Chapter Fifteen
Five Years Later….
Jordan glared up at Woody. Through gritted teeth she demanded, "You don't think some little bed time story is going to get your out of this, do you, Woody?"
"Um…uh… no?" He couldn't meet her eye. He knew he didn't dare point out a little bed time story was sort of what got them- "OUCH!" He knew Jordan's strength, but had had no clue she could squeeze with that much force.
"Just be grateful it was only your hand," she told him. There was a moment's pause. "Well?"
"Well what?" Hoyt was at a complete loss as to how to deal with Jordan. "A little scared" might even be a good description.
"Well, how did the story end?"
"The story?"
She rolled her eyes. "The pirate story. The one we… told each other."
Light went up in his eyes, their blue depths shining with memory and merriment. "That story!"
"How. Did. It. END?"
He hesitated, searching desperately for an idea, any idea, to help him finish a tale he'd thought done.
"Land, ho! Land, ho!" cried a familiar voice.
Jordan looked up from the book she was reading on the beach. It was one of her rare free moments and she'd been enjoying the new publication by Mr. Swift, brought to her by Elaine. For a moment, her heart sunk to see the ship that was setting anchor in the little harbor, skiffs already lowering to the water, making ready to bring the crew ashore. Then she remembered the last time this crew had been here and she smiled in fond memory. She sat and watched as they disembarked. As the first skiff beached and its occupants began to wade through the shallows, Jordan heaved herself up and walked to greet the men.
"Captain Townsend!" Her voice was bright and merry.
He made a bow in front of her, sweeping his hat from his head, the feather dancing jauntily with the motion. "Ah…that would be Commodore Townsend, Mrs. Hoyt." He peered at her closely. "Tis still Mrs. Hoyt?"
She gave him a reproving look. "Yes. In fact, Father Paul came from Tortuga and – and – well, yes, it's still Mrs. Hoyt."
"Good, good." Nigel gazed around.
"Commodore?" Jordan asked, knowing it would take no more prompting than that to get him to expound on how his fortune had grown.
He waved a hand as if to dismiss it and then leaned closer. "May we walk to the house? We are certain your dearly beloved would enjoy the rousing tale of our… acquiring two new ships."
"Two?" Jordan raised an eyebrow. "I am impressed."
Nigel's gaze swept over her again. "And you can tale us the tale of how you acquired… well… your latest acquisition."
Jordan laughed and ran her hand over her very swollen belly. "Commodore Townsend, I think that tale is first of all, one with which you are more than familiar and second of all, not one to which you are privy in this instance."
They walked up the beach, Nigel holding out his crooked arm for her to lean on. Jordan glanced back at his men who followed. She made a mental list. "You've lost some crew."
"Not lost so much," Nigel responded, "as moved about –against our better judgment we did give Mr. Seeley command of one ship and Sydney command of the third. And we do confess this one time along the coast of the southern New World, we did, for a while, misplace Mr. Ivers."
"Really?" Jordan gave a little shiver of antipathy.
Nigel patted her hand. "Not to worry. We found him, though he did prove more adept at concealment than we originally surmised." Nigel shook his head, setting the feather dancing wildly. "No, 'twould have been a sore loss to Mr. Haley."
"And his parrot," Jordan intoned with as much seriousness as she could muster. "I see Haley and the parrot are still with you."
"Aye. Do you know that it just so happens that parrot is almost as good with a spyglass as a cabin 'boy" we once employed." The pirate gazed down at her. "Though, in the parrot's favor, he has never dropped the spyglass into the ocean."
They came into the courtyard. Miz Lily sat under a tree, a brood of children around her, listening to her read. Nigel seemed almost taken aback. "We are… nigh on speechless!"
Jordan laughed and began pointing. "The girl with the blonde curls is Miz Lily's from her first… marriage. She was widowed, you know."
"Aye, so we've heard. We do wonder if Mr. Brandau realized yet he is dead, for he seems to believe his fiancé left him at the altar." He put up a forestalling hand. "Nay, don't worry. We'd never say a word; we have no love for the little pimple. Miz Lily was terribly kind to us when we were last here and we'd not have her place in the world questioned at all."
"Thank you," the plantation mistress murmured.
"And the others?"
"Oh, yes… well, Miz Lily proposed to teach the children here their letters and sums. The older ones are children of our workers. Her youngest pupil there, the boy with dark hair, will celebrate his fourth birthday tomorrow." She looked up. "I suspect he'd love to have a bevy of authentic pirates to help him along with the festivities."
"And the young lad's name? For his parentage is obvious."
"Why, Commodore, you need ask?"
Before he could reply, Woody strode into view. Word of the anchored ship and beached skiffs had reached him at the distillery. He walked toward the pirate, hand outstretched. He could no more harbor ill feelings for the ruffian than he could deny his wife anything her heart asked for. After shaking hands, he put a protective arm around where Jordan's waist used to be and rubbed one hand protectively on her belly. He glanced over at the children. "I see you've noticed Miz Lily's Madeline and our young Nigel."
"And we can hardly avoid noticing the impending arrival of your second heir, Mr. Hoyt," Nigel responded.
"Second?" Woody laughed. "Nay, tis the fourth!"
Again Nigel was struck dumb.
Woody's grin threatened to split his face. "Largely thank to you, Townsend, I got two of the three things I was searching for."
"Two?"
Another grin from Hoyt. "A sugar plantation and fat babies." He dropped a kiss onto Jordan's head. "And as for the docile wife, I long ago changed my mind."
"As if he had a choice in the matter," the wife in question chimed in.
Nigel and his crew spent a week at Isla Miele y Leche, celebrating the commodore's namesake, the birth of the fourth Hoyt infant and, the rather sudden affectation that bloomed between Bug and Miz Lily. When the tide took them away, they left behind Bug and gave promises not to stay away again for five years.
"In such time, you might amass a veritable fleet, Commodore," Jordan quipped as the man stepped into the final skiff.
"And you, Mistress Hoyt, might have 'amassed' enough little soldiers to stage a coup and rid Port Royal of its evil governor!"
Jordan's nose wrinkled. "Ah, we never speak that name here. Timothy of Kring has no love for us and we less for him. We simply keep to ourselves."
Nigel's smile twinkled. "That much is decidedly obvious!"
And with that, the skiff glided into the surf, bearing the pirate away.
"Four babies? FOUR? In FIVE years? Are you nuts? Woody, if you think-" Jordan's objection, whatever it was, was cut off by a sharp pain, accompanied by a scream that ended in Woody's being called a few unprintable names. He blanched visibly at the threats she made against certain body parts. Did she have to be so specific as to which medical instruments would do the job the best?
"Jo, Jordan," he soothed. "I was just – uh – ending the story."
"They had FOUR babies! She did that FOUR times!"
"Well, uh, probably more-" Her glare stopped him. "You know, this one is going to be plenty. Perfect. Fine."
Another pain cut too sharply for her to reply and then the doctor was actually encouraging her to push, telling her just one more strong one and the baby would be here. Jordan crushed Woody's hand in hers as she bore down, her mouth a rictus of pain and effort, tears leaking from her eyes. She couldn't imagine how she'd let Woody talk her into this. Except not a lot of talking had been involved. Not rational discussion, that is. She really couldn't imagine ever-
"Oh, God, Jo! Oh!" Woody's voice was soft and awed and filled with choked back tears.
She heard the baby give a lusty cry and watched, exhausted, as the doctor let Woody cut the cord. Then he had their baby – their son – in his arms and was laying the infant on its mother's breast. And there was nothing in the world at that moment but Jordan and Woody and their child.
Tears streaking down her face, Jordan lifted her whiskey eyes to Woody's azure ones. She smiled. "By the way," she murmured in a reverent hush. "We're not naming him Nigel."
Woody chuckled his agreement. "Maybe the next one?"
She smiled broadly. "Maybe the next one."
END