O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
LORD BYRON
THE CORSAIR, CANTO II
Morgan pivoted, but his attempt to get away from the blade of his attacker was useless. He stepped back again and again as he tried to parry, tried to thrust, until his back slammed against a palm, and the tip of the foil rested victoriously over his heart.
Bloody hell! He’d trained his opponent far too well.
Casey shed her protective mask and grinned. “You’re not quite as light on your feet as you used to be.”
“Ha!” Morgan tossed down his mask and ripped off his vest. “I am just as light and just as fast as I’ve always been.” He leaned close to his daughter and whispered, “I was merely giving you the opportunity to impress that new boy friend of yours.”
“He already knows how good I am.” Casey winked, and Morgan felt a surge of fatherly protectiveness rise within him.
Bloody hell! He did not like being the parent of a sixteen-year-old girl who’d given up a portion of her love for pirates to the wanton pursuit of athletic young men.
What was a father to do with a girl like that? Casey dropped her vest in the sand and walked much too provocatively toward the tall, muscular blond who stared at her as if she were a sea witch who’d enchanted him with her charms.
Morgan forced himself to turn away. Twould do no good to lecture. Casey, like her mother, had a will of her own.
He strolled across the beach and squatted down in the sand beside his oldest son. This was someone who listened—always.
He was a damn fine storyteller, too. Just like his father.
“Thomas Low was the wickedest, most vile cut-throat ever to sail the seven seas,” Joseph said, relating his favorite tale, much to Morgan’s chagrin. Many a time he’d asked Joseph to tell something else, but this story seemed his favorite.
Melody, Michael, and Matthew huddled in a half-circle around their older brother, listening intently to every word he breathed.
“People everywhere were afraid of him,” Joseph continued. “Even the pirates who sailed with him thought he was mad. Suddenly Thomas Low disappeared. No one knew what had happened to him. No one really cared. Still, the people were frightened that he might come back and be far worse than he’d been before.” Joseph’s voice lowered, and Morgan watched his three youngest children lean forward, straining to hear. “One day, the mean, horrid, awful pirate did come back.”
“What happened then?” Matthew asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
“The people cheered.” Joseph grinned. “They threw parties in the street.”
“Why?” Michael asked.
“Because Thomas Low was dead. His foul, stinking body washed up on the beach with a jeweled cutlass running clean through the middle of it.”
Melody’s lower lip quivered, and Morgan swept his three-year-old up in his arms before her tears could fall.
“Why don’t you tell one of the fairy tales I taught you?” Morgan asked Joseph.
“Ah, those aren’t any fun, Dad. We like the stories Casey tells us a whole lot better.”
He set a hand down on top his son’s dark brown hair. “Exaggerations—all of them.”
Joseph raised one eyebrow, and damn if he didn’t see his own face staring back at him.
“Obviously you haven’t read any of your own books lately,” Joseph stated. “Or maybe you exaggerated the truth so you could sell them. Some of those stories about Mack Heart did seem a little overdone. No pirate was ever that good.”
“He was the greatest, most honorable, gentlemanly pirate ever.”
“Impossible.”
“Must you argue with me?” Morgan asked.
“Aye.”
Joseph’s lips angled into a grin, and Morgan laughed so loud he thankfully interrupted Casey’s ardent flirtation.
He waved at his incorrigible daughter and her I boyfriend, only to suffer her most annoyed leave-me-alone frown.
Turning his attention back to his son, he plopped Melody in Joseph’s lap. “Tell your brothers and sisters a fairy tale,” Morgan said firmly. “Your mother’s not all that crazy about stories of pillage and plunder.”
“I’ve heard you telling Mom some real whoppers when you’re alone at night. Casey says some times you even dress up like a pirate to entertain Mom. Gosh, Dad, there was even a pirate on top of your wedding cake.”
Morgan wasn’t about to get involved in a discussion about the stories he told Kate late at night, or the fact that he quite often dressed up as a pirate, complete with eye patch. That was between him and Kate. Talking about something like that could only lead to subjects he wasn’t prepared to explain to Joseph or any of his children—not yet, anyway.
Instead, he ruffled his son’s hair. “All right. Go ahead and tell a pirate story, but make sure it’s about Black Heart, and make sure you don’t embellish the truth.”
“Cool!” Joseph exclaimed, turning his attention to his brothers and sister.
Morgan rose from the sand, listening to Joseph’s opening lines as he walked across the beach in search of his wife.
“Once upon a time there was a mean, swarthy-looking pirate named Black Heart, who had a big, ugly scar down the side of his face. In fact,” Joseph’s voice lowered, “he looked just like Daddy.”
Morgan jerked around. His three youngest children were staring at him with wide-mouthed awe. Joseph winked.
Bloody hell! Had Casey told Joseph the truth?
Morgan looked at his adopted daughter, at her hands wrapped tightly about her boyfriend’s neck. It was high time the two of them had a serious talk—and the sooner, the better.
Morgan shook his head in frustration and stalked toward the restored fortress he and Kate had shared as their second home for nearly ten years.
Kate—blessedly beautiful Kate—was sitting in the shade, reading a book. She looked up at him as he neared, and smiled.
“Bloody hell, Kate. You have raised five terribly hopeless children.”
“Yes, I’m sure their temperaments are all my fault.”
“Damn right.”
She’d given in far too easily. She was tired, he guessed, but she’d never admit it, never complain.
That was one of only a million reasons why he loved her so greatly.
He sat behind her, straddling her hips, and pulled her back against his chest, soaking up the warmth and love that had never waned—not for one second—between them. “These two,” he said, smoothing his hands over her swollen belly, “shall be mine to raise. They will be sweet, innocent, and totally in my power.”
“You said that the last four times. You’re a good father, Morgan, but it’s your children who have you under their control, not the other way around.”
“Tis true, I suppose. I often find it hard to believe I ever captained a ship, sailed the world, or…or did a lot of things I did. I have turned quite soft, I imagine.”
“You’re anything but that.”
She leaned her head back, and he lowered his cheek to rest against her honey-colored hair.
“Do you ever miss any of it?” she asked softly.
“Nay. I have all and more than I ever desired. ’Tis a blessing that I traveled through time. The Lord smiled down on me that day.”
“I think Joe had a hand in it, too.”
“Why is that?”
“The night before the storm, he came to me in a dream. It’s the last one I ever had about him. He asked me to go to the island. He said I’d find a treasure there.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Oh, but you’re wrong. I found the greatest treasure imaginable.” She turned in his arms and looked long and deep into his eyes. “I found you.”