broad shoulder.
“Don’t you dare to touch me!” she cried. “Don’t you dare!”
She gasped once more as he indecorously dumped her onto the berth. She began to evade him—to try to move from the berth—but the blade of his cutlass was at her throat in an instant.
“Do you know why I am christened the Blue Blade, love?” he asked. He stood looming over her, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead to slightly shade one eye. His scowl was intense, and Cristabel knew she was bested by his will.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, breathless with dread.
“It is for the sake that I am as quick with a blade as blue lightning is at striking,” he explained nevertheless. “Therefore, remember this, girl. I am weary…for the bloody Chichester and its troublesome female passenger have robbed me of my sleep for two days and a night. Thus, I will take my rest now…there on the chaise.” He nodded toward the chaise lounge. “And you will not move from this berth. You have spoiled my appetite for ravaging you this night, love…but I still wish to rest. Hence, remain where you are, else you provoke my temper again and I keep good my threat to slit your pretty throat.”
“Aye,” she whispered. She had vexed him too far. She sensed he would tolerate no further obstinacy from her.
Navarrone sighed—returned his cutlass to its place at his hip.
“Here is another moral lesson taught you by a pirate,” he said, glaring at her. “Strong will…it is a strength in character. However, pure belligerence leads to foolishness, recklessness for the sake of pride. Do not let your pride keep you from your righteous goals, love. You and I own the same desires.” His eyes narrowed; a mischievous grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “That is to say, our desires own congruence where the outcome of the mystery of traitors and the Chichester is concerned. Consequently, it would bode well for you if you were to cease in attempting to do battle with me at every turn. I want the bloody bastard who is aligned with the British and selling women abroad. You want to return to your home…to your beloved Richard. Then do not let your arrogance and determined defiance defeat you.”
Cristabel said nothing , for she could see there was wisdom in his sermon. She was at the mercy of pirates, and yet she did naught but provoke her captors. In that moment, she again realized how fortunate she was to be the pirate Navarrone’s prisoner, instead of the vile Bully Booth’s. She frowned, wondering why it was she could not hold her tongue and remember her good fortune whenever he provoked her.
“You have nothing to say?” he asked. “No retort dripping with sarcasm?”
Cristabel only shook her head—brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“Good…for I am very worn and need my rest,” he mumbled.
She watched as he turned toward the painting on the wall—seemed to study the image of the beautiful woman it owned.
“And do not disturb me while I sleep,” he said. “I would hate to be startled and accidentally run you through.”
Cristabel watched as he sat down on the chaise and raked a strong hand through his dark hair. He removed his boots and stretched out on the chaise. He was, of course, too large to fit on it properly, and she owned a moment of guilt for his discomfort.
“This bloody day is nearly over,” he mumbled. “I expect you to be asleep before the green flash of sunset, love.”
He closed his eyes , and Cristabel lay down in his berth. She rolled to her side—watched him for long moments as the light in the cabin further dimmed—until the sun dipped below the sea’s horizon and only the moonlight shone through the portholes to illuminate his form lying in pure masculine repose on the chaise.
She did not know how long she wept , though it seemed hours. Cristabel Albay wept for the sake of the anguish and fear she had kept buried in her bosom. She wept at the horror of what might have been had Bully Booth bested
“Don’t you dare to touch me!” she cried. “Don’t you dare!”
She gasped once more as he indecorously dumped her onto the berth. She began to evade him—to try to move from the berth—but the blade of his cutlass was at her throat in an instant.
“Do you know why I am christened the Blue Blade, love?” he asked. He stood looming over her, his dark hair tumbling over his forehead to slightly shade one eye. His scowl was intense, and Cristabel knew she was bested by his will.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, breathless with dread.
“It is for the sake that I am as quick with a blade as blue lightning is at striking,” he explained nevertheless. “Therefore, remember this, girl. I am weary…for the bloody Chichester and its troublesome female passenger have robbed me of my sleep for two days and a night. Thus, I will take my rest now…there on the chaise.” He nodded toward the chaise lounge. “And you will not move from this berth. You have spoiled my appetite for ravaging you this night, love…but I still wish to rest. Hence, remain where you are, else you provoke my temper again and I keep good my threat to slit your pretty throat.”
“Aye,” she whispered. She had vexed him too far. She sensed he would tolerate no further obstinacy from her.
Navarrone sighed—returned his cutlass to its place at his hip.
“Here is another moral lesson taught you by a pirate,” he said, glaring at her. “Strong will…it is a strength in character. However, pure belligerence leads to foolishness, recklessness for the sake of pride. Do not let your pride keep you from your righteous goals, love. You and I own the same desires.” His eyes narrowed; a mischievous grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “That is to say, our desires own congruence where the outcome of the mystery of traitors and the Chichester is concerned. Consequently, it would bode well for you if you were to cease in attempting to do battle with me at every turn. I want the bloody bastard who is aligned with the British and selling women abroad. You want to return to your home…to your beloved Richard. Then do not let your arrogance and determined defiance defeat you.”
Cristabel said nothing , for she could see there was wisdom in his sermon. She was at the mercy of pirates, and yet she did naught but provoke her captors. In that moment, she again realized how fortunate she was to be the pirate Navarrone’s prisoner, instead of the vile Bully Booth’s. She frowned, wondering why it was she could not hold her tongue and remember her good fortune whenever he provoked her.
“You have nothing to say?” he asked. “No retort dripping with sarcasm?”
Cristabel only shook her head—brushed the tears from her cheeks.
“Good…for I am very worn and need my rest,” he mumbled.
She watched as he turned toward the painting on the wall—seemed to study the image of the beautiful woman it owned.
“And do not disturb me while I sleep,” he said. “I would hate to be startled and accidentally run you through.”
Cristabel watched as he sat down on the chaise and raked a strong hand through his dark hair. He removed his boots and stretched out on the chaise. He was, of course, too large to fit on it properly, and she owned a moment of guilt for his discomfort.
“This bloody day is nearly over,” he mumbled. “I expect you to be asleep before the green flash of sunset, love.”
He closed his eyes , and Cristabel lay down in his berth. She rolled to her side—watched him for long moments as the light in the cabin further dimmed—until the sun dipped below the sea’s horizon and only the moonlight shone through the portholes to illuminate his form lying in pure masculine repose on the chaise.
She did not know how long she wept , though it seemed hours. Cristabel Albay wept for the sake of the anguish and fear she had kept buried in her bosom. She wept at the horror of what might have been had Bully Booth bested
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