’ll have Mother come to you,” he said, turning and striding from the room. He paused, looking over his shoulder to her once—for he could scarce believe she was there, alive and with him. “We move forward, Vienne…yes?”

  “Yes, Trevon,” she said, smiling and offering a nod of reassurance. “Only forward.”

  *

  Cristabel rose from the chair in which she had been sitting. From the inn’s upper balcony, she had watched the sun set—slowly sink into a horizon of tall cypress and pine. The stars now twinkled in the night sky, the moon a brilliant, full, and glowing orb of warm luminance. She knew she should have taken advantage of the hours Claire and Trevon had spent in conversation with Vienne—that she should have fled while the chance was allowed her. Yet she did not wish to do disservice to James Kelley. He had been set as her guard, and she would not allow him to fail at his task. Furthermore, she was in need to know that all was well—that Vienne was soothed, assured that her mother and brother did indeed want her back in their warm embraces. She would see that Vienne was comforted and did not attempt to flee—attempt to return to the morbid, horrible life she had led since escaping Rackham Henry.

  Yet now—now the cover of darkness had fallen, and Cristabel began to feel restless, as if the opportunity to escape were slipping away. She thought of the two silver piece
s of eight she had gifted Vienne—knew they had been bartered to purchase far more than her own passage to New Orleans—and she was glad. Still, she wondered how she would make her way to her mother.

  “Cristabel.”

  She gasped at the sound of his voice, whirling around to face him, her heart wildly pounding within her bosom. Cristabel swallowed the uncomfortable lump of trepidation that leapt to her throat at the sight of Trevon Navarrone. He stood on the balcony now—there, just before her—as handsome and alluring as ever he had been before—more so. She quickly studied him for a moment. He looked weary, yet his expression was void of the simmering anger that often burbled just below the surface of his countenance. A breeze caught the fabric of his white shirt, billowing it and causing that the laces at the front of it should loosen and give way to reveal his bronzed and sculpted torso.

  Cristabel stepped back as he approached, for he was intimidating, even for all that had passed between them. She frowned when he unexpectedly dropped to one knee before her.

  “I’ve come to beg your forgiveness, love,” he said, bowing his head. “I have been a wounded, hateful man…self-loathing and bitter.” He looked up to her then, and she near melted at the warmth in his eyes. “But you have changed me…softened my heart…healed my soul.”

  Cristabel stepped back from him, overwhelmed by sudden hope, yet fearful of it as well. He had hardly spoken a word to her since the moment she told him of having seen Vienne—hardly a word. And now he lingered before her on bended knee, professing she was his healer? She could make no sense of it, and she began to take another step back from him.

  She gasped, however, as Trevon reached down, gripping her right ankle to stay her, and she began to tremble. His touch was overpowering to her senses—his firm, yet somehow nonthreatening grip, the warmth of his hand against her flesh. Instantly, tears welled in her eyes, for she wanted only to be in his arms. She wanted his forgiveness for her ill choice in not having told him of Vienne—wanted to own his heart as fully as he owned hers.

  “A moment before you told me of having seen Vienne,” he began, gazing up at her, “you claimed to love me. Is it true? Even after you knew of my failing Vienne two years ago, even knowing I am a coward, that I should have died rather than let her be taken…even then did you mean what you said?”

  Cristabel grimaced as tears escaped her eyes. Quickly she thought of the choices she had made—choices that had endangered others or herself. It was as if an inspiration had overcome her, for she suddenly understood that no human being could know the consequences of each and every choice made. She understood then that the best that could be done was to choose as wisely as one could and then hope and pray for the finest result. As she gazed into the handsome, nearly pleading expression on Trevon’s face, she knew she must risk her heart once more. Only by risking it—by again confessing that she truly did love him—only then might she have a chance to win his heart—truly win it.

  “Yes,” she managed to answer in a whisper. “But you did not fail her.”

  He exhaled as if he had been holding his breath in anticipation of her response to his inquiry.

  “And you?” he asked, caressing her ankle. “Have I failed you, Cristabel Albay?” He shook his head, breathing a disbelieving chuckle. “I took you prisoner, threatened to despoil you in order to glean information, placed you in danger, and kept you captive in the solitude of the bay.”

  “You are a patriot,” she offered. “You were only trying to uncover treason and wickedness that you may vanquish it.”

  “At first,” he said, again caressing her ankle. She quivered with delight as his hand traveled up the length of her calf in a slow caress, coming to pause at the back of her knee. He pulled her knee toward him, placing a lingering kiss to it. Even through the fabric of her dress, she could feel the warmth of his kiss. “But I kept you…because I wanted you for my own,” he confessed, smiling up at her. “I would not have ransomed you to Richard Pelletier, Cristabel…even if he were a good and honest man. I had decided to keep you by the time we met with the governor.”

  “What?” she breathed, too overcome by his intimate touch to utter anything else.

  He released her leg then, placing his hands one on each of her ankles, only over the fabric of her dress instead of on her skin. Slowly, his hands traveled up the length of her body—along the outside of her calves and legs—to her waist—to her back. The gesture weakened her knees, and she melted to him as he pulled her against him then, softly kissing her cheek.

  “I was falling in love with you by then, you see, love,” he whispered, kissing her opposite cheek. “And I could not give you up. It worked well to my advantage that Richard is a conspirator, for I knew you did not love him…as you first told me the night you were tankard up on the rum.”

  “I-I did?” she asked, rendered breathless by his attention, by his touch, by his very existence.

  He grinned a mischievous grin of owning secrets. “You did.”

  “Wh-what else did I tell you that night?” she ventured.

  His smile broadened, and she was discomfited. “You asked me if I seduced many women.”

  Trevon chuckled at the astonished and horrified expression washing over Cristabel’s face as she gasped.

  “I did not!” she argued.

  “You did, love,” he said, pulling her body more tightly against his.

  “And what did you answer?” she asked. She was breathless in his arms. He could see that she wanted him to kiss her as desperately as he wanted to kiss her. Yet he would assure himself further of her affection and love for him first.

  “I told you that I did not seduce women to my bed…and you confessed that it would be preferable to be ravaged by me than by Bully Booth,” he said.

  “I did?” she gasped. He adored the bashful blush that rose to her cheeks.

  He could not torture her longer—nor keep from her. “You said you would endeavor to be a pirate bride, Cristabel,” he began. “Is it true? And if it is…would you consider being the pirate bride of Navarrone the Blue Blade?”

  She burst into sobbing then, burying her face against his shoulder and weeping bitterly. He could feel the release in her—the release of restrained heartache and fear.

  “Marry me, love,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head as his own heart hammered brutal within his chest. “Marry me, and I swear I will never fail you…never. I would die before I would fail you.”

  “Do not speak such things!” she exclaimed, covering his mouth with her hand. “Never speak such words!”

  Trevon could see he had truly upset his little vixen, and he would not be the cause of any more distress to her.

  “Very well, love,” he said, taking her face in his hands. “It was needs be that I find Vienne before I could allow myself to have you. Do you understand that? I hated myself for what happened to her. I did not blame you for any of it…only myself. I was certain you must loathe me for my weakness, and I could do nothing but seek her out…attempt repentance and restitution. I—”

  “I never thought ill of you for what happened to her, Trevon,” she interrupted. “Never.”

  He sighed, for he could see the truth of it in her eyes. It had been his hatred of himself that had caused him to think she would not want him.

  “Will you be a pirate bride then, love?” he asked once more. “My pirate bride?”

  “Yes,” she breathed as more tears streamed over her pretty cheeks. “Oh yes! Yes! I love you!”

  “And I love you, Cristabel,” he whispered as his mouth descended to hers.

  Oh, such a kiss it was! Cristabel’s soul took flight to the heavens as Trevon bathed her in the euphoric bliss of his attentions to her mouth. His arms were banded around her—as if he meant never to release her again! Did he truly mean to marry her, to take her to wife? Yet as the passion of their exchange increased, she knew that he did. He loved her! Trevon Navarrone loved her! It was unfathomable—yet true!

  How had they com
e to this, to such fiery, passionate love? How had they come from captor and captive to being lovers? Yet she did not care in those moments. In those moments, all there was in the world was Trevon—his handsome strength, his wit, his wisdom, his patriotism—his love.

  Cristabel was startled from her rapture by the sound of gunfire—and nearby. Trevon broke from her at once, drawing cutlass as he turned from her. There was a scream from within the inn—from Vienne’s room.

  Trevon glanced around, his attention quickly falling to a small alcove on the wall of the balcony.

  “Stay here,” he commanded, frowning. “The dark should hide you well against the wall.” He pushed into the small alcove and turned to leave.

  “No, wait!” she cried in a whisper.

  “It is the keeper of La Petite Grenouille…no doubt come for Vienne,” he said, frowning. “Stay here, love. All will be well soon enough.”

  But as Cristabel watched Trevon disappear into the inn, her heart pounded with fear and trepidation. How could all be well when Vienne was being threatened?

  It was because she did not stay where Trevon had told her to stay. It was because she ventured from the safety of the darkness and the alcove to peer in through the doors leading to the inn that they found her. Cristabel understood this the moment a hand was placed over her mouth from behind—the moment she turned to see two faces she recognized.

  As she struggled—fought to keep from being bound with rope, a cloth wrapped around her mouth to silence her—Cristabel sobbed. The two men tying her hands and feet—the two men who mercilessly pushed her over the railing of the balcony to fall into a wagon full of straw—were two men she had seen before. As they leapt over the railing to land beside her in the wagon and hold her down, horror engulfed her, for these were two of the men who had first abducted her from the house of her stepfather.

  Struggling—crying out through the cloth binding around her mouth—Cristabel watched as the wagon lurched forward and gazed up at the balcony where she knew Trevon would return to find her gone. She knew Trevon could not hear her. Even if she had not been gagged, he could not have heard her, for the ruckus in the inn was loud enough to mask her weeping and muffled cries.