Midnight and Mistletoe

Elizabeth Swann smiled as she put the finishing touches to her elaborate hairdo, placing the final red bow into her honey-blonde tresses. She was expecting Will Turner to call for her at any moment. He had closed the shop for the next two days in honor of the winter holiday, and the two planned to take afternoon tea together at Langley's Tearoom in town. She laughed softly to herself as she rose from her dressing table, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress. This was a festive, bubbly season, even here in the Caribbean where there was no snow and it remained balmy all year, and she was positively giddy at the prospect of having these few hours for just herself and Will alone – even if it was in a public setting.

Her father, accepting as he had been of their nonconformist relationship, was insisting on sticking to old traditions on this, the last Christmas he would have with his daughter before she wed and went off to start family traditions of her own. Thus, she would be forced to spend Christmas Eve with only her father, first enjoying their established yuletide family meal followed by the customary opening of one small gift from beneath the tree. Christmas morning, they would exchange the rest of their gifts, immediately afterward having a bountiful breakfast reserved solely for the two of them. Only later that afternoon was Will invited to join them for Christmas dinner. Granted, it was a more tolerable arrangement than in years past, when she was forced to sneak away simply for the smallest visit with her secret love. Yet now, when they were finally together and officially betrothed, she would think he would figure more heavily into her Christmas merriment, but her father would not have it so, unprepared to share his only daughter quite yet. After all, Weatherby argued, the young man monopolized enough of Elizabeth's time during the rest of the year. At Christmas, she would be single-handedly his – for a few hours at least.

Elizabeth continued to ponder these most infelicitous holiday plans as, ultimately pleased with her appearance, she exited her bedroom, walked through the hallway, and began to make her way downstairs. It wasn't that she begrudged her father this last bout of possessive affection. On the contrary, it touched her heart. However she had expected to spend more of this Christmas with her fiancé – preferably even a moment or two entirely alone so that they might celebrate properly.

At this thought, her eyes drifted to the ball of mistletoe that resided above their doorway. It had always hung there since her childhood, a tradition she was long baffled at her father not deeming improper but, for some reason, mistletoe escaped his censure. 'All in good sport', he would say – perhaps because the 'sport' has always included him conjuring up various opportunities to see to it that she and Captain Norrington ended up beneath it. However, much to her father's chagrin, a harmless peck on the cheek was all the plant had ever afforded…….But not with Will, she thought, a mischievous smile dancing upon her lips.

Only a fortnight ago, she had managed to convince her fiancé of the merits of hanging a kissing ball in the privacy of his smithy. As the results proved highly satisfying for them both, it took very little coaxing on her part before Will hung additional bunches throughout the forge: over the entryway, near the sword rack, above the table and chairs – where one such amatory episode had very nearly resulted in the snapping of the table's wobbly legs beneath their weight.

She sighed happily. Yes, this Christmas would be singularly special even if their time together was limited.

Hearing a knock at the door, Elizabeth hurried the rest of the way down the stairs, but a servant beat her to it, answering the door for her smiling fiancé.

"I am ready, Will," she cheerily called, drifting to his side in a whirl of fluttering skirts and the accompanying aroma of lavender, her trademark scent.

"Elizabeth," he said in breathless admiration as he took in her appearance from head to toe, a vision in festive red velvet, despite the temperate climate. "You look lovely…..positively beautiful."

She beamed, quickly dismissing the butler with the nod of her head. "I've missed you, Will," she said softly, linking her arm with his.

"But we saw each other only yesterday," he laughed.

"Much too long," Elizabeth argued, nuzzling her nose against his cheek as they stopped in the doorway. "Oh look, Will," she declared merrily, gazing pointedly above them. "We're under the mistletoe."

With a twinkle in his eyes, Will looked up at the wayward plant and back down at his equally wayward fiancée, but refused to take the hint, keeping his hands and lips firmly to himself.

"Come now," she cajoled. "I know you're familiar with its custom and use. You've demonstrated it amply over the past week alone."

"Yes," he admitted, "but not here…..Although," he added, a faraway look taking hold as his mind reminisced of holiday's past, "the years' worth of Christmases I visited this house – many under exaggerated or completely false pretenses merely for the pleasure of seeing you – I always dreamed of making good use of this mistletoe, finally winning a kiss from you beneath it."

"I think the novelty of my kisses may have worn off by now," Elizabeth smiled, "but you're certainly welcome to claim one this year."

Will gazed down upon his pretty fiancée, finding it an offer he could not refuse as he stepped closer to her, his hand rising to cradle her neck as he softly kissed her lips. After a moment of tasting their sweetness, he pulled away, leaving Elizabeth aching for more.

"Such a subdued kiss," she teased. "After year's worth of waiting, surely you must want more than that."

"You know I want more," Will sighed, drawing her closer then immediately setting her back away. "But not here."

"But, Will," Elizabeth enticed, weaving her arms about his shoulders and moving as close to him as her full skirts would allow, "we are still beneath the mistletoe. Kiss me as you do in the smithy when you call me 'love'," she said, nudging closer, "'darling', 'my Elizabeth'."

Though he still seemed reticent, he was increasingly beguiled, his hands finding her waist. "But….your father may find us."

"Father's at Fort Charles giving his Christmas address," she whispered, her mouth inching ever closer to his. "There is no one to find us, no one to stop us…..Kiss me, Will," she murmured against his lips.

This proved all the temptation he could bear and, in an instant, all traces of resolve crumbled as his mouth claimed hers with a ferocity that quite literally sent Elizabeth stumbling backward, Will promptly wrapping his arms about her and holding her tightly against him, restoring their balance. Just as she was lost in the heady sweep of his tongue about her mouth, the front door came swinging open. For all intents and purposes, it should have alerted the lovers to their discovery but they were too far absorbed in each other to notice.

"Elizabeth," Weatherby Swann said, shock evident in his voice, not accustomed to witnessing such spirited kissing in open view – least of all by his young daughter.

That captured their attention, the two breaking apart in a daze, Will dropping his hands from her as if he had been scalded.

"Father," Elizabeth blinked.

An awkward silence fell, particularly from the two captains and commodore who accompanied the governor back to the manor.

"Mistletoe," Elizabeth explained sheepishly, pointing upward. As the men gaped at the green leaves in wonder, she blurted, "We were just leaving," taking Will's arm and sweeping past them out the door.

Late that evening, Will strolled through the main thoroughfare of Port Royal on his way back to the smithy. Respecting the governor's wish to have Elizabeth to himself for the evening – especially in light of their earlier incident – he had stayed far away from the manner since seeing Elizabeth home that afternoon. Yet, rather than spend the eve of Christmas all alone, he had opted to take Widow Harris up on her offer to join her family in their revelry. She had been a longtime friend of Will's, doting on him like a mother hen since back in the days when Mrs. Brown was still alive. Christmases past, he had felt out of place intruding and had always refused her invitation, but she had recently lost her husband and was gaining in years herself, and she so wanted Will to come that he simply could not refuse – and he was glad he hadn't, for the Harrises were a jovial lot and a good time was had by all, the merriment lasting into the night, evidenced by the fact that it was well on its way to being Christmas morning by the time Will tore himself away to return home.

Unlatching the smithy, Will made his way through the dark forge toward his small bedroom beyond, so accustomed to making the trip he only stumbled a time or two in the blackness of the room. As he drew near to his closed bedchamber, he noticed a gentle glow emanating from beneath the door. He thought it odd, as he did not remember leaving a candle lit, but he had been in such high spirits after his visit with Elizabeth that he could not rightly account for his actions – and apparently he had done a rather foolish thing as, in his absence, a stray spark from the candle could have easily ignited the room.

Opening the door, Will was stunned to find the woman, herself, sitting upon his bed, legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of the simple cotton frocks she had purloined from her maids for occasions just such as this.

"I've been waiting for you," Elizabeth said simply, as if her presence in his bedroom – on his bed, no less – was an everyday occurrence. "Wherever have you been?"

"At the Harrises," Will answered, closing out the darkness of the smithy to leave them cocooned in the soft, warm light of the lone candle that he now knew his fiancée had lit. With amusement, he continued, "I seem to recall leaving the forge locked for the evening. How on earth did you get in?"

"I have my ways," she smiled mischievously. "I thought the smithy needed a bit more Christmas cheer. Look what I've brought," she said, pointing directly above her head to a tiny spring of mistletoe secured above the bed.

"That's not where I hung it."

"No, but it seemed more cozy in here," she impishly replied.

"Is that why you've come?" he asked, his voice containing a hint of wariness, but his eyes showing nothing but intrigue at the notion.

"I've come," Elizabeth alluringly imparted, stretching her long, stockinged legs out on his bed, "to give you your Christmas present. It seems I could not wait until tomorrow."

His eyes slowly traveled back to her face as he moved closer to the bed. "And what am I to believe is my gift, Miss Swann? For at the moment my imagination has free reign."

"I believe you imagine quite correctly, Mr. Turner."

Will opened his mouth to respond, but paused at her sudden sweeping motion as she reached down for the hitherto unnoticed chapeau resting on the bed beside her and placed it atop her sun-lightened tresses, which had been left loose to fall in soft waves down her back.

"I know how you love the one you bought when we returned to Port Royal," Elizabeth explained. "I thought a spare was in order, a bit darker in color but no less splendid," she added, playfully fingering the feather at the side of the sloping brim.

"It's quite becoming on you," he smiled.

"And I've no doubt it will be dashing on you……Don't you want to try it on?" she asked invitingly, patting the mattress beside her.

"Elizabeth," Will said carefully, "we've well proven this is a dangerous place for us."

"I've always courted danger," she responded tantalizingly, coupled with an equally enticing look that brought him to join her on the bed despite his better judgment.

With a flick of his wrist, Will deposited the hat back onto the mattress, cupping Elizabeth's face with his hands and bringing her mouth to his in a gently passionate kiss.

Softly breaking the kiss, he held her to him a moment longer before warmly disclosing, "I've a gift for you, too, love."

Walking across the room to his cabinet, Will retrieved a rectangular box wrapped in gold ribbon, returning to sit beside her and handing her the present. Untying the bow and lifting the lid, Elizabeth gasped at what she found inside: a perfect little model of the Interceptor.

"When I was away on my last delivery I happened upon a woodworker who made intricate models of ships," Will told her. "It was either this, the Dauntless – where we first met – or the Black Pearl. Knowing your affinity for pirates, I very nearly decided on the Pearl. But as it was the Interceptor – or at least my commandeering of it – that brought us together at last, I chose accordingly."

"Oh, Will, I love it," she exclaimed, throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace, then releasing him again to pluck her treasure from the box and examine it more closely. "This is where I fired my first gunshot in battle," she pointed to a tiny piece of the deck.

"First?" Will teased. "You talk as if you plan to make a career of it."

"And somewhere in here," Elizabeth continued, indicating the ship's belly, "is where you very nearly kissed me." Laying the ship down upon the bed, she turned tempting eyes to her fiancé. "How far we've come since last year," she purred, inching closer, her hand coming to rest on his upper thigh.

"Not – not that far," he stammered, picking away her exploring hand.

Giggling happily, she flopped down upon the bed, resting against his pillow. "This is lovely, Will," she sighed, gazing dreamily up at him.

Will chuckled softly, stretching out beside her. "Yes, the hospitality of the smithy is second to none."

"I mean this," she laughed, twining her fingers with his. "Just being here with you. This is all I've ever wanted all those years since we met."

"This has long been a particular fantasy of mine, as well," he said roguishly, pulling her closer to him on the bed.

"I'm perfectly serious," she feigned insult.

"As am I," Will assured, his voice full of earnest sincerity. "You have given me everything. Every dream I ever had came true that day on the parapets when you kissed me." He rolled onto his side to regard her from above. "Even now, I still can't believe that you love me, that you're going to be my wife, that the life I've always longed for will be ours."

"Well, I do, and I will, and it shall be," Elizabeth answered, her hand lovingly rubbing his arm. After a pause, looking up at him, she added, "It's after midnight, you know. That makes it Christmas morning."

"And what a Christmas this is," Will sighed, "having everything I could ever want right here in my arms."

"Merry Christmas, Will," she whispered.

"Merry Christmas, my Elizabeth," he tenderly replied.

"We're still beneath the mistletoe," Elizabeth pointed out. "I can't imagine a better way to welcome the holiday."

"Nor can I," Will murmured, his hands already playing at her hips as his mouth found hers.

After several minutes of enjoying the sweetness of her lips and tongue, Will turned his attentions toward Elizabeth's neck, kissing and biting at the tender skin in a way he knew drove her to distraction, her soft whimpers of pleasure further encouraging him. Yet, as his lips made their way down to her chest, he was ever mindful of leaving evidence of their midnight encounter. Lifting his head to revel in her smoldering expression as he touched her, with his forefinger, he teasingly followed along the neckline of her dress, hooking his finger beneath the fabric and gently nudging it down slightly on one side to reveal the uppermost swell of her breast, setting his lips to it and resuming the action in a place they would both enjoy but no one would see come morning's light.

She softly gasped his name, fingers locked in his curls as he continued to kiss her, making them both yearn for things they could not yet have for several months' time. Stopping himself, Will delicately rested his head between her breasts, his hot, quick breath upon her skin setting her afire.

Turning from her body to lie on his back, Will sighed heavily. "You overwhelm me, Elizabeth. It's time I return you home, Christmas Day or not – perhaps especially Christmas Day. Did you learn nothing from yesterday's sermon?" he playfully inquired.

"But I don't want to leave," Elizabeth protested. "I want to stay here with you, all night."

"Elizabeth – "

"We needn't do anything improper, Will," she argued, already sitting up and pulling back the covers. "I just want to lie here in your arms."

"Elizabeth, you know that's impossible," he said, sitting up as well.

"It isn't. Everyone expects me to sleep late. That will give me plenty of time to slip back in before I'm missed."

"But everyone else won't be sleeping," Will contended. "How will we 'slip' you back into a house crowded with servants, any one of which might instantly report our indiscretion to your father?"

"The same way I so cleverly steal away. There's always someone about the house, even in the dead of night. Oh, please, Will," Elizabeth entreated, cuddling up beside him. "Don't send me away. I want to be with you," she whispered against his neck.

Will tenderly wrapped his arm about her and she could instantly tell he had relented. "Then I must make you ready for bed."

Something about the way he said those words sent a shiver down her spine. "Am I not?" she asked softly.

"Not yet," he replied, his voice low and positively irresistible. Gently lying her back down upon the mattress, he ran caressing hands up and down her sides and across her midsection. "No corset to remove."

"Which you already knew," she astutely accused.

He smiled shrewdly, not denying the comment. "That puts us one step further."

Will moved down the bed, sliding the small slippers from her feet as Elizabeth, propped up on her elbows, watched him curiously. He flashed her a naughty grin before flicking up her skirt, baring her knees and, correspondingly, the tops of her stockings. Slowly – maddeningly so – he glided down one stocking and then the other, pausing to thoroughly stroke each long, soft leg.

By the time he had finished, Elizabeth's head had fallen back against the pillow and Will was again out of breath, yearning to satisfy his need for her. Placing her legs beneath the covers, he removed his own boots, then his shirt, and slid in beside her. She immediately pulled his mouth down to hers, catching him off guard, but he did not fight her.

He tasted of wine and brandy, with a hint of rum, giving Elizabeth the distinct impression that he had spent significant time that evening imbibing various strong beverages. Though he was by no means intoxicated, perhaps the gentle burning of alcohol through his system explained his willingness to allow her into his bed this evening – even if he insisted on being still every inch the gentleman.

Will pulled away from her, a look of aching hunger in his eyes as he fought back his urges for her. It was such a pitiable expression that Elizabeth couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped her.

"You started it," she pointed out.

"So I did," Will admitted, "but I don't regret it. It has been a very merry Christmas."

"It has," Elizabeth agreed, drawing him back to her.

"But next Christmas will be even better, for I shall at last enjoy the gift in its entirety."

"Yes, I'm growing very impatient to be unwrapped."

"Only by me, of course?" he teased.

"Ever by you."

The next morning dawned bright and clear, with Elizabeth draped across Will. As he slowly came to consciousness, realizing he softly caressed her leg in actuality, not merely in his dream, he gently woke his still sleeping fiancée, who dutifully detangled her limbs from his and began to redress – though not caring as much as Will, nevertheless, understanding the importance of their night together going undiscovered.

Still, as they were about to walk through the doorway, the couple couldn't keep themselves from indulging in one final kiss beneath this much more safely placed mistletoe. After dwelling longer than either ought to, Will ended the kiss, nonetheless tauntingly capturing, then releasing, her lower lip with his teeth as he pulled away.

Elizabeth sighed unsteadily. "Are you certain you don't want to unwrap – "

With shaking hands, Will grabbed one of hers and pulled her from the smithy.

Taking the back routes to the Governor's Mansion, so as not to be spotted together, Will and Elizabeth arrived at her home in record time. However, sneaking her back inside was a much more difficult task. The servants' entrance was far too bustling to chance an entrance there, so it was decided to try the front door, a more obvious, yet less watched entryway. She let herself in the unlocked door with a sigh a relief, Will pausing on the doorstep to hand Elizabeth her Christmas present. They had almost made it undetected when Estrella came strolling through the foyer.

"Miss Swann," she said in surprise, looking from her slightly rumpled mistress to the similarly disheveled young man in the doorway. "Mr. Turner."

Before Elizabeth could even think up an excuse, the governor himself emerged from his study, his eyes widening at the unexpected presence of his future son-in-law and the unusual appearance of his daughter.

"Father," Elizabeth said brightly. "Will has come to join us after all. See the lovely gift he has given me."

Weatherby's suspicious eyes glanced at the small ship she held up before returning to the couple. After a moment of bated breath on the part of both Will and Elizabeth, Weatherby extended his hand. "William, Merry Christmas, my boy."

Will nervously shook the governor's hand, relieved when he turned his attention to his daughter.

"Elizabeth, my darling, Merry Christmas," he said, pulling her into a loving hug.

"Merry Christmas, Father," she innocently replied, winking wickedly at Will over her father's shoulder.