Free The Pirate Ruse by Marcia Lynn McClure

eat more. Sip the water as well. Do not be greedy.” He set the tankard of water on the berth.
    “I suppose I should thank you for not…for not…” she stammered.
    “For not despoiling you when I had the chance last evening?” he finished for her. She frowned, unsettled, and he continued, “Fear not, love. The only parts of you revealed to me last night were memories of your abduction and journey to the Chichester .”
    Cristabel gasped as Captain Navarrone then took hold of the heel of each boot she wore, s tripping them from her feet in one swift motion. “Forgive me, but I am in need of my boots, wench.” He chuckled. “Ah! How many times have I uttered that phrase, eh?”
    “You’re vile,” Cristabel growled with disgust.
    “ Oh, you have no idea, love,” he said, pulling on the boots. “Hmm,” he hummed, looking at her. “Fancy that. They’re still warm.”
    Perhaps he was not so congenial after all—still a vulgar pirate , only less ill-tempered.
    “Now, eat up, love,” he said, striding for the door , “for you and I have matters to discuss before we reach New Orleans. Though you revealed much last night, you are still keeping secrets…and I mean to harvest them from you.” He paused, glowering at her over one shoulder. “By whatever means necessary.”
    Captain Navarrone closed the door , and Cristabel melted into sobbing.
    *
    By the warm, orange light in the cabin, Cristabel knew she had been asleep for hours. Very groggy and still weak, Cristabel sat up. As full consciousness was hers, she yet paused, remembering the miserable state of her being when last she had awakened. After a moment, however, she began to feel that her head did not ache so painfully as it had—that she did not feel overwhelmed by nausea. Carefully, she moved to stand, bracing herself against the wall with one hand for a moment, uncertain as to how long her legs would support her. When she did not collapse, she was reassured.
    The vile st taste lingered in her mouth, and she remembered the tankard of water. She hoped she had not already drunk it all. She glanced about for the tankard, surprised to see a small glass vial sitting on the floor next to the tankard. Picking up the vial, she removed its lid and was immediately met with the strong, rather frosty scent of peppermint.
    “Peppermint oil,” she whispered , and she could not help smiling, for Captain Navarrone had proved his intelligence once more. Peppermint oil was rare, wildly expensive, and very effective in treating nausea and ailments of the stomach and bowels. Cristabel knew the vile taste lingering in her mouth would also be vanquished with a drop of the oil derived from the leaves of a species of herb plant. Carefully, she tipped the vial, allowing two drops of the oil to alight on her finger.
    Placing her finger to her tongue , she smiled and sighed, “Mmm!” Lifting the tankard lid, she allowed several drops of peppermint oil to mix with the water it contained. Gripping the tankard handle, she swirled the water and oil a moment before drinking of its heavenly refreshment.
    Cristabel sipped the peppermint-laced water as she combed her hair with Captain Navarrone’s bone comb. She removed the pirate’s shirt she’d slept in, straightened her chemise and corset, and even dabbed some of the water from the tankard beneath her eyes and on her neck to freshen herself. Within half the hour, Cristabel felt much recovered. She likewise considered that it might be best to dwindle of thirst before ever pilfering rum again. It was no wonder rum was referred to as the demon drink. Cristabel was inwardly disgusted with herself for owning such ignorance—in owning such thorough belligerence that she had attempted to best Captain Navarrone by drinking rum when he had threatened to let her linger in thirsting.
    She thought again of his threats—as well as his vile offering to quench her thirst with the moisture of his own.
    “Blackguard,” she mumbled. Yet in