The Pirate Ruse (37 page)

“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—the 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.

“Silence!” Richard shouted.
“Let no man interfere here! You will not be paid if you do! I will vanquish this bloody pirate alone!” He gestured to Trevon again. “Come then, Navarrone the Blue Blade. Gather your cutlass, and meet your death.”

“You only face him because he is near to death from the flogging!” Cristabel accused.

Richard’s brows arched. “But he is Navarrone the Blue Blade. His skill with a blade is legendary…and surely no mere flogging could harm a legend.”

Cristabel felt Trevon straighten—looked up to see him unwind his hands and wrists from the rope.
She wept as she saw the blood trickling from his palms and wrists—for he had held so tightly to the ropes during his flogging that they had cut into his flesh.

She gasped—sobbed as Trevon staggered from behind her to stand before Richard.
The blood and torn flesh at his back were so plethoric—so gruesome—she wondered that he was still alive, let alone conscious.

“Trevon!” she breathed
, suddenly overcome with a feeling of dizziness. “I’m so sorry. I-I…Trevon…no!”

“Give him his cutlass!” Richard shouted.
When not one man moved to do as he ordered, Richard growled, picked up Trevon’s cutlass, and flung it toward him to land at his feet. “Pick it up, pirate!” He laughed, amused with himself—blind with fury and arrogance. “Let us see this Blue Blade they tell of.”

“Trevon!” Cristabel breathed as Trevon struggled to bend—struggled to grasp the hilt of his cutlass.
“Trevon, no!” What had she done? In attempting to save him from death by means of the cat, she had only just sent him to die by the blade.

Glancing over his shoulder to her, Trevon winked at her.
“Our men will be here to claim you, love. Just keep from harm until they arrive.”

He turned to Richard then
, nodding toward one mercenary and then another. “You are all dead men,” he called to them. “The crew of the
Merry Wench
will have their revenge upon you for your deeds here…and your conspiring with traitors! Pray they slice your throats quick instead of putting you under the cat yourselves…or keelhauling you.” His speech was labored and breathless.

He turned to Cristabel then, quickly t
aking her face in one hand. “Now, give me one last drink of you, love.” He kissed her—his mouth open, moist, and demanding—hot and impassioned.

“Your last drink it is indeed, pirate!” Richard raged.
“Now die…you dog!”

Cristabel screamed as Richard lunged and Trevon turned to meet him.
Trevon was weak—brutally battered and wounded. What had she done in provoking Richard further?

She gasped then as Trevon quickly took hold of Richard’s wrist—of the hand with which Richard wielded his weapon.
Holding Richard’s wielding hand high overhead, Navarrone the Blue Blade then plunged his cutlass into the villain’s chest. Trevon’s triumph took less than an instant, and in the next moment, Richard Pelletier staggered backward—an expression of pure astonished disbelief on his face. He fell to the ground then, exhaling his final breath.

At that very moment, Baskerville and the men from
the
Merry Wench
appeared. James Kelley was with them, and Cristabel watched as, shouting, they attacked the mercenaries. Struggling, she tried to free herself. She could not—she knew she could not—yet she was desperate to protect Trevon, for she knew he was yet in danger.

Trevon Navarrone was weak, trembling with residual pain from the flogging and from loss of blood. Cristabel was not yet freed and safe, however. Thus, he called upon what strength was left him, pulled his cutlass from Richard Pelletier’s body, and ran it through the guts of an advancing mercenary.

He looked up in time to see James Kelley vanquish a foe
, and the thought quickly flittered through his fevered brain that he had ordered Baskerville to see the boy stayed aboard the schooner and out of harm’s way. Still, he could not be angry—should not—for the boy was helping to defend Cristabel.

In mere moments
, the mercenaries were beaten. Most were dead. Those who had survived were struggling to escape. Richard Pelletier was dead, and Cristabel would be safe.

Turning to her then, Trevon staggered to her.
He knew he would not have the strength to reach up to untie her wrists and raised his cutlass, intending to cut the ropes from the poles and free her.

“Trevon! Trevon!
You are so injured, Trevon!” she sobbed. “You must be attended to at once! Baskerville! Baskerville! Hurry! He will die if we do not hurry!” She paused, gazing at him with inquisitiveness and desperation. “Cut these ropes, Trevon! Hurry!”

Yet Trevon Navarrone paused.
In truth, he felt his body was ready to give up the ghost. He knew William Pelletier would still be a danger to Cristabel and her mother. She was not so entirely safe as he first thought she would be—and he was in no condition to champion her.

“You are well, love,” he panted.
“Well and safe from harm…for now. But I am not well. I do not know if I will survive this…for I fairly sense my body dying.”

“No!
No, Trevon! You will be well! I will help you to be well!” she cried. “Untie me, Trevon! Please! Why do you pause?”

“James Kelley,” Trevon called.
“Hurry here, boy.”

James was there at once.
“Aye, Cap’n?”

“I gave orders that you were to stay aboard the schooner,” he said.

“Aye, Cap’n. I disobeyed the order,” James bravely answered.

“I see that,” Trevon panted.
He could feel the darkness of unconsciousness at the threshold of his mind—sensed the Reaper himself was near to him. “But now I give you an order that you must not disobey, James.”

“Aye, Cap’n?”

“Stay here with Cristabel,” Trevon said. He was weak, his knees nearly numb, and he dropped to them in the grass.

“Trevon!
No! Please, Trevon!” Cristabel screamed.

“Once we have gone
—have had ample time to sail—untie her and take her to her mother’s house,” Trevon instructed. “I will have word sent to the governor explaining what happened here…to Richard Pelletier…and that William Pelletier is a trader in human flesh and a traitor. Stay with Cristabel and her mother until they are well, James Kelley…until you are certain they are safe.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” James Kelley whispered.

“No! No, Trevon!” Cristabel cried. “Do not leave me! I love you! I love you! We are to be wed! You cannot leave me!”

Trevon struggled to stand.
The effort near killed him, he knew. Yet she must not know how close he was to death—she must not. If he died, he would have Baskerville send word, for he would not have her haunted the way he had been haunted when Vienne had been lost. Still, he would not have her watch him die; he would not leave her with that vision. Furthermore, if he lived—if he somehow managed to survive and heal—then he would come for her. He would find her, marry her, and live in wondrous simplicity and impassioned love with her. But he must survive first.

“Hush, love,” Trevon whispered, taking her chin in one trembling hand. “I will come for you. You know I will come for you. If I am able I will come for you. Know that, Cristabel. But I cannot allow you to linger in this pirate’s life any longer. It is a danger to you…in ever so many ways.”

“Trevon,” Cristabel sobbed
, desperate to touch him—to hold him—to know he would be well. “Please do not leave me…please! I will be no further trouble to you. I promise it! I will be safe now. Richard is dead. Please let me come with you. Please!”