Chapter Sixteen
Trevon tightened his grip around Christophe’s throat. “Tell me where she is!” he roared. “Tell me, or I’ll slit your belly open and string out your guts while you watch!”
He was infuriated—mad with anger! Fergus was tending to Baskerville’s wound while the other men kept guard over Vienne and his mother. Trevon had sent James Kelley to knocking on doors through the town in search of information concerning who had taken Cristabel and where.
“All right! All right!” Christophe choked. Trevon did not immediately release his hold on the innkeeper, however. The proprietor of La Petite Grenouille had already abused his sister; now he had helped someone abduct Cristabel. Therefore, Trevon owned no mercy for him—only wished to continue tightening his grip around the villain’s neck.
“Release me! Release me, and I’ll tell you all I know,” Christophe whispered.
Exhaling a heavy sigh, Trevon did release his grip around the man’s throat. Yet he quickly pulled the dagger from its sheath at the back of his waist, pressing the blade to his gullet.
“Speak or die, innkeeper!” Trevon growled. “And I warn you…tell the truth—all of it—or I will make good my threat to open your belly!”
“All right! All right! Hold your blade, pirate!” Christophe panted. He paused, however, and Trevon pressed the dagger blade more firmly against his throat.
“Speak! Now!” he ordered.
Christophe held up a hand to stay Trevon’s blade, nodded, and swallowed hard.
“All right…all right,” he began. “She was recognized when she came into La Petite Grenouille to steal my serving wench.”
Trevon cut a small wound in Christophe’s neck with the tip of the dagger. “That serving wench is my sister, man! Whom you abused and held captive with fear! Proceed carefully here…or you will die!”
“Yes, yes! Of course,” Christophe stammered. “Your woman was recognized by an Acadian that frequents La Petite Grenouille. I heard him tell another that he had seen her before…in fact that he had taken her from her home…and been paid well to do so. He left soon thereafter, and a wealthy man returned with him.”
“William Pelletier?” Trevon offered.
“I do not know! He was a youngish man…perhaps your age,” Christophe panted. “He approached me and offered me near a barrel of money to help him capture the girl once more. I could not deny him…for he would have killed me, I am certain.”
“Where did they take her?” Trevon shouted. “Where?”
“I do not know! I do not!” Christophe cried, beginning to sob. “I only know that the place was not far off…for I heard them say that much.”
“Perhaps…p-perhaps the old house where we met before, Cap’n,” Baskerville grumbled as Fergus endeavored to clean the wound in his shoulder.
Baskerville had stepped in front of Vienne in time to take a ball in the shoulder. It was eternal gratitude Trevon felt toward his friend for such a sacrifice. Yet his thanks would have to wait. Cristabel had been taken—by Richard Pelletier, no doubt—and he could not fathom what the man might do to her.
“Perhaps,” Trevon agreed. “Baskerville, see that Mother and Vienne are safely returned to the schooner.” He looked to Fergus then. “Fergus, set sail with my mother, my sister, and young James Kelley. Then send the other men to accompany Baskerville to the old house where we met Claiborne concerning the Chichester.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” Fergus agreed.
“You’re not going alone, are you, Cap’n?” Baskerville asked. “Pelletier may well have men other than the Acadians with him. You cannot go alone.”
“You and the others will attend me soon enough…but I cannot wait,” Trevon explained.
“And what am I to do?” Christophe asked as Trevon sheathed his dagger once more. “What will happen to me?”
“I don’t give a damn,” Trevon growled as his fist met with the man’s jaw, rendering the proprietor of La Petite Grenouille unconscious.
*
“Richard…Richard, please,” Cristabel begged. “I don’t understand. We were to be wed. How can you do this thing?”
She tried to call upon greater courage, yet it was difficult, considering the circumstance. In truth, she had managed to muster more courage in facing Bully Booth and all that had happened before the Screaming Witch had attacked the Chichester—before Trevon had rescued her and thrown them both into the sea. Now, however—now she was not so naive. Vienne’s tale of abduction and torture had frightened her—had taught her how very fortunate she had been, how blessed and watched over. What woman could hope for even one miracle in a lifetime? And Cristabel had already known two—rescue at the hands of the pirate Navarrone the Blue Blade and finding true love with a man only heaven itself could have blessed her with.
Thus, now as one of the Acadians who had again abducted her slipped a rope over her wrist, a separate rope over her other, she knew she could hope for no further miracles. Still, she silently prayed for them, even as two men forced her to where two large posts were sunk into the ground apart from one another.
“How can I do this thing?” Richard asked. “How can I do this thing? You are the one keeping company with pirates, Cristabel.”
Cristabel frowned. “Better pirates than traitors,” she could not keep from mumbling.
“Do you know what you have cost me?” Richard asked, striding toward her.
Cristabel’s terror heightened as the Acadians began to stretch her between the two posts outside the house where Trevon had so recently met with Governor Claiborne. She watched as Richard reached to his back. He seemed to struggle in removing something from the waist of his trousers. She gasped—shook her head as tears again filled her eyes at the sight of the cat-o’-nine-tails in Richard’s hand.
“I cost you a fiancé,” she told him. “That is all. You will easily find another.”
“Well, I will easily find another. That is true,” he said, coming to stand before her. “But you cost me much more than the trifle of a fiancé. A woman is effortlessly replaced, Cristabel. But the same is not true concerning wealth and position.”
Cristabel knew he referred to the treasure Trevon and his crew had plundered from the Chichester. Yet as far as position was concerned, she did not understand him.
“Position?” she asked. “And what have I to do with your wealth and position?”
“There was a great wealth of treasure aboard that British ship the pirate Navarrone plundered…gold, silver, gems, jewels,” he said. His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. “Not to mention the price you would have brought. It is full obvious Navarrone the Blue Blade plundered you along with all my riches.”
“You had me abducted…delivered to the enemy!” Cristabel accused, for she knew assuredly now it was Richard who had orchestrated her abduction—just as Trevon had begun to suspect.
“I did,” Richard admitted. Cristabel winced as the two men tightened the ropes, stretching her arms up and out.
“You meant to have me sold,” she accused.
“Of course not, darling,” Richard said, frowning at her as if he took offense. “That is my cousin William’s trade…not mine. I meant to offer you and all the wealth aboard the Chichester to King George to purchase my way into the Empire and the King’s good graces—to prove my loyalty was placed where it should be…and not on these revolutionary shores.”
Cristabel cried out—grimaced as Richard’s sudden anger caused him to lash the ground with the tails of the cat.
“And now…now you have ruined me!” he shouted. “My wealth is in the hands of pirates, and I have no means to purchase my way into the British Empire! For that…you shall pay dearly, Cristabel Albay. I shall take my revenge from your flesh…just as I was led to believe the pirates had done.”
“Richard, please…I beg you, listen to me,” Cristabel began.
“Silence, wench!” he roared. “For that is what you are, are you not? A pirate’s wench?” He chuckled. “Captain Navarrone
must own all the charms that are told of him indeed…if he managed to woo you into being his wench.”
“Richard…only wait…” she stammered through her tears.
“And since he has already defiled you…I want nothing from you but to see your blood spill, Cristabel,” he interrupted, however.
She winced, trembling with fear as she saw him strike the ground with the tails of the cat once more.
“Cut her bodice at the back…and her corset stays,” Richard ordered. Instantly, Cristabel felt the cool blade of a knife slip beneath her corset and chemise. She gasped as the knife tore through the fabric of her chemise—through her corset stays and dress. She felt the cool, moist air upon the flesh of her back and began to sob.
“Richard, I beg you…please do not do this thing!” she cried. “I will talk with Captain Navarrone. I am certain he will return your treasure…in exchange for my life.”
“It is far too late for that, Cristabel,” Richard growled. “Don’t you see? The British will come for me. King George will send men to assassinate me, for I have not kept my promise to him to return with riches…and you. Someone must pay for this disservice to me. Someone must know the lash of the cat, bleed, and die. I will see your flesh hang in strips from your body, Cristabel Albay…for you deserve nothing less for what you have done.”
“Only a coward would beat a woman to death for something a pirate did.”
Cristabel looked up—wept to a near frenzy at the sight of Trevon.
“Trevon! Trevon!” she cried—nearly screamed, so frantic was she. At first, it was pure relief and hope she knew at seeing her lover there before her. He was there, Trevon—strong, handsome—and she knew he could cut Richard down as a knife through cream. Yet in the next moment, she realized he was alone. None of his crew attended him—neither Baskerville nor Fergus nor even James Kelley.
Quickly she glanced about her, horrified when she counted full ten men attending Richard. Trevon was greatly outnumbered, and she was helpless to assist him.
“Captain Navarrone,” Richard said, smiling. He chuckled—studied Trevon from boot to brow. “Has the pirate lover come to beg mercy for his wench then?”
“I beg mercy from no one,” Trevon growled. “Not from presidents, kings, traitors, or cowards.”
“You lied to me that day…here…with Governor Claiborne,” Richard said. “Did you know of the Chichester’s treasure then?”
Trevon’s eyes narrowed. “I had possession of Cristabel then, yes.”
“Trevon, please. I will not see you—” Cristabel began.
“Oh yes!” Richard exclaimed. “Your lover has come for you, Cristabel. He has told me I should not beat a woman for something a pirate did.” Richard looked to Trevon then. “Is the pirate then willing to be flogged to save his dirty wench? Flogged to the death?”
“No! No!” Cristabel breathed as she saw Trevon draw his cutlass and drop it to the ground—as his dagger joined it. As he then stripped himself of his shirt, tossing it to the ground as if he never meant to retrieve it again, Cristabel cried, “No, Trevon! No!”
Trevon Navarrone strode to where the villains had tied Cristabel between two posts. Baskerville and the others should find them soon. He had left word at the inn for his crew to investigate the old house where they had previously met with Governor Claiborne, for one of the serving wenches at La Petite Grenouille knew the house was owned by a man named Pelletier. She had revealed the information after having seen Trevon render Christophe unconscious. Thus, Trevon’s intuition had whispered to him that Cristabel had been taken there. He only hoped Baskerville and the others had received his message.
Trevon knew he could endure a brutal flogging with the cat, for he had endured it before. Furthermore, this time he would die before he allowed the villain to harm someone he loved. He would die under the cat before Richard could harm Cristabel further.
Silently he prayed for Baskerville and the others to be quick—for it would not matter if he survived the flogging or died if his crew did not arrive in time to save the woman he loved from harm.
“No, Trevon! Please!” Cristabel cried as he moved to stand behind her.
Reaching up, Trevon used the slack in the ropes that held Cristabel’s wrists, twisting his own wrists to stretch his arms out and above his head. Placing his chest against the tender flesh of her soft, bare shoulders and back, he silently swore to himself that not a mark would be put to her.
Richard chuckled. “You expect me to believe you have the strength and fortitude to keep your own hands bound? That you will endure being flogged to death without being restrained?”
“Do your worst, traitor,” Trevon growled.
“Trevon, no! Please, Trevon!” Cristabel sobbed. He felt her body go slack as she weakened under the force of so much terror and misery.
Bending to place his lips to her ear, he said, “I love you, Cristabel. Know that. If you are sure of nothing else in life…know that I love you.”
“Trevon!” Cristabel screamed as Richard made his way to stand behind them. “No! Richard! Do not do this thing! I swear I will kill you with my own hands if you harm him!”
“Your hands are bound, darling,” Richard reminded her. “Now watch your pirate lover die for the sake of your weakness.”
Cristabel screamed as she heard the crack of the cat’s tails—felt the force of Trevon’s body being struck.
“I love you, Cristabel,” Trevon whispered once more.
“Stop it! Stop it! Richard! Stop! I will kill you—I swear it!” Cristabel cried.
She glanced up—saw Trevon’s hands tighten the ropes more firmly around his wrists a moment before the snap of the cat tails and the force of the lash reverberated through his body and into hers.
“No! No!” Cristabel cried. Why had Trevon come? Why was he being beaten instead of her? She could not fathom it and felt for a moment as if she might faint. But she could not; she would not. She would not leave Trevon to endure the torture meant for her.
“The others will be here soon, love,” Trevon whispered to her from behind. He kissed her ear a moment before the tails of the cat tore his flesh once more.
“I see you bleed like any man, Navarrone,” Richard chuckled.
“Kill him, Trevon!” Cristabel cried. “Let go of me, and kill Richard!”
“There are too many others, love,” he said. “One might harm you before I could run them all through.” He kissed her ear again, and she felt the perspiration on his face as he buried it against her neck a moment.
Again the cat struck, and again Trevon made no sound—only absorbed the brutal blow with the strength of his own body. Cristabel felt him tremble for a moment—knew the pain must be excruciating. She thought of the scars on his back, evidence of having endured such torture before. She could feel the moist, hot perspiration the pain was drawing to his chest against her back and shoulders. Again she screamed at Richard that he should stop.
Thirteen lashes with the cat—thirteen strikes of nine tails tearing into his flesh did Trevon endure. Cristabel well knew it was thirteen, for she felt the force of the cat each time Richard brutally applied to his flesh.
“I l-love you, Cristabel,” Trevon breathed again. It seemed his professing of love following each blow was his focus—what kept him conscious—and alive.
Yet Cristabel would not allow him to die for her sake, to be beaten and abused, his body and mind scarred with pain only to save her life. She would not be the cause of his death.
Thus, at last, she produced a long, piercing scream. Over and over she screamed.
Richard paused in whipping Trevon for a moment.
One of the Acadians mumbled, “She’s gone mad, in the end of it.”
Richard then came around to stand before Cristabel.
“Shh, love,” Trevon panted in her ear. “The men will be here. I have great endurance in me yet.”
But Cristabel did not quiet herself.
Richard now stood before her, smiling—t
he cat-o’-nine-tails still held in his hand, dripping with blood.
“Mad, is it?” Richard asked. “So your lover’s pain has driven you mad?”
Cristabel glared at the villain. “You bloody coward! King George would never have admitted you to the British Empire. He does not bode well with cowards who must beat a woman for vengeance. There is no honor in that.”
“I am not beating you, darling,” Richard reminded her. “I am beating your lover…who is a filthy pirate to the boot.”
“The crew of the Merry Wench will arrive any moment. And you…all of you,” she said, nodding to the mercenaries surrounding her and Trevon, “all of you will be dead…for you dare not cross blades with them…just as Richard Pelletier is too cowardly to meet the pirate Navarrone blade to blade.”
“I am no coward,” Richard growled. “Navarrone is the coward, for he does not even attempt to escape.”
“That is because he is a champion,” she hatefully sobbed. “He would rather die than allow a woman to be abused. You are a coward—a treasonous, traitorous coward who is afraid to meet a pirate blade to blade. King George would never have accepted you into his fold, Richard! Coward!” she cried, spitting in his face.
Fury turned Richard Pelletier’s face crimson as he wiped her saliva from his cheek.
“Coward? Fearful of a bloody pirate? Never!” Richard roared.
Cristabel knew Richard well, and it was well she knew his temper. Once aggravated, he did not think with clarity. She only hoped the crew of the Merry Wench would arrive to save their captain before he was dead by either the cat or the cutlass.
“Come, pirate!” Richard goaded Trevon. The villain tossed aside the cat, drawing his own cutlass. “Come then! Meet me with a blade and let me run you through. Let Cristabel watch you die before I bury the same blade in her heart!”
“Sir—” one of the Acadians began.
The Pirate Ruse Page 26
