Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
Booth chuckled. “Pretty face or none, I’ve already been aboard the
Chichester
,” he said. “And I’ve already discovered the richest of her spoils.”
Navarrone frowned as the vile, repulsive pirate Bully Booth reached down and drew a young woman to her feet. Navarrone had not noticed the woman before, for his attention had been fully arrested by Bully Booth. The Blue Blade felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle as Booth wrapped one hand in the young woman’s dark hair and pushed her to stand in front of him—between himself and Navarrone.
Navarrone’s frown deepened, for he had not expected to find a woman aboard either the
Chichester
or the
Screaming Witch
. Tears were streaming over the woman’s reddened cheeks, yet her mouth was set in a pose of defiance and bravery. As the question briefly flitted through his mind as to what a woman was doing aboard a British merchant vessel, the damnable streak of chivalry that was Navarrone’s father’s gift to his character was summoned.
Navarrone would not leave a woman—any woman. No woman on earth deserved to be sacrificed to the heinous torture Captain Bully Booth would exact. He had planned to take the
Chichester
, to raid her hold, to save her crew from the merciless pirates of the
Screaming Witch
and send them sobbing back to New Orleans as prisoners. He took no prisoners otherwise—not sailor, pirate, or civilian. He never did. Yet he could not leave a woman to be defiled by Bully Booth and his men. He scowled—growled with the vexation of owning a conscience. His men would have to battle on the
Chichester
’s deck without him—at least for a time.
Navarrone ground his teeth as another of Booth’s men advanced. Without so much as a flinch or blink, the Blue Blade ran his cutlass through the man’s midsection. He looked back to Booth—watched as the vile pirate put his lips to the woman’s ear, kissing her temple once before licking her cheek.
“She tastes as sweet as well-ripened fruit, Navarrone,” Bully Booth chuckled. “Ya keep that Empire’s gold…and I’ll keep the wench.”
“I’ll take the bloody British gold and the girl, Booth,” Navarrone said, smiling. “And I’ll run you through too…just for my own amusement!” Bully Booth was notorious for murder—for spilling the blood of women and children as well as sailors and pirates. Thus, Navarrone owned no hesitation in ridding the world of such a monster.
Suddenly, Booth pushed the girl aside, lunging at Navarrone. Navarrone easily evaded the strike, however.
“Oh, Bully,” he goaded. “Tsk-tsk. Have you not heard of the Blue Blade Navarrone?”
Again Bully struck; again Navarrone easily evaded. He let his cutlass slice the air—offered a simple strike he knew Booth could defend. The clash of steel heightened his determination, and the swordplay began.
Navarrone had meant to give Booth false hope—to toy with the scoundrel and let him think he might triumph over the famed Blue Blade. Yet as he saw two of Booth’s men swing from the
Chichester
’s deck back to the
Screaming Witch
to attend their captain, he knew time could not be spent in tarrying.
Quickly he ran his cutlass through Booth’s plump midsection. “My apologies, Booth,” he said as the man’s eyes widened. “But I have no time to waste on you. May your foul deeds on the sea find your corpse forever rotting with the fish in Davy Jones’s locker.” He glanced to the
Chichester
to see Booth’s men abandoning its deck, the crew of the
Merry Wench
having quickly diminished their numbers and fortitude.
Placing a red-cuffed boot to Booth’s thigh, Navarrone pulled his cutlass from Booth’s belly and let the dying man slip to the deck. Reaching down, he took hold of the young woman’s arm.
Instantly, the pretty wench began to struggle.
“Let me go!” she demanded. “Unhand me, you filthy pirate!”
Placing the tip of his cutlass, still smeared with Bully Booth’s blood, to the soft hollow of her throat, he growled, “Come with me, wench, and you might live.” He glanced to the advancing crewmen of the
Screaming Witch
, adding, “Or you may remain here and surely die…but only after Bully Booth’s men have punished you for the death of their captain.” She glared at him, and he admired her for her defiance. “Of course they may take pity on you and merely flog you with the cat-o’-nine-tails first. Yet I think not. Moreover, you will wish for death after they—”
Navarrone flinched as the woman’s expectorated saliva met with his chin. He chuckled slightly, for he admired her for having mustered the courage to spit on him.
“Think carefully, wench,” he warned her, wiping her spittle from his face with the back of one hand. “Would you truly prefer a mob of angry pirates ruin, torture, and kill you when the dashing and merciful Captain Navarrone is offering to have you instead?”
Though he thought it impossible, the young woman’s expression of determined boldness increased. “I see no difference in the vileness of pirates,” she said.
Navarrone laughed—ran his cutlass through the throat of one of Bully Booth’s men as he advanced.
“Oh, my sweet little pomegranate,” he said as he took hold of her shoulders
, “how naive you women are in your knowledge of men.” Turning her from him, he tore open the back of her dress. She screamed and tried to run from him, but he easily caught her. He could see Booth’s men advancing and quickly stripped the dress from her body.
Securing his cutlass at his hip, he pulled the young woman back against him, wrapping his arms tight
ly about her waist.
“Let me go! Let me go!” she screamed as she struggled. Navarrone was surprised at her strength, yet he held tight as he backed toward the edge of the ship.
“Oh, but you’ll thank me one day, love,” he laughed as he hurled them both over the side of the
Screaming Witch
and into the sea.
An instant before the sea swallowed her, Cristabel Albay gasped her last breath. She was certain it would truly be her last breath, and as the water consumed her, she thought of her mother—prayed she would somehow be made happy. Yet mere moments later, her head broke the surface of the sea, and she exhaled the breath she had been holding—the one that had not been her last—gasping for another.
“Do you swim, woman?” the pirate Navarrone angrily inquired.
“Y-yes,” Cristabel stammered. Her thoughts were muddled, for panic was her only ally. Yet she was cognizant enough to know that her life was still in danger—not from pirates perhaps but from the sea.
“Then swim!” the pirate growled. “If you want to live to see another sunrise, then swim for the
Merry Wench
.”
Cristabel had only an instant to think—to consider. She glanced up to the
Chichester
, where pirates and British sailors yet battled. The
Screaming Witch
was already sailing, and Cristabel would rather have died than be the victim of the atrocities that would have met her aboard it.
Yet to abandon one pirate ship for another? It was madness! Still, she could not fathom drowning
, for drowning terrified her more than any other fate of death. Her only hope in surviving was to do as the pirate ordered. Perhaps she could beg mercy from the captain of the
Merry Wench
. She had heard tales of Navarrone the Blue Blade—tales of mercy. It was said the Blue Blade often showed clemency where other pirates showed none. Perhaps he would take pity on her—even return her to her home. Thus, with no other venue to follow, Cristabel began to swim—to swim for the
Merry Wench
and whatever fate awaited her there.
The girl was falling behind. She was a strong swimmer—especially for a woman—but Navarrone knew she would not make the
Merry Wench
without assistance. He stopped his stroke toward the ship, treading water until she reached him.
“Lower the rope ladder!” Navarrone shouted as he saw Baskerville looking over the side of the ship to the water. “Quickly, mate!” Baskerville nodded, and Navarrone knew the rope ladder would be waiting—if he could get the girl to it.
As she approached, he attempted to take hold of her in order to keep her head above water. Stubborn female that she was, however, she began to struggle.
“I’m not about to violate you here in the sea in the midst of battle, woman!” he growled. “I’ll swim you to the ship. But if you determine to keep fighting me, I’ll let the sea have you!”
She ceased her struggling at once, and for the first time he saw true fear in the depth of her violet eyes.
“That’s a good lassie,” he said. “Now, take my belt…here at the back,” he instructed, taking her hand and placing it at his belt. “I’ll swim you the rest of the way.”
Navarrone noted the manner in which the young woman did not simply go slack, allowing him to swim her on his own. She yet kicked her feet and stoked her free arm in rhythm with his. This girl was no dwindling lily. Again he wondered at what reason she had to have been aboard the
Chichester
. Perhaps she was its captain’s wife. Yet what man would bring his wife aboard a ship bound for war-ridden waters?
Breathless, Navarrone reached up, taking hold of the first rung of the rope ladder. The girl bobbed up beside him, and he frowned a moment. She was winded—but there was something more.
“Here,” he said, awkwardly removing his long knee-length vest. “Cover yourself with this.” He helped her to put her arms through the vest, adding, “Else your health is compromised from the wet and lack of clothing.”
“I have no clothing because you tore it from my body,” she said through chattering teeth.
Navarrone glared at her. “The wetted weight of those bolts of fabric you women deem attire would have taken us both to Davy Jones’s locker. You should be thanking me for allowing you to keep your undergarments and not stripping you to the skin!”
Still she returned his glare with defiance. Navarrone admired her will. He felt a grin tug at the right corner of his mouth.
“Now, unless you want to board my ship in nothing but your white, now gossamer, underclothes…I suggest you secure those vest buttons,” he said.
Cristabel frowned even though, as she clung to the bottom rung of the rope ladder and struggled to fasten the buttons of the pirate’s long vest, she understood why he had stripped her before hurtling them both over the side of the
Screaming Witch
and into the sea. The weight of her dress would have easily drowned her. Yet she was further suspicious—suspicious of a pirate who would take concern over her modesty. Perchance he was simply trying to avoid chaos among his men. No doubt a woman dressed only in her near-transparent underthings would cause disorderly behavior among the sort of miscreants known to sail pirate vessels.
“Now up the rope with you, love,” Captain Navarrone ordered. “I have plundering to attend to.”
Cristabel endeavored to pull herself up onto the rope ladder. The strength of her arms and legs was spent from swimming, however, and she could not manage it. Furthermore, the pirate’s long, blue brocaded vest was wet and heavy. Again she attempted to pull her body onto the ladder and failed. She gasped when she felt a strong hand at her seat as Captain Navarrone boosted her up.
“Grab hold, girl!” he growled, boosting her seat once more.
His strength indeed assisted her, and she began to climb. Her arms and legs were trembling and weak—heavy. Yet she persevered—even for the group of pirates gazing down at her from the ship’s deck.
“Pull her up, Baskerville!” the pirate captain barked from below her.
“Aye, Cap’n,” a weathered-looking man called, offering a bronzed, knurled hand to Cristabel.
She paused—for the man was a pirate. A pirate! She could hardly fathom how she had come to be climbing up the rope ladder of a ship straight into the hands of pirates. Yet neither could she sort out the events that had found her kidnapped and taken prisoner aboard a British merchant vessel.
“Give me your hand, lassie,” the weathered man said, snapping the fingers of the hand he offered. “Come now. Ain’t a beauty in all the world that wouldn’t rather be ravaged by Captain Navarrone ’stead of ol’ Bully Booth. Come aboard so’s that the cap’n can have his way with you.”
Cristabel gasped—paused in her ascent of the rope. Yet the weathered man only chuckled, as did the men on either side of him.
“Oh, come now, lassie. We was only havin’ a bit of fun with you now,” he chuckled.
Another hand boost to her bottom and Cristabel accepted the hand of the man called Baskerville.
“That’s it, kitten,” Baskerville said as he and another man pulled Cristabel onto the deck. She collapsed at once, too exhausted to stand.
Captain Navarrone stepped over the side and onto the deck then. Cristabel watched, still too weak to move, breathless from the exertion of escaping one pirate ship only to be taken aboard another.
“What say ye, Baskerville?” the pirate captain asked, stripping off his belt, baldric, and wet shirt and depositing them on the deck. He pulled the blue sash from about his head, tossing it aside as well. He was a large man—taller than Cristabel had surmised him to be in her few moments on the deck of the
Screaming Witch
. His revealed broad shoulders and bronzed, sculpted torso presented a far more intimidating character, and Cristabel was again struck by the knowledge she was in the hands of pirates.