Authors: Marcia Lynn McClure
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!
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 further 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.”