Hi, my dear readers!
And once again 'sooooorrrryyyyy' for the delay, but my dear beta-reader has a lot of going on in her life, and she found barely time to work her miracles on my poor writing again. Yet the result is super, and I hope you're going to like it. The chapter will be sweet and romantically – the peace before the hell breaks loose, so to say.
Thank you very much for all the reviews / comments. I really do appreciate every feedback and enjoy it.
But now: off to Neverland.
Have fun
Love
Yours Lywhn / Starflight
Chapter 26 – Hours of Bliss
Dalton Ashford stood under the glory of the stars in their miserable campground and glanced out at the night sea that shone like a black mirror beneath the stars and the moon, creating a rippling view of the unfamiliar sky. His pocket watch told him that it wasn't that late, yet the darkness was complete an hour ago and – typical for the tropics – night fell almost instantly after sunset. The noises in the trees about them and the jungle nearby reminded him of those he'd heard in Jamaica, after visiting the United States. He hadn't liked them then, either.
Behind him, the others talked quietly about inconsequential things in the erected tents, using English again, for discussions about African hunts, football results and the high cost of rents for cheap flats did not interest the Indians or the Fae. All they had planned for the next day had been discussed in French. Wickham had taken notes to share with Fulsom, then tossed the sheet of paper into the fire. He smiled grimly. There was no way that the natives and those pesky fairies would know what hit them all tomorrow.
Yet … something eerie had happened. The moment the sheet was ash, something like a jolt went through them and the island around them – a jolt or a mild earthquake, then a soft warm breeze swept over them, setting off the music of the leaves around them. The men had looked at one another then left the tent, espying waves of pink light spiraling upward through the air and vanishing into the night sky. Conversation was ended; they each silently called it a night. This island was just too full of magic, and none of the unwanted visitors desired to be involved with it.
Dalton had stepped out of the tent to get some fresh air, as well as smoke one of the few cigars he'd brought along (which seemed to the rest of them to be at cross-purposes.) Now he stood there and watched the calm, dark sea. His gaze wandered to the massive galleon that rocked peacefully on the waves. There were a few lights on deck. He and the others had been surprised as the ship had moved, turning 180 degrees, pushed by the current of the sea, before the bow anchor had been dropped again – a simple but brilliant maneuver. Now the large quarter deck was facing away from the island and the bow faced Neverland. Any kind of attack with handguns was useless. Hook – Shalford – knew what he was doing, and was obviously a good seaman. That much Dalton grudgingly allowed that one-handed bastard.
Taking a drag from the cigar, the viscount frowned, eyes still fixed on the ship. Pondering his rival, he had to agree with Hutchings. This man was indeed James Andrew Shalford, as impossible as it seemed. He had not only escaped the king's soldiers and his ancestor Gilbert Ashford's henchmen, fleeing on a ship in Bristol, but he had made a seemingly successful career as pirate, then survived the last two hundred years by "holing up" here in this fairy realm. Well, time had no meaning here – the reason why Shalford still seemed to be somewhere in his mid-thirties and that boy was still … well … a boy! Yet reality had finally caught up with them and this mysterious island – and it was the boy's own fault. Taking the nearly adult Wendy back to Neverland had set a chain of events into motion that clearly influenced this world. Ashford assumed that it would worsen when he took the youth and the others along with him.
A footfall was behind him, and turning, he looked into the eyes of Einar Anders. He had one of those modern cigarettes between his lips and his hands in his trouser pockets. He sauntered toward the viscount, lifted a hand, took another deep drag of the cigarette and pinched it between two fingers, while blowing the smoke out of his nostrils. "Taking in the night air before going to sleep, Milord?" he asked, gaze wandering to the sea.
"Something like that," Dalton admitted, noting Anders' glance. "I think better in the fresh air."
The Dane grunted, taking another drag at his cigarette. "And the best fresh air is always near the sea." His posture and eyebrows spoke volumes to Ashford.
"Are you up for another walk? You were pretty shaken earlier."
Anders grumbled, "I tried to push the beast away. It's an easy way to deal with flight animals, but, of course, I hadn't studied unicorns. It's not a flight animal. And it certainly exudes strong magic. I felt like my body was paralyzed by ice and fire." He shook his head. "Hutchings was right, you know. He knelt down beside me while you fought, he told me that only young girls – virgins – and children are able to touch a unicorn. All others flee away reeling – or lose their minds. I suppose I'm lucky that I was 'only' in pain."
"Yes, Lady Luck was on your side," Dalton nodded and patted his shoulder. "But you feel better?" As the Dane nodded, Ashford jerked his head toward the sea. Both men left the camp.
Picking their way down the hill through the woods they ignored the many little lights following them. Minutes later they reached the beach, and slipping out of their laced hiking boots, walked with bare feet through the soft sand, still warm from the sun. Finally they reached the at the water's edge where the surf ploshed quietly against the shore.
Dalton's glance wandered to the galleon again, beyond range of their guns. Its dark silhouette melted with the sea and the night sky above. Only the lights fore and aft and the sound of voices told them that the crew wasn't sleeping.
"They can see us from there," Ashford murmured, dragging at his half-smoked cigar. Einar's cigarette had been discarded beneath his foot somewhere up the hill, what was probably more offensive to the Fae than the lanyards!
"It's too dark to aim. Of course, we could be a couple of the Indians. It's also too dark to see details from afar. And I don't think the pirates will risk a jeopardizing their truce with the Natives because they shot at two warriors by accident."
"Do you think it's safe to speak openly?" the viscount wanted to know.
"We would see any fairy or pixie that approaches, here in the open; the same goes for the Indians or the boy. None of them has left the cover of the woods. And the ship is too far away to hear anything definite. So, yes, I think it's safe to speak here, if we keep our voices low." The Dane put his hands in his pockets again. Pursing his lips, he again looked at the ship. "It must have been a shock for you, seeing the girl you want to marry defending another man like that – a criminal as well." He grimaced. "I hope for your sake, your lordship, that she comes to her senses when we're back in London. She's a pretty thing, I must admit. And she's a fighter. Tamed and schooled with a firm hand, she might make a good lady of the house."
"You mean, if we get her off that ship tomorrow," Dalton grumbled sourly, while they walked towards the north, away from the Indian camp.
"Our plan has many 'ifs,'" Einar said, and not for the first time that evening.
"I know," Dalton growled. "But I have no other choice. My honor is at stake – and, by the way, even though Miss Darling is obviously under the spell of the Fae -"
"And harbors a thoroughly childish tendency for misplaced romance," Einar added.
Ashford answered him with a grimace. "So it seems," he commented and took a deep breath and continued. "Be that as it may, I will not break my given word. And I certainly will not lose against a Shalford!" He stopped and stared back to the galleon. "And all this because of that cursed boy. If he hadn't interfered, Shalford would be dead and Wendy would be with us," he spat.
Anders had stopped too, and observing his employer, noting the rising fury in those starlit ice-grey eyes. "Well, the boy seems to have a talent for making enemies, seeing that Hook stayed here all this time only to get 'hand and claw' on the imp." He snorted. "And now they're best of friends." He shook his head. "Children – they're easy to direct if you know how to catch their interest. And, from what I learned from those 'diaries', the boy ignores all danger when a friend is in need of help." He turned fully around towards Ashford. "And that might be how we can get him."
Dalton crossed his arms. "What do you mean?"
"You want to take him with you back to London," Anders said casually and smirked slyly at Dalton's startled glance. "I heard you when you told Madame Lunette that you would do your best to bring her what she wants, before we stepped through the portal. And your interest in the boy is rather … unusual, given the fact that he is only a child." He cocked his head. "She wants the boy for some sort of ritual, does she not?"
Ashford sighed. He'd thought long about how to bring up this topic without sounding too bizarre, but it seemed the Dane had already landed on the truth. And, of course, he wouldn't be able to catch the boy himself. He needed help. Additionally, Anders seemed to resent the young churl after their first encounter together, so Einar was the best candidate for this "other" task.
"He is the quintessential youth – the eternal boy," Dalton finally replied. "I think he's even older than Shalford, yet he appears to be a prepubescent boy. Brynna … she wants to brew some youth potion from his blood."
He saw Einar's eyes widening, then the Dane whispered, "So, she is really a witch. I thought as much."
Dalton made a face. "She, uh, … knows about one or two magical things, yes, but she is no witch," he declared, defending his old nanny. "I've known her all my life and she never did anything to harm me or my family. And I don't think she rides a broomstick."
'You think not,' Anders' mind scoffed. 'But do you know it?' Aloud he said, "But she can use magic. We all saw it as she opened the portal."
"Yes." The viscount took another deep breath, throwing the stub of the cigar into the surf, providing a whole new taste sensation for any passing mermaid. "After all she did for me – for my whole family, honestly, Anders, you have no idea – I can't deny her one desire to possibly cheat death. She's old and if she can gain a few years more by brewing this potion, so be it." He lowered his gaze. "Only … we're talking about a child here." He looked up again. "I would have no problem killing Shalford. He's the son of a royal traitor and a pirate who's certainly performed his share of crimes. For those reasons alone, he should be hanged, but English justice is far away. But the boy is a different story. He may be magical, but he is child. I absolutely will do nothing that could seriously harm or kill him, yet I've no idea how to catch him. Shalford tried to for almost two hundred years, if I read the story right, but the boy bested him over and over again – and Shalford had no scruple concerning killing Pan. If he failed time and time again, I don't think that our chances are better."
"Unless he is lured into a trap," Einar smirked again.
Ashford snorted. "Shalford already tried to catch him by taking Miss Darling's younger brothers hostage. One pirate ended up with a scar and a broken nose – a little demonstration of Wendy's temper – one was shot, two others swallowed enough sea water to give them belly ache for days, and Shalford himself nearly died between a crocodile's teeth. One thing I have learned by reading Wendy's diaries: never underestimate the boy."
Anders watched him with a half-smile. "Yet you can manipulate him like any other child. And I think I have the perfect plan to reach our goal."
Dalton frowned. "'Our' goal?" he asked.
Anders snorted. "I have nothing against children, do not think me that cold, but after what this flying annoyance did to my men and me," he pointed at the large bruise on his jaw where Peter's heel had struck him, "I am motivated to give him a good thrashing and to make sure that he can do no more harm. I do not know if he is an enchanted boy or indeed a changeling, but one certainty: he is magical and perhaps not even fully human anymore. But he is dangerous and must be stopped. Or do you think he will just step aside and wish you well when you take his lady friend back to London? He would do anything to get her back. You and your family would never have any peace as long as that brat is free and flying around."
Dalton nodded slowly. "I feel the same, yet … I won't hold him captive or … do worse to him. Changeling or not, he's a child!"
Anders held back a sigh of frustration, but said, "Then give him to an orphanage – one that will not ask questions, is not afraid to send the older children to the workhouses. It would take the brat down a few pegs. He might even be tamed. If not, he'll have to bear the consequences. But first we have to capture him. And I know how we will do it."
Dalton nodded and listened closely to Anders …
*** PP ***
Unaware of the sinister plans which were hatching on the beach, Wendy and James lay nestled together in absolute peace – drowsy and still emotionally flying in the warmth of the aftermath. Both felt exhausted, but also more alive than ever before.
Hook was still on his back and Wendy was draped over him, held by his shortened right arm of which he wasn't ashamed anymore. A soft smile came and went on the girl's lips, still reddened from the many passionate kisses. Utterly contented, she listened to the sound of his heart beneath her ear, now beating in union with hers. The rising and falling of his chest, the hairs tickling her cheek, were in harmony with the movement of the ship on the tide, and lured her toward sleep. Yet what had just happened still stimulated her body, mind and spirit, not allowing her to fall asleep.
Never in her wildest dreams she had thought it could be like this – that man and woman could experience such bliss in each other's arms. The brief pain at the beginning was only a distant memory. What had followed had been too beautiful – too intense and mind altering – to remember a little stinging.
Slowly, Wendy opened her eyes. She could see some of James' chest and curls, a corner of the cabin, bathed in the dim flickering light of the candles on the table. The soft creaking noises of the ship, its gentle movements, the fresh air coming through one of the windows, James' warm arm around her, the echo of the ecstasy in heart and soul … Wendy had never been as happy as this moment. So, this was what it felt like to be a woman! Well, nothing had really changed, and yet so very much. She now felt … whole. In their joining, she felt like a missing part of her had settled into her soul where it belonged. This gift James had given her.
Lifting her head, she looked at his face. His eyes were still closed but he was smiling. She'd never seen this smile before on any man, an almost foolish, happy smile that wiped away his age. Succumbing to the overwhelming affection that filled her, she pressed a kiss to his chest, still amazed at how smooth his skin felt. She tasted salt and him, a mixture she would never tire of. Of this she was already certain.
He sighed softly and finally opened his eyes. Those incredible eyes, bluer than the Caribbean Sea on a summer day, met hers and Wendy's breath hitched as she saw the warmth in them. Giving in to an impulse she stretched and brushed her mouth over his when his hand tangled in her hair and held her there. Lazily, deliciously, gently he returned the kiss.
James was still in paradise – or at least, as close to it as a human could get. He imagined himself weightless and floating in those pink Neverland clouds, warm and content. As he flew for the first and last time five years ago, during that epic fight against Peter Pan, it had felt similar, yet this was so much better. So much much better! This 'flying' wasn't about victory over his mortal enemy. This 'flying' was because of true happiness. If he'd been granted fairy dust at this moment, he could have soared to the moon.
He sighed as his restless nature rested peacefully for the first time in … centuries. It was as if a long period of starvation had finally come to an end and he was fully sated. Yet in him the flame of passion still simmered, and as Wendy pressed a kiss to his chest, that banked fire was blown to the full flame of a deep, all-consuming tenderness. Looking at the girl – his girl! – she shone like warm sunshine after a long, icy night. Those lively eyes shimmered, her full lips smiled the most heartbreaking smile he had ever seen, and feeling her slender, delicious body on his – their bodies melting together like they were made for each other – was the most comfortable sensation he ever had experienced. He knew he should rise and get a wet towel to wash them both, but it was far too comfortable at the moment.
Feeling Wendy's lips brushing over his and tasting her sweet scent, he could do nothing but hold her face close to his, returning the kiss with sincere adoration. He needed her nearness in a way that would have frightened him if he took the time to consider the impulse.
Yes, he remembered – sort of – the few liaisons he had during his time in the Royal Navy, and … others … since he had become a pirate. He also remembered a young, genteel English lady he'd once considered marrying, but after his career at sea took him away for more extended periods, he had released her to marry someone who could really share her life. He had loved, this much he knew, but never with such intensity and depth as now.
Hold it!
He loved?
Allowing Wendy to lift her head again, they looked at each other. Her gaze was tender, warm, shining, happy, loveable … Everything that made his heart fly on a soft breeze of summer wind, while this uncharacteristic endearment in him bloomed stronger and deeper.
Yes, perhaps that dark stone he'd known as a heart was still able to love. He dared hope so, because this feeling couldn't be anything else!
He felt a smile emerging again as she traced one delicate finger over the edge of his mouth. "There it is," she whispered, eyes full of wonder.
"There what is, my beauty?" he asked.
"My hidden kiss," she replied. Their gazes met again.
"Hm?" was his bemused response.
"My hidden kiss. Aunt Millicent saw it five years ago for the first time, just before I met Peter. She said every woman has one. It's her biggest adventure to find the one man it belongs to. Mother has a hidden kiss, too, and it is always stuck in the right corner of her mouth. I think, it belongs to Father." She chuckled as she saw James' open confusion now.
"A hidden kiss," he repeated, baffled.
Wendy nodded, smiling impishly, while she folded her arms on his chest. "Yes. I had one as a little girl. I gave it Peter to … well … save him from the wrath of a certain pirate captain." She winked at him. "But two years ago, Aunt Millicent said that I still have my hidden kiss. Maybe I got another one, because that of a little girl and that of a woman are different."
"Undoubtedly," Hook deadpanned, remembering the peck she gave him as a child and the kisses they shared over the last few days – and especially this evening.
Wendy giggled – a merry sound that made his heart skip a beat. Reaching her hand out again, she stroked that corner of his mouth. "Here it is," she murmured. "I think it realized that it must belong to you, and went home."
He could only stare at her, still bemused and a bit puzzled. If this was wonderfully true, then he had gotten a gift beyond imagination. " 'A hidden kiss knows to whom it belongs'… This is a worthy tale, my sweet storyteller."
"It's the truth!" Wendy replied. "I don't agree with Aunt Millicent often, but in this case she was right. A hidden kiss is a powerful thing. Remember how Peter grew all pink and how the power hurled your crew overboard, and you up into the rigging?"
Not a pleasant memory, he had to admit, yet she had a point. "Well, then a little girl's hidden kiss is certainly differs to that of a young woman. This time I didn't end up in the rigging, and the crew is still aboard, if I hear them correctly, but I've never flown as high as the stars before this evening." He couldn't know that the hidden kiss of the grownup Wendy had been even more powerful, because its magic had been visible even on the Mainland.
The young woman blushed at his teasing and chuckled. "Yes, we both flew – figuratively speaking." She bent her head and pressed another kiss to his chest. "And I still feel like I'm hovering in a cloud of stars!"
He grinned. "Me too," he admitted, before his left hand wandered down and over the small of her back. "Are you all right?" he asked quietly.
She gave him an impish smile. "Far better than that," she whispered.
"I didn't hurt you too badly?" he asked, concerned.
She saw that in his eyes and felt another rush of affection for this dark and dangerous man, who now also cared. And cared deeply, surely. Given the chance, James Hook could be now a good man, yet the pirate would forever live in him. And she felt more drawn to him than ever before.
"No, nothing to speak of. In the beginning, well … it stung, but then …" She sighed and her cheeks began to grow pink again. She buried her face at the crook of his neck and sighed again; for once too shy to speak her mind and still a bit foggy. She enjoyed his warmth and the strength of his body beneath her.
James suppressed a sigh of relief. She felt well and wasn't hurt. This was good! An inner voice reminded him that he still had to get something to wash her – but not now. To lie here like this, having her as his personal blanket and feeling her gentle heartbeat next to his was too heavenly to interrupt.
She pressed even closer to him, his hand wandering over her back in slow soft motions. The echo of what happened between them still enveloped them. Never – ever! – would he let this girl go! She was everything to him. Like a light in a very dark place, she made his whole world brighter again, filled it with warmth and gave his life back. She was a brave fighter, had a quick and clever mind, a witty tongue and yet held so much profundity that took him over and over by surprise, after all she was still young. So incredible young! Yet he could talk to her about almost everything, because she was a good listener – he couldn't know that she thought about him the same. She understood him, yet she didn't hesitate to speak her mind or to direct his attention to other details of a fact if necessary, so that he was forced to face the whole picture.
Yes, she was perfect for him – the other side to his coin, his other half. His muse, who …
'Avast, James Hook! Refrain, sailor! You sound like a pansy!' he groaned inwardly, but he couldn't help it. Whenever Wendy Darling was involved, the pirate in him retreated, making room for the man he had once been. Even when he grew angry, one smile and gaze from her was enough take the wind from that sail, and when she laughed, no seriously! It sounded to him like … music! Just like the music they could now hear from outside the cabin door …
'Split my infinitives!'
Music?
Listening closely, he recognized the gentle tones of a violin, accompanied by one or two squeezeboxes, a guitar, a penny whistle, and a few other instruments. Lifting his head, Hook stared towards the cabin door. His crew was … making music? When had that gang of cutthroats made music the last time? And it was not one of the scandalous pirate songs sung in the taverns of the Caribbean, but … well, he didn't know the melody, but he would bet his last shirt that it was a love song. And the lyrical style made it clear it was of Irish origin. Of course. Smee was the only one aboard who could play a violin he kept stowed somewhere in his cabin, but he hadn't played it for them in ages. Now his righthand man man had dug it out and was serenading the love birds.
Alas! It seemed the whole crew knew what had transpired.
Good God!
James didn't know if he should be amused or horrified, then he caught himself. Of course the crew knew what had happened in his quarters over the last hour. The bulkheads were solid, yes, but not thick enough to be soundproof. And, if he remembered correctly, he and Wendy had not been quiet.
He sighed, exasperated. Ordinarily he wouldn't mind. This was, after all, a pirate ship and – dammit! – even a captain had a private life! But Wendy came from a sheltered home, and her actions would not be accepted in "polite society," he was sure it would shock her to learn that his men knew perfectly well what had happened between them this evening.
Wendy became aware of the sweet music, too, and sighed happily. "That's beautiful," she murmured; her breath tickling James' neck.
"Aye," Hook agreed. "Very nice – though I can't remember hearing these scoundrels playing love-songs before."
She chuckled again. "Well, it certainly fits the evening better than some shanties or other … songs." She sighed in contentment – only to suddenly lift her head. "They … they're playing love-songs?" She looked at James. "But … why? They cannot know …" She saw a cheeky grin spreading over his face and blinked in shock. "They know?" she asked in a small voice.
James sniggered like a boy. "Sweetheart, this ship may be made of oak and teak, and the walls are strong and solid, but – believe me – they're not soundproofed."
Wendy's face had gone white, but now pinked to an alarming degree. She glanced appalled toward the door, swallowed and buried her face with an "OH N-O-O-O!" at his throat again.
Hook began to laugh heartily at this, while his arms tightened around her. "Don't get the vapors, m' hearty. You're on a pirate ship. Those dogs out there don't even know what the word 'decency' means, so-"
"That's beside the point," Wendy protested, face still hidden. Then she groaned and relaxed all of sudden as if someone had cut strings from the puppet. "Oh, James, what are they thinking now? What about Mr. Smee or-"
"They think that their captain is a very happy bastard who took the most beautiful girl in the world for himself," Hook whispered, raised her chin toward him and kissed her gently. A moaning sound escaped her, while she opened her lips willingly.
She hadn't known it was possible, but as he deepened the kiss, she felt the familiar desire deep in her and the knot returning to her belly. Her heart beat quickened and new heat licked beneath her skin. She was tired, yes, but her body seemed to have its own idea how to react to … to James' new fondling, as his hand wandered down her back to her bottom and squeezed it gently. She sighed as she felt the manly part of him rising. Oh my, could two people come together again so soon? His mouth moved to her neck and nipped at it, drawing another gasp from her. "James…" she murmured, voice hoarse, "Can we really … now … again?"
A gentle, warm deep laugh escaped him, while he lifted his head and looked down on her. There was so much tenderness in his eyes, it robbed her of breath. "Yes, Wendy-darling, we can!" he said with a deep purr in his voice, before he returned to his task to … to take her to heaven with his mouth, tongue and hand …
From the other side of the room, Short Tom was croaking softly, but was ignored. So he put his bald head beneath a moth-eaten wing and closed his one eye, while outside the music continued …
*** PP ***
Einar Anders lay wide awake in one of the tents, Dalton Ashford rested on the other side. They heard crickets chirping, the call of an owl and here and there other noises from animals, otherwise it was quiet. Only the waves rolling out on the beach were like a soft lullaby, played in a calming rhythm. Then other tunes mixed with the natural sound of the night: music. Soft music drifted through the air. It clearly came from the sea. And there was no doubt where the source lay.
"How romantic!" Anders scoffed. "Music on an old sailing ship, certainly a good dinner in the luxurious large captain's quarters she described so well in her diary. Wine, candlelight that mirrors those 'eyes blue as forget-me-nots' so charming …" He shook his head.
In the dark, Dalton pressed his lips into a thin line and stared grimly up at the tent's ceiling he couldn't see. "The plan to get her away from aboard might be dangerous, but I'm willing to take this risk. Now more than ever. I won't give that bastard any chance to bewitch her completely!" Furious, he turned on his side, facing away from Anders, hoping (for naught) that this 'silly girl' wasn't 'stupid' enough to fall for her dark seducer.
*** PP ***
The two lovebirds had fallen asleep after they had given into the fire of passion a second time. Weary, content and at peace, the two lay entangled between the sheets, lulled by the soft, gentle music that still played on the main deck.
Two hours later, James awakened to the late evening's silence. He blinked in confusion as he felt a gentle weight on him, the soft breaths on his chest. Then the memory of passion, delight and satisfaction returned, and his largest smile broadened on his face. He looked down on the girl in his arms – his sweet wildcat, his storyteller, his wild Red-Handed Jill, his beautiful Wendy. She lay deeply asleep and seemed to be even younger in her relaxed state. Her long lashes fanned on her cheeks, the mass of her hair spread over her back and his arms like a blanket made of the finest silk and her well-kissed lips were curled in a tiny smile. Lips, where at the right corner something seem to wink at him – her hidden kiss.
Yes, now he saw it. It had sat there as she was bound to the main-mast years before and he had realized that her stories – love-stories – had awoken in Peter his first tender feelings. He had taken a closer look at her mouth and known instantly that those lips were made to tempt and to render men helpless. Now, after she had become a young woman, those alluring red petals held an even greater secret than five years ago – her hidden kiss had changed and was now tantalizing him, because, now, it belonged to him. Deep down he knew that this one special kiss was, indeed, only for him. He wanted to take it, yet somehow he recognized that it had to be given, not taken.
Nuzzling the silky mess her hair was now, he threw a glance towards the table. The dishes, the plates with the food, the glasses, the wine bottle – everything still there. Well, langouste and lobster could be eaten cold, the wine tasted fine at room temperature and bread and fruits were always edible as long as they weren't old. So … a little late night dinner to come.
He feel asleep again only to wake up later again. In the light of the moon and a few remaining candles, he saw that Wendy had sat up, glancing around her. He placed his hand on her bare back. "Are you well, kitten?" he asked quietly; his voice still rough from sleep.
She smiled, looking down on him. "Yes, perfect," she mumbled. "I only had to remember where I am."
"Hm," he nodded, then he watched how she winced, pulling the blanket away and looking down. "Oh dear!" and he remembered another thing – something he should have done by now, but – anon! – had been too comfortable to lie quietly with her.
Sitting up, he rose somewhat clumsily, his lower back now complaining. Well, it had been some time since his last 'activity' in bed – almost two hundred years which felt like … one or two years or so. Rubbing the ache in his back, he went to the water closet with stiff steps, his thigh muscles complaining they were out of shape for that sort of thing. Growling he returned moments later with a washcloth and a towel.
Wendy was hugging her knees, sniggering as she saw his stagger. "Problem?" she teased, knowing he was suffering the same difficulties as she. Yet seeing his naked body, strong limbs, narrow hips and broad shoulders awakened her fire again. She giggled. Was this normal? He mumbled something in return, and was surprised when he sat down on the bed and gestured to her to stretch out. "Why?" she asked.
"Sweetie, believe me, you'll want this between your lovely legs," he answered wryly and smirked as she promptly blushed. Still so innocent…
Soon, the physical traces of their lovemaking were gone. He then poured water from a pitcher, which Wendy gratefully drank. "Is there something still left from dinner?" she asked, and they were soon feasting at the table – he in his breeches and she in his shirt, more like a dress on her. Yes, cold lobster and langouste were delicious, and Wendy was happy to provide James with some peeled fruits she prepared for him and herself. And, a happy surprise, he wasn't ashamed of showing his bare wounded arm. At first, he was a bit shy about it, but that soon disappeared. Both had nothing to hide any longer between one another.
Talking animatedly together, James finally had to replace the few still candles with new ones he had stowed in one of the chests. "We're running out again," he sighed, while he removed some large thin books to reach the candle sticks. For a moment he looked at them oddly, then he shrugged, laid them on the desk and brought out the new candles "I must order Mason and Cookson to make new ones."
"Make?" Wendy watched him as he returned to the table.
"Aye. We create the wax using a mix of beeswax and wax from the sugar cane that grows near Pirate's Cove."
"And here I thought sugar cane is only used to make rum," Wendy commented dryly.
He laughed quietly. "Well, sugar cane is useful in many ways. Just like the different berries we to use to create wine."
Lifting her glass, Wendy held it against the light of the candle. "I thought this was a common red wine."
"Not much experience with wine, m' hearty?" he said softly, and as she shook her head, he snorted in amusement. "Then let me share with you that a real glass of good red wine from France or Spain cannot compare with what we've made here." He poured two "fingers" into a clean glass which she sipped appreciatively. "But because we're cut off from the Mainland, we take what we can get. A few members of the crew have developed rather practical skills I haven't given them credit for. We have discovered that necessity is the mother of invention."
Wendy nodded. "Yes, you and the crew are a living examples of it. But you were born in a time when many things were done at home by hand instead of running to the next shop for them. I think, this certainly made folks more inventive than today."
Hook pushed his empty plate back and crossed his arms on the table. "Yes, my time versus today. I read one of those books you gave me."
Her eyes lit up. "Truly?"
"Yes, and I have a few questions. Or rather, a list." He watched her begin to laugh.
"A list? Really, James?" Her laughter pealed. "Well, let's see it. I try to answer the best I can."
He raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you will tell me what you think you can tell me, or are you going to share your what you know completely?"
"Don't be so suspicious," she snickered, then placed a hand on his injured arm, speaking soberly. "I'll tell you all I know or how much I understand of anything you ask, all right?"
He nodded with a frown, "Hm!" walked to his desk and returned with a piece of paper and the book 'Around the World in 80 Days' she'd loaned him. Placing both on the table he took a seat next to her again. Opening the book, he searched for a special drawing. The main character of the book – Phileas Fogg – and his new hired servant, Jean Passepartout, were manning a train. "What is this?" he asked, tapping one finger on the train in the picture.
"It's a railway," she replied softly. "There are large carriages hooked together, and all are pulled by a locomotive, a strong rolling machine that uses the pressure of steam in an engine to drive the wheels. Everything is set on two parallel sections of track – the railway – so that they can move smoothly along them. It's a very popular way to travel now. There are many railways which lead from London around Great Britain. A train, as it is also called, can carry a lot of people and cargo, and stops at stations, which are meeting points where people can get off or on the train after paying for the travel. The price depends on the travel destination. The more distant it is, the higher the price."
Hook was listening closely with wide eyes. "And … how long have they existed?"
"I'm not sure about the exact year, but the first ones moved with steam were introduced perhaps eighty years ago or so. They are designed after the wooden wagons which were used in mines to transport coal or silver in the 17th century."
The pirate nodded slowly. "Like the old wheel ruts in ancient Egypt," he mused. "They were used for wooden carriages to assure safe passage while loaded with heavy goods."
Wendy smiled shyly. "I hadn't heard about old Egypt. I'm rather interested in their beliefs and buildings, but it's the same principle, you're right. But today our trains and wagons – the 'carriages' – are made of steel and only the accoutrements within the cars are still made of wood."
Taking a very deep breath, Hook closed the book. "What other ways are there to travel?" he wanted to know, trying not to be overwhelmed by the many years he had missed being here.
"Oh, lots. There are motorcars, self-driving carriages without horses. Ships move with steam. Oh, and they are testing ships that dive and travel beneath the water surface. We have telephones now. These are speaking and listening devices which are linked with wires which transport your voice, so that you can speak with people who are far away. And … James?" She saw him staring at her. Oh… well, right. These technical developments hadn't existed when the book had been written, so they were even newer to him than what he had found. "Well, a lot has changed," she finished.
"So I see," he mumbled and took a rather large gulp of wine. "Perhaps being stuck here isn't all that bad. I think too many things have changed on the the Mainland to get used to."
Wendy gave him a smile full of sympathy. "Yet a few things you would love, I'm sure. When I think about all the sports which people enjoy now not only in school but also professionally—"
"Which brings me to another question. You got stronger, beauty, and you said you did sport in school. Fencing and riding are activities I know well, even if I must ask when girls began to be trained to use swords."
"We use épées or rapiers. They are less weighty," the young woman added, eyes sparkling. "And I already had two excellent teachers when I was a little girl."
"Was?" he teased and smirked as she promptly pushed out her lower lip toward him, then he turned serious again. "So, you learned to fence properly. Maybe I should test how well you handle a sword, that maybe you no longer look like you were preparing to peel potatoes." At this she stuck her tongue out at him, which made him laugh. "Sweetie, I beg your pardon. I know that you gave me your best five years ago and you did put a hole in my sleeve. Smee had to repair it, swearing like only a sailor can. But – don't be offended – how you brought the harpies down is still a miracle to me. You swung that sword like you used the teak figure in the Black Castle to defeat the redcaps."
" 'The style is less important, only results count'," she quoted to him. "But you would be really surprised to see my swordplay now," she replied proudly. "I'm at the top of the fencing class for three years now, and even beat a few of the older girls who had more practice. My teacher thinks that I use rather unusual methods – well, I learned them from you – but that 'my quick mind gives me a definite advantage which compensates for some less practical experience' is how he put it." She had imitated her teacher's voice and accent, making Hook chuckle. 'She even turns a report about her school life into a story.'
But there was more. "You're using pirate methods while fencing? Tsk tsk, Jill, you might have given the poor man a heart attack." She grinned puckishly, and he had the sudden urge to kiss her again, but resisted. He still had so many questions. "What about the other sports you talked about? Tennis and … badminnow?"
"Badminton," she corrected him with a giggle. "They are both played with rackets, but for tennis, it's a ball you hit toward your opponent over a low net, and you must try to make him miss hitting it back, but the ball has to remain inside a marked area. The other version, badminton, is played with a shuttlecock. You need a different technique to play that one over a raised net, but both sports are quick and require endurance." She watched him thoughtfully. "I think you would love football."
"Football." He raised his brow skeptically.
"Oh, 'a world without football is manageable but pointless' – Nib's and John's words," she laughed, "not mine. Even Father's eyes glow with enthusiasm when discussing the sport with our neighbors or his coworkers."
"Right. Football means a ball that is played with the feet – something all small boys do. What is the attraction?"
Wendy laughed quietly, then took the time to explain to him what type of sport that had conquered Europe and as well as other parts of the world over the past fifty years. Afterwards James' head seemed to buzz with all the information. So, sports seemed to be very important today. Well, in earlier ages, knights competed in tourneys, which had been important entertainment for all classes, too, just like the old games in ancient Rome. People hadn't changed; but it didn't sound like they were killing each other in the games either.
"And you do not play football?" he asked and Wendy shook her head.
"No, I'm more into sports of agility – sports that can train me in skills I can use while having real adventures, like fencing and riding."
"Well, they fit you, Red-Handed Jill. I'm sure you have surprised your classmates and teachers. And teachers always had the last word in a boarding school. It's not always pleasant, but never changes." He pursed his lips. "Where is this boarding school you attend?"
"Near Brighton, above a cliff." She smiled ruefully. "At least from there I could look out onto the sea, often imagining a large sailing ship in the fog, cannons firing, flags waving. Your ship." She pinked a bit as she met his surprised, then intense gaze. "Well, Vicky and I often came up with different stories about brave seamen, mermaids and sea monsters – and pirates," she added, grinning.
"Of course," Hook nodded. "No story of the sea is any good without pirates." He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then frowned, "You and this Ashford girl … you are close?"
"Yes," Wendy nodded firmly, "best friends."
"Again, my dear, be careful," he said, his voice suddenly stern. "You saw a side of her cousin you hadn't seen before. It might not happen with this girl you call a friend, but no one can know for sure. An Ashford is always-" Her fingers on his lips stopped him.
"James, please listen a moment before you condemn her. You're not the only one who suffers because of her family. Victoria does, as well. Her father was the younger half-brother of Dalton's father. He and his wife died at sea five years ago, leaving Victoria alone, an only child. Dalton's father, Earl Marlow Ashford, the current family patriarch, became her guardian and had nothing better to do with her than send her to Roedean only a few days after her parent's funeral, removing a grieving girl from his presence and daily responsibility. During the holidays, she is only tolerated at the manor, and is mostly sent off to her mother's sister, Lady Catherine, or to other friends. Unfortunately, the earl wants to marry her off as soon as possible, with no consideration for what she wants."
"He wants to be rid of this troublesome responsibility," the captain acknowledged. "Sad, but normal for such situations – especially for this family," he all but growled.
"To push a little girl off to boarding school who had just become an orphan is hard-hearted!" Wendy took a deep breath and continued, "When Vicky arrived, she was still mourning her parents, her lost home in Morocco, her lost freedom. She had to cope with a cold-hearted uncle and a snippy aunt, Dalton's parents. Dalton himself was kind to her, but … he keeps his distance. Vicky was quiet, wept a lot and was desperately homesick, as I was. And while she grieved for her parents, I yearned to be back in Neverland, to be here again with Peter, Tinker Bell, Bumblyn … and you."
At this his eyes softened. He didn't like the thought of a homesick and unhappy Wendy. Alas, she really had him wrapped around her amazingly lovely and strong fingers. And it felt good!
"Most of the other girls laughed at our tears and mocked us," Wendy continued. "Vicky and I struggled together, and we discovered kindred feelings in each other and it made us stick together, but our time together is nearing its end. When this school year ends in the summer and Vicky finishes school, she'll be trapped. While my parents certainly would have given me some time more before I'd become a 'nice, obedient housewife', the earl already plans to marry Vicky off to someone she doesn't even know as soon as possible. I told you about her being in love with someone."
"Yes, the reason why you danced with the viscount often enough to make him get his hopes up. The result snores over there." He flipped his thump towards the island.
Wendy had to smile. "Well, if they snore too loudly, the pixies will pay them back by pulling their ears."
"Hm, so Pan shouldn't be called 'fairy's child' but 'pixie's child'," James commented wryly, making Wendy laugh. Yes, in his character Peter resembled a pixie. Then she grew serious again, hoping to make James understand how much Victoria differed from the other Ashfords.
"The problem is, the earl will never accept Vicky and Daniel as a match, because he fears that other families in his class will gossip viciously about his niece marrying outside of their social class, which would compromise his family's reputation."
"Reputation!" Hook scoffed and rolled his eyes. "The Ashford's reputation can't be worse!"
A sigh escaped Wendy. "I understand your feelings. I really do, but please don't measure Vicky and her uncle's family by the same yardstick. It would be unfair, because she differs completely from the old earl and his wife, whom I had the displeasure to meet … once."
The captain's gaze was fixed on her determined face and the fierce aspect of her eyes. She was standing up for her friend, as she did for all who found a place in her too-large heart. This was an additional element of her character he admired: protecting her friends no matter what. And she and this girl had obviously become very close. She was right: collecting the entire family together under the label of "scoundrels and cheats" was certainly wrong. How many generations lay between the murders of his brothers and father and this girl? How many other people had married into the family since that time, altering parts of their character? Certainly a few brought better traits to the Ashfords. And – just maybe! – this girl Victoria was a decent sort who was worthy of Wendy's friendship and protection, but he was wary when it came to anyone with the name Ashford. They were devious, cunning and-
Hold it! What had she said about the school year ending? "Sweetie," he said slowly, "did I hear you right? Did you just said that your friend is finishing school and that she has to marry quickly, while your parents would have given you some time to adjust to society?" He tilted his head. "You and this girl are in the same class, yet you speak only of her finishing school …"
Wendy bent forward, her fingers entwined with his again. "Vicky will finish school. I will not, because …" Here she took a deep breath. This was the next crossroad. One that was inevitable after she had given herself completely to James. There were only two options possible for her now, and she knew exactly which one to choose. "Because I will not return to England."
There! It was out.
"You won't …" Hook stared at her, momentarily speechless. Yes, she had hinted at this already, but he had taken it as her tone of defiance. She had been unhappy at this school, she feared the life of a common housewife or the duties which came hand in hand with being married to someone of the higher classes. She loved adventure, freedom, and this magical island, so, of course, she had toyed with the thought of staying here. But that she really would decide it was something he had doubted, until now.
Wendy watched him closely. She saw the thoughts chasing each other behind his eyes, disbelief, doubt, until it was suddenly replaced with hope. A strong, shining, all-consuming hope!
"Did you really think I would return to London – leaving you behind?" She shook her head. "I have left Neverland twice already, and both times I regretted it deeply, yet I had no other choice, I had to spare my parents trouble with the authorities. But everything has changed. I'm legally a grownup now and make my own decisions. The authorities have no say anymore of my 'well-being', because I am no longer a child. So, there is absolutely no reason to turn my back on Neverland – on you! – ever again. So, I'll stay here, with you. If you will have me."
To her wonder she saw tears spring into his eyes, then he rose and pulled her to her feet. Taking her in his arms, he pressed his forehead against hers. "If I will have you, Jill? You're my life, little storyteller." His voice was rough with emotions. "You're the one miracle I never stopped hoping for, but thought never to gain. Now you're here! With me! There are no words to describe what it means to have you with me." His lips brushed hers. "You're mine, Wendy Darling – and I'm yours. You sweet, crazy wildcat, you captured me years ago – and you caught me completely now. If you truly want to stay, I'll be…" He gulped. "I'll be the happiest man alive!"
Her smile was blinding, and she slipped her arms around him. "And I'm the happiest girl alive that I found you and that you care for me so much. You, my personal villain." She winked at him, making him chuckle, yet there was another noise in the back of his throat – one that sounded a bit like a choked sob, while the tears dampened his face.
"You're going to miss your parents, London, the life there, your friend and-" he began quietly, but Wendy shook her head.
"Quite the opposite. I'll write a letter to my parents and Vicky. Mother will understand, so will Vicky. I will not leave here ever again. I'm finally where I belong – here, in this world. And, above all, on your ship – and in your arms." She kissed him softly. "In the fairy tales the princess or the damsel always gets her prince." She smirked. "I say: keep the prince, girly, I'll take the pirate."
Hook's eyes widened, then he laughed out aloud – a hearty, rich sound that brought mirth to his eyes and a boyish grin to his face. "Red-Handed Jill in the flesh! By Neptune's scaley fish tail, it's no wonder your little claws caught me, kitten." He saw her wide and happy eyes, laughed again, pulled her to him and closed his mouth over hers; determined to show her in the next hours exactly, how much he loved her …
TBC…
FINALLY he admitted it to himself – something no-one would have believed to become real one day: James Hook is in love. Utterly and properly in love. Right, he hadn't said the famous three words 'til now, but – hey – we've not even reached the middle of the story, *snicker*.
I thought, music, whine, candlelight, cuddling – this all had to be. Both lovebirds have to enjoy each other before… No, I won't tell you, you've to wait. But I'm sure you can already guess what is going to happen soon. Ashford is not stupid, but regrettable a highly intelligent man who knows how to reach his goal. And his scruples are lessening the more he gets angry and jealous. The latter not because he loves Wendy so much, but rather his pride his hurt that a girl would prefer a 'cripple' over him – a pirate and 'crown enemy' no less. And the plans, he and Anders have made, are clever (and evil).
The next chapter will start peaceful again – a last sweet togetherness of our lovebirds before they're faced with Ashford's determination (and unscrupulousness). There will be a lot of action, so brace yourself.
Like always, I would be very, very happy to get some feedback, so please don't forget to press the button below for a review (*smile*).
Have a nice weekend,
Yours Lywhn / Starflight