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Fic: 'Harry & the Pirate V: Caribbean Quests' (Jack/Harry (OFC), etc. etc. - PG-13 - 7/7)
The final chapter of this one. My deepest thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hereswith for beta reading this longish tale, and to everyone who's been following along and letting me know you enjoyed it!
Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The bow of the longboat ground into the sand of the beach at South Bay on St. Claire Island, and Will Turner was the first to leap out, heedless of the shallow water, for there was Elizabeth, waiting at the water’s edge with a smile and open arms. Tom threw Anne an expressive roll of his eyes as his cousin and her husband embraced and kissed, and Anne winced slightly, with a glance at Michael and Suzanna, who were holding hands beside her. She and Tom had discussed the matter and had determined they would never allow themselves to become dead bores in their affection for one another, not even when they were grown and married.
Governor Swann was on shore, too, and Rachel was there, anxious to greet her friend, Yewande Zola. Giles and Miriam Lightfoot completed the welcoming party. But something seemed to be amiss. As the rest of those in the longboat disembarked, the greetings and the smiles on the well-known faces just weren’t quite right, and disappeared entirely when they saw that Captain Sparrow was walking with a slight limp (for there’d been one deep-set thorn Yewande Zola had missed the first time she’d treated him, back on her herbal island, and that last one had finally been found and removed with some difficulty, and the infection cleansed, only two days ago).
“Jack, what happened?” Giles Lightfoot demanded. “Were you hurt?”
“I’m fine!” Captain Sparrow snapped. “Are you? What the devil’s wrong? Where’s my wife?”
“Oh, Harry’s fine, too,” Mr. Lightfoot said, evasively.
And Governor Swann said, “Yes, indeed. Fine as fivepence, as they say.”
Elizabeth gave each of the older men an exasperated look and said, “Nothing’s wrong, Jack, and congratulations are in order. My aunt was brought to bed the evening before last, and your daughter was born yesterday, at dawn. They are both in good health, though my aunt was distressed she couldn’t come down to the shore to greet you. But we persuaded her that you would much prefer that she not make the attempt. She and the baby are in your room at Island House, awaiting your presence.”
Captain Sparrow appeared to be bereft of speech, and Tom gave a quiet, “Uh oh.”
Anne’s father chuckled, and said, “Oh, my God,” and shook his head.
Will Turner laughed outright and clapped the captain on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Jack!”
Rachel looked worried. “Now, Captain, it’s not as though it was something she could help. Babies arrive in their own time.”
“Very true,” said Yewande Zola. “Did I not tell you, Captain, that all would be well with your wife and child?”
Captain Jack gave the midwife an awful glare. And then he limped off up the beach, toward Island House, everyone else following in his wake.
*
Jack’s limp grew more pronounced, contributing to his sense of ill use, the closer he got to the house. But when he was finally approaching the wide front porch with its welcoming double doors, Maggie Norrington came hurrying out, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at Jack’s face and, completely ignoring her husband and daughter, said, “Jack Sparrow, if you think you’re going to up to that bedroom to berate your wife for giving birth a day too soon I’ll… I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Jack demanded, having come to a halt.
“I… I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “But I shall certainly think far less of you if you do! Why are you limping? You’re not injured?”
“Am I not?” Jack fumed briefly, then told her, “James and Anne will doubtless take relish in relating that tale to you. Now step aside, Mrs. Norrington, I want to see my wife.”
Maggie glanced worriedly at James, but then stood aside, allowing Jack to climb the steps, cross the veranda, and enter the cool foyer of the house.
Tom danced past him – “I’ll tell her you’re coming, Da!” – and ran on up the staircase. Jack followed more slowly, the climb being something of a trial, but he reached the top at last and continued down the long hall to the door of their bedroom that Tom had left ajar, pushed it open and paused, just inside.
“Jack!”
She was sitting up in their big bed, a mountain of freshly fluffed lace-edged pillows at her back, and more lace on the sleeves and low neckline of the dressing gown she wore, the one of deep blue patterned silk he’d bought her more than five years ago, against the birth of a daughter. She had never worn it, but had carefully wrapped it and stored it away in hope and faith.
She wore no cap, and her long, freshly brushed hair had not been pinned up. She looked absurdly young, and her expression of mingled joy and apprehension added to the effect. But he could not summon even the pretense of displeasure, joy and relief flooding his heart as he limped across the room to her. She held out her arms, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, close beside her and allowed himself the comfort of being gathered into her embrace and held for a long moment.
Finally she said, “My love, you’re hurt,” her voice quivering on the edge of tears.
She released him as he sat back. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”
“It’s not! Tom told me about the boar and… and your subsequent suffering. How very brave you were!”
Jack chuckled, but without much humor. “This, coming from you.” He took up her hand and pressed his lips against it. “Let’s see young Miss Sparrow, then.”
There was one pillow on the bed next to her, on her other side, and Harry carefully picked up the swaddled bundle that had been resting there, watched by Tom. The lad said, as Jack took the small form in his hands, “She’s pretty, Da. She looks like a girl.”
And it was true.
Jack had grown more used to babies in the years since Tom’s birth, when he’d been so disconcerted at his son’s unprepossessing appearance that he’d wondered how he and Harry had produced such a creature. But even so, when he looked into his tiny daughter’s face for the first time, it seemed to him that she was an exceptionally beautiful example of the species. She wasn’t squashed or red-faced at all, and the wide, deep blue eyes – the color of Harry’s new gown -- blinked up at him for a long moment, curiously alert. And then she gave a tiny yawn and closed those eyes, contented and trusting, her dark lashes lying against her cheeks, and Jack’s heart was lost.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Harry said. “And she’s such a good baby.”
“She is lovely, and so are you. Are you all right?” He looked up, studying Harry’s face: a little pale, but even as he watched, the faint color in her cheeks grew more pronounced.
“I am. I tried to wait, truly, but… well, she insisted. How I wanted you in those first hours! But later, toward morning, I counted it a blessing you were still away.”
Jack winced, remembering when Tom was coming into the world, the hours of worry, and then Harry’s cries, echoing faint but clear from the Pearl’s Great Cabin in the final minutes, minutes that somehow had expanded to a hellish infinity. Perhaps she was right. But if so, it was an odd sort of blessing.
Harry took the baby from him and laid her carefully on the pillow again, in Tom’s charge, then held out her arms. Jack embraced her once more with a sigh.
She said, “My dear, was your voyage very horrid?”
“Some of it was very. Other bits bordered on extremely.”
“Oh, Jack!” Harry hugged him. “And all for me. All for me.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” He sat back, and a slow grin dawned, and he shook a finger at Harry. “You owe me, ma’am, and I shall have my revenge, see if I don’t.”
“Will you?” She chuckled, and grabbed the finger, and kissed it. “You may have it. Anything you like. I do owe you, so very much, all my gratitude and love. And, as you must know by now, I always pay my debts.”
*
The rest of the company had come in to assure themselves of the Sparrows’ health and happiness, but it wasn’t long before Yewande Zola shooed everyone out. “You may go as well, Tom Sparrow, for since I have made this long journey, I will examine your sister and her mother, and your father, too, he should not be limping as badly as he does, though it may be that he exaggerates his pain to gain sympathy.”
This last teasing remark proved to have been impolitic, for Captain Sparrow became mulish and refused point blank to lower his breeches. “You’ve seen enough of me for the last week, and I’ll be damned if I’ll submit to any more torture at your hands. I’m just sore, is all, and no bloody wonder. Harry can take care of me, if anything needs to be taken care of. Go on and take a look at her. As you said yourself, that’s why we brought you.”
Yewande Zola pursed her lips and shook her head at such obstinacy, but complied, smiling inwardly at Jack’s obvious concern for his wife as she carried out the examination. She was very pleased with what she observed in Harry. “You will recover quickly, but you must take care, resting when the child does. And I will have Rachel brew you a tea of the herb your husband was so kind as to enable me to gather, very useful in strengthening the blood, and preventing infection. You must take it three times a day for the next week, and he should take some as well, for it is true that he has endured much.”
“Only if I can drink it with rum,” Jack asserted. “But why’s Rachel brewing it? Are you going somewhere?”
Yewande said, “Mistress Lightfoot has told me of a mother-to-be on the north side of the island, and has asked me to wait upon her. She is due at any time, and the women fear for her, she has had difficulties in the past. I may be gone for some days.”
“That’s poor Sarah Mitchell,” Harry told Jack. “Yes, Yewande, do go to her! I told her of your skill when last we met, several months ago now. Just knowing you’re there will be a comfort to her.”
Yewande Zola smiled on Jack Sparrow’s beloved. “You have a kind and generous heart, lamb.”
“Sparrow,” Jack said, straight-faced.
Yewande chuckled. “So she is. And now, let me see this beautiful chick you Sparrows have produced between you.”
*
Tom was out in the stable, up in the hayloft, where he sometimes liked to sleep. There was a bright moon hanging in the sky, and many stars, but the whole plantation had retired early, it seemed, and his mother and father were taken up with weariness and with the care of his baby sister. Marguerite Elizabeth Sparrow. “Daisy, for short,” Mother said, but Da, who’d been gazing dreamily at the sweet little face, murmured, “Lady Day, fairest in the land,” and Tom thought that suited her best, particularly when she began to fuss, and then bawl, imperiously demanding to be fed.
He’d wondered if he’d be jealous of her, this small being that had inspired such anxiety and effort, and seemed likely to continue to do so for months, if not years, to come. But he found he wasn’t jealous, not at all. In fact, it was rather a relief to have his parents’ attention focused on her, rather than on him. He was growing up, now. He needed his freedom. And it wasn’t as though she’d take his place in his parents’ hearts and lives. She was only a little girl.
Speaking of which, the stable door was opening quietly, then closing again, and there were light footsteps headed in the direction of the ladder leading to his lair.
“Tom?” Anne called softly.
“Come up,” he replied, not moving. He heard her climbing, and then her head appeared above the edge.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Thought I’d sleep out here tonight. Want to join me?”
She climbed on up and crawled over to him, saying, “Mother once told me – well, Julietta, but I was there, too – that a young lady of breeding wouldn’t think of sleeping with a gentleman before they were properly married. But I do think of it, when I’m with you. Is that very dreadful of me?”
“Of course not,” he said, holding up the blanket and allowing her to slip in to lie beside him. “You’re not a lady, not yet at least. And I’m more pirate than gentleman, and plan to stay that way. Pirates sleep with anyone they like. That’s why Da turned privateer when he and Mother married. She’d be mad as fire if he slept with anyone else, now.”
“Did he sleep with other ladies before they were married?”
“Of course. Dozens!”
“Are you going to? Before we marry, I mean.”
Tom laughed, but he found his face growing warm, too. “Not planning on it.”
“But you might?”
“Well, not dozens. Now, Annie, don’t look like that!”
“I can’t help it. Perhaps you will come to love one of them, and forget me, and we won’t marry at all!”
“Oh, rubbish.”
“It’s not, you know it’s not. And I want to be your best friend, always.”
“You are my best friend. It’s just… I’ve heard… well, Michael said sometimes a man… has needs.”
“Needs? What sort of needs?” she demanded, frowning.
Tom grimaced. Michael had only ever let slip the merest hints on this subject, and these had been in reference to other men, for he was himself entirely devoted to Suzanna—had been for time out of mind. But Anne expected an answer, and Tom couldn’t admit he had not really understood what sort of needs Michael was talking about.
Distraction was clearly called for, so Tom said, “I’ll tell you what it is, Annie, we’ll just have to marry young, that’s all. As soon as we can, as your sister and Michael did, and Charles and Lucia. We’ll marry, and I’ll never look at another female again, long as I live.”
“Do you promise?”
She looked so pleased and hopeful at the prospect that, though he was no longer a child and knew what promises meant, he could not disappoint her. Not his friend. His Anne. “All right, I promise. How’s that?”
“It’s… oh, it’s prime!”
He gave a crooked grin. Prime, indeed, she’d got that bit of cant from Charles, no doubt. She reached for his hand, and he gave it to her, and returned her squeeze. Then, the matter resolved, he yawned. “Silly chit. Now go to sleep. I didn’t invite you to come up here so you could keep me awake all night with your chattering.”
“Yes, Tom,” she said, meekly, and closed her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips as she settled herself beside him in the hay.
hereswith for beta reading this longish tale, and to everyone who's been following along and letting me know you enjoyed it!Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three
Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The bow of the longboat ground into the sand of the beach at South Bay on St. Claire Island, and Will Turner was the first to leap out, heedless of the shallow water, for there was Elizabeth, waiting at the water’s edge with a smile and open arms. Tom threw Anne an expressive roll of his eyes as his cousin and her husband embraced and kissed, and Anne winced slightly, with a glance at Michael and Suzanna, who were holding hands beside her. She and Tom had discussed the matter and had determined they would never allow themselves to become dead bores in their affection for one another, not even when they were grown and married.
Governor Swann was on shore, too, and Rachel was there, anxious to greet her friend, Yewande Zola. Giles and Miriam Lightfoot completed the welcoming party. But something seemed to be amiss. As the rest of those in the longboat disembarked, the greetings and the smiles on the well-known faces just weren’t quite right, and disappeared entirely when they saw that Captain Sparrow was walking with a slight limp (for there’d been one deep-set thorn Yewande Zola had missed the first time she’d treated him, back on her herbal island, and that last one had finally been found and removed with some difficulty, and the infection cleansed, only two days ago).
“Jack, what happened?” Giles Lightfoot demanded. “Were you hurt?”
“I’m fine!” Captain Sparrow snapped. “Are you? What the devil’s wrong? Where’s my wife?”
“Oh, Harry’s fine, too,” Mr. Lightfoot said, evasively.
And Governor Swann said, “Yes, indeed. Fine as fivepence, as they say.”
Elizabeth gave each of the older men an exasperated look and said, “Nothing’s wrong, Jack, and congratulations are in order. My aunt was brought to bed the evening before last, and your daughter was born yesterday, at dawn. They are both in good health, though my aunt was distressed she couldn’t come down to the shore to greet you. But we persuaded her that you would much prefer that she not make the attempt. She and the baby are in your room at Island House, awaiting your presence.”
Captain Sparrow appeared to be bereft of speech, and Tom gave a quiet, “Uh oh.”
Anne’s father chuckled, and said, “Oh, my God,” and shook his head.
Will Turner laughed outright and clapped the captain on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Jack!”
Rachel looked worried. “Now, Captain, it’s not as though it was something she could help. Babies arrive in their own time.”
“Very true,” said Yewande Zola. “Did I not tell you, Captain, that all would be well with your wife and child?”
Captain Jack gave the midwife an awful glare. And then he limped off up the beach, toward Island House, everyone else following in his wake.
*
Jack’s limp grew more pronounced, contributing to his sense of ill use, the closer he got to the house. But when he was finally approaching the wide front porch with its welcoming double doors, Maggie Norrington came hurrying out, wiping her hands on her apron. She took one look at Jack’s face and, completely ignoring her husband and daughter, said, “Jack Sparrow, if you think you’re going to up to that bedroom to berate your wife for giving birth a day too soon I’ll… I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Jack demanded, having come to a halt.
“I… I don’t know,” Maggie admitted. “But I shall certainly think far less of you if you do! Why are you limping? You’re not injured?”
“Am I not?” Jack fumed briefly, then told her, “James and Anne will doubtless take relish in relating that tale to you. Now step aside, Mrs. Norrington, I want to see my wife.”
Maggie glanced worriedly at James, but then stood aside, allowing Jack to climb the steps, cross the veranda, and enter the cool foyer of the house.
Tom danced past him – “I’ll tell her you’re coming, Da!” – and ran on up the staircase. Jack followed more slowly, the climb being something of a trial, but he reached the top at last and continued down the long hall to the door of their bedroom that Tom had left ajar, pushed it open and paused, just inside.
“Jack!”
She was sitting up in their big bed, a mountain of freshly fluffed lace-edged pillows at her back, and more lace on the sleeves and low neckline of the dressing gown she wore, the one of deep blue patterned silk he’d bought her more than five years ago, against the birth of a daughter. She had never worn it, but had carefully wrapped it and stored it away in hope and faith.
She wore no cap, and her long, freshly brushed hair had not been pinned up. She looked absurdly young, and her expression of mingled joy and apprehension added to the effect. But he could not summon even the pretense of displeasure, joy and relief flooding his heart as he limped across the room to her. She held out her arms, and he sat down on the edge of the bed, close beside her and allowed himself the comfort of being gathered into her embrace and held for a long moment.
Finally she said, “My love, you’re hurt,” her voice quivering on the edge of tears.
She released him as he sat back. “I’m fine, it’s nothing.”
“It’s not! Tom told me about the boar and… and your subsequent suffering. How very brave you were!”
Jack chuckled, but without much humor. “This, coming from you.” He took up her hand and pressed his lips against it. “Let’s see young Miss Sparrow, then.”
There was one pillow on the bed next to her, on her other side, and Harry carefully picked up the swaddled bundle that had been resting there, watched by Tom. The lad said, as Jack took the small form in his hands, “She’s pretty, Da. She looks like a girl.”
And it was true.
Jack had grown more used to babies in the years since Tom’s birth, when he’d been so disconcerted at his son’s unprepossessing appearance that he’d wondered how he and Harry had produced such a creature. But even so, when he looked into his tiny daughter’s face for the first time, it seemed to him that she was an exceptionally beautiful example of the species. She wasn’t squashed or red-faced at all, and the wide, deep blue eyes – the color of Harry’s new gown -- blinked up at him for a long moment, curiously alert. And then she gave a tiny yawn and closed those eyes, contented and trusting, her dark lashes lying against her cheeks, and Jack’s heart was lost.
“Isn’t she lovely?” Harry said. “And she’s such a good baby.”
“She is lovely, and so are you. Are you all right?” He looked up, studying Harry’s face: a little pale, but even as he watched, the faint color in her cheeks grew more pronounced.
“I am. I tried to wait, truly, but… well, she insisted. How I wanted you in those first hours! But later, toward morning, I counted it a blessing you were still away.”
Jack winced, remembering when Tom was coming into the world, the hours of worry, and then Harry’s cries, echoing faint but clear from the Pearl’s Great Cabin in the final minutes, minutes that somehow had expanded to a hellish infinity. Perhaps she was right. But if so, it was an odd sort of blessing.
Harry took the baby from him and laid her carefully on the pillow again, in Tom’s charge, then held out her arms. Jack embraced her once more with a sigh.
She said, “My dear, was your voyage very horrid?”
“Some of it was very. Other bits bordered on extremely.”
“Oh, Jack!” Harry hugged him. “And all for me. All for me.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” He sat back, and a slow grin dawned, and he shook a finger at Harry. “You owe me, ma’am, and I shall have my revenge, see if I don’t.”
“Will you?” She chuckled, and grabbed the finger, and kissed it. “You may have it. Anything you like. I do owe you, so very much, all my gratitude and love. And, as you must know by now, I always pay my debts.”
*
The rest of the company had come in to assure themselves of the Sparrows’ health and happiness, but it wasn’t long before Yewande Zola shooed everyone out. “You may go as well, Tom Sparrow, for since I have made this long journey, I will examine your sister and her mother, and your father, too, he should not be limping as badly as he does, though it may be that he exaggerates his pain to gain sympathy.”
This last teasing remark proved to have been impolitic, for Captain Sparrow became mulish and refused point blank to lower his breeches. “You’ve seen enough of me for the last week, and I’ll be damned if I’ll submit to any more torture at your hands. I’m just sore, is all, and no bloody wonder. Harry can take care of me, if anything needs to be taken care of. Go on and take a look at her. As you said yourself, that’s why we brought you.”
Yewande Zola pursed her lips and shook her head at such obstinacy, but complied, smiling inwardly at Jack’s obvious concern for his wife as she carried out the examination. She was very pleased with what she observed in Harry. “You will recover quickly, but you must take care, resting when the child does. And I will have Rachel brew you a tea of the herb your husband was so kind as to enable me to gather, very useful in strengthening the blood, and preventing infection. You must take it three times a day for the next week, and he should take some as well, for it is true that he has endured much.”
“Only if I can drink it with rum,” Jack asserted. “But why’s Rachel brewing it? Are you going somewhere?”
Yewande said, “Mistress Lightfoot has told me of a mother-to-be on the north side of the island, and has asked me to wait upon her. She is due at any time, and the women fear for her, she has had difficulties in the past. I may be gone for some days.”
“That’s poor Sarah Mitchell,” Harry told Jack. “Yes, Yewande, do go to her! I told her of your skill when last we met, several months ago now. Just knowing you’re there will be a comfort to her.”
Yewande Zola smiled on Jack Sparrow’s beloved. “You have a kind and generous heart, lamb.”
“Sparrow,” Jack said, straight-faced.
Yewande chuckled. “So she is. And now, let me see this beautiful chick you Sparrows have produced between you.”
*
Tom was out in the stable, up in the hayloft, where he sometimes liked to sleep. There was a bright moon hanging in the sky, and many stars, but the whole plantation had retired early, it seemed, and his mother and father were taken up with weariness and with the care of his baby sister. Marguerite Elizabeth Sparrow. “Daisy, for short,” Mother said, but Da, who’d been gazing dreamily at the sweet little face, murmured, “Lady Day, fairest in the land,” and Tom thought that suited her best, particularly when she began to fuss, and then bawl, imperiously demanding to be fed.
He’d wondered if he’d be jealous of her, this small being that had inspired such anxiety and effort, and seemed likely to continue to do so for months, if not years, to come. But he found he wasn’t jealous, not at all. In fact, it was rather a relief to have his parents’ attention focused on her, rather than on him. He was growing up, now. He needed his freedom. And it wasn’t as though she’d take his place in his parents’ hearts and lives. She was only a little girl.
Speaking of which, the stable door was opening quietly, then closing again, and there were light footsteps headed in the direction of the ladder leading to his lair.
“Tom?” Anne called softly.
“Come up,” he replied, not moving. He heard her climbing, and then her head appeared above the edge.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Thought I’d sleep out here tonight. Want to join me?”
She climbed on up and crawled over to him, saying, “Mother once told me – well, Julietta, but I was there, too – that a young lady of breeding wouldn’t think of sleeping with a gentleman before they were properly married. But I do think of it, when I’m with you. Is that very dreadful of me?”
“Of course not,” he said, holding up the blanket and allowing her to slip in to lie beside him. “You’re not a lady, not yet at least. And I’m more pirate than gentleman, and plan to stay that way. Pirates sleep with anyone they like. That’s why Da turned privateer when he and Mother married. She’d be mad as fire if he slept with anyone else, now.”
“Did he sleep with other ladies before they were married?”
“Of course. Dozens!”
“Are you going to? Before we marry, I mean.”
Tom laughed, but he found his face growing warm, too. “Not planning on it.”
“But you might?”
“Well, not dozens. Now, Annie, don’t look like that!”
“I can’t help it. Perhaps you will come to love one of them, and forget me, and we won’t marry at all!”
“Oh, rubbish.”
“It’s not, you know it’s not. And I want to be your best friend, always.”
“You are my best friend. It’s just… I’ve heard… well, Michael said sometimes a man… has needs.”
“Needs? What sort of needs?” she demanded, frowning.
Tom grimaced. Michael had only ever let slip the merest hints on this subject, and these had been in reference to other men, for he was himself entirely devoted to Suzanna—had been for time out of mind. But Anne expected an answer, and Tom couldn’t admit he had not really understood what sort of needs Michael was talking about.
Distraction was clearly called for, so Tom said, “I’ll tell you what it is, Annie, we’ll just have to marry young, that’s all. As soon as we can, as your sister and Michael did, and Charles and Lucia. We’ll marry, and I’ll never look at another female again, long as I live.”
“Do you promise?”
She looked so pleased and hopeful at the prospect that, though he was no longer a child and knew what promises meant, he could not disappoint her. Not his friend. His Anne. “All right, I promise. How’s that?”
“It’s… oh, it’s prime!”
He gave a crooked grin. Prime, indeed, she’d got that bit of cant from Charles, no doubt. She reached for his hand, and he gave it to her, and returned her squeeze. Then, the matter resolved, he yawned. “Silly chit. Now go to sleep. I didn’t invite you to come up here so you could keep me awake all night with your chattering.”
“Yes, Tom,” she said, meekly, and closed her eyes, but there was a smile on her lips as she settled herself beside him in the hay.
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Thank you so much for letting me know you enjoyed the story. It makes me so happy to know that you're still enjoying Harry & the Pirate after all these years.