Castaway Dreams (25 page)

"If a boat put in here for water they would not find much from that freshet where we stopped. But it is a possibility."

He scanned the hills again, and the shoreline, and then stopped, staring at where the rocks and the sea met to the west.

"Look over there, Miss Farnham. What does that look like to you?"

Daphne followed where he pointed. The surgeon's hands were browner from their exposure. He would need to wear gloves when they returned to England if he wanted his hands to look like a gentleman's. Maybe some nice tan kid ones, she thought as she scanned the area, until she saw what he'd spotted.

"Is that a hole in the rocks, Dr. Murray?"

"I am thinking it is indeed a hole, Miss Farnham. One that leads to a cave."

He looked at the area, and the surrounding plants and rocks.

"It is above the waterline. If it is a cave, it could be used to store..." his voice trailed off. "Any number of things."

Daphne clapped her hands together, which made Pompom cock his head and watch her.

"Do you think there is pirate treasure there?"

Dr. Murray stopped, looked at her, and raised an eyebrow.

"You dwell too much on pirates, Miss Farnham. Please rein in your imagination."

"Pirates are interesting," Daphne grumbled.

"Only to people who have no dealings with them."

He looked up at the sky.

"We have plenty of daylight left. Let's find out for ourselves if that is a cave."

"And if it has treasure!"

He sighed, but trooped off and Daphne and Pompom followed. At the rocks Daphne put Pompom in the shade with a command to "Stay!" Dr. Murray was impressed when the dog obeyed her.

"Pompom is the world's cleverest puppy, Dr. Murray."

"I would not go that far, Miss Farnham. I daresay you never saw a collie herding sheep."

"Pompom could herd sheep if he wanted to," she said loyally.

He turned and cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Maybe one small sheep." She paused. "Why is there one sheep and two sheep? Why aren't there flocks of sheeps?"

"I will not be able to sleep tonight for pondering that question, Miss Farnham."

She grinned at his retreating back, for Daphne knew now when Dr. Murray was jesting. At least, she thought she knew. A catbird sitting in a twisted cedar gave its distinctive cry when their passage disturbed it, stirring up some bluebirds who took flight. All else was quiet though, no other human or animal marking their progress up to where Dr. Murray had spotted the opening in the rocks.

Daphne stumbled over a stone, but before she could fall, a strong hand had her, holding her, supporting her arm. Dr. Murray was watching her with concern in his eyes.

"I am pushing you too hard, Miss Farnham. You stay here and rest in the shade."

"I will not." Daphne said indignantly, pulling her arm back even though it felt good to have Dr. Murray support her. "Did you not say I am the loyal crew in this adventure? How would it be if I let you go off by yourself without your crew to help you?"

He looked at her a moment, then his chin dipped in acknowledgment.

"I did say that, Miss Farnham. But a good commander also knows when the, ehm, men are being pushed too hard. I will not think less of you if you stay here."

"No," Daphne said firmly. "I am with you, Dr. Murray."

He looked at her again, then simply turned and continued climbing. Daphne straightened her back and followed behind.

The path terminated at the narrow cave mouth, only about the width of Dr. Murray's shoulders, but he could squeeze in sideways and Daphne had no trouble at all following him. He straightened up, careful of his head, and let out a low whistle. Daphne was speechless.

Someone was indeed using the cave to store goods. They couldn't see more than few feet in front of them into the dry cave, but they could see it was filled with parcels and bales and casks.

"It is treasure," Daphne whispered.

"Maybe," Dr. Murray said. "Stand to your left there, Miss Farnham, to let in maximum light. Good."

She followed his instruction and he began checking the casks and boxes they could see, while Daphne's eye was caught by three large and long parcels on the cave floor, tied with stout cord.

"Dr. Murray! I recognize this name. It is a mill near Manchester."

He joined her and they dragged the parcel closer to the cave entrance, into the sunlight. Dr. Murray pulled out his knife, slitting the cords on the package, and what spilled out was a bolt of fabric in a deep ruby shade.

"It's wool!" Daphne said with glee, caressing the tight weave of the fabric. She paused and fingered the cloth. "Not ordinary wool, but a fabric called 'the union,' mixing wool and silk together. It was all the rage in the dress shops a year or two back. I wonder how it ended up here?"

She noticed Dr. Murray had not said anything, and looked up at him. He was looking at the other items in the cave.

"Spirits, goods from Europe and England, that looks like sacks of coffee beans over there and casks of molasses. My guess is it was placed here by someone who made off with it from other owners, or is planning on smuggling it in to the islands or back to Europe without tariffs being collected."

"Pirates and smugglers?"

"Let us hope not," he said sternly. "You read too much bad literature, Miss Farnham. There is nothing pleasant or exciting about an encounter with pirates or smugglers. Whoever they are, they will come back for this."

"Our signal fire..." Daphne said, as the realization of what they might attract sank in.

"Exactly. We need to return to our camp, and be prepared."

"We need this cloth also. We can use it to make ourselves clothing, or wrap in it at night. We can figure out how to pay the owners for it later, can't we?"

He hesitated, then said, "You are correct, Miss Farnham, but right now we should return while there's still plenty of light."

"Let's check the other bolts, Doctor, to see what's here."

He pulled another parcel into the light and cut through the wrapping.

"Oh, Dr. Murray!"

Daphne was struck speechless as she knelt down next to the bolt of cloth, her hand reaching out to caress the rich satin that glowed like the deepest blush of dawn, that edge of pink shading toward salmon that rose over the island in the morning. Her roughened fingers snagged the delicate gold threads shot through the fabric and she snatched her hand back, curling it in a fist in her lap, afraid to damage the fine material. It was so lovely. So unsuited to gathering onions from the garden.

The cave was silent, and then a warm hand rested on the back of her neck as she sat there, staring at the treasure.

"We will take this one with us today."

She turned around. He was looking not at the satin, but at her.

"Why? It will not keep us warm like the wool. It is pink satin for a ball gown. It is not useful."

She tried to laugh, but it did not sound right and hurt her throat.

"We will need the wool also, but we will take this one now. It is silk, is it not?"

"Yes. Silk satin. Nothing takes color like silk does."

"Silk is a strong fiber," he said. "Remember your hairnet? This fabric could be quite useful. And it will make a practical garment, strong, yet cool in the summer heat."

"Practical?"

"Unless you see some dark brown silk that would hide bloodstains, this is our best option."

"I'll ruin it," she said, not looking at him, but down at her callused hands. She blinked her eyes, because her vision had gone blurred.

"Nonsense," he said briskly, and she heard him move behind her. "It will suit your purposes well, Miss Farnham. Come along now, we must leave here."

He gave her his hand to help her up from the floor, holding tight to hers, work-roughened skin and all. She thought he might have given it a squeeze, but that was likely just her imagination.

* * * *

Alexander rewrapped the bundle and hoisted the cloth onto his shoulder, taking one last look around the cave.

"We can return for the wool. We know it's here when we need it."

"That is true," Daphne Farnham said, glancing over her shoulder at him. Her step was light, and her normal good nature was restored. For a moment there he had been tempted to take her in his arms when he saw her distress over her rags, her work-roughened hands, things he did not think about, but that were upsetting to her.

"I feel better knowing we will not be reduced to wearing leaves or lizard skins or anything disgusting like that while we are here," Daphne said, plucking at the rags of her dress. "Now all I need to do is figure out how to make a garment out of a bolt of cloth. Without shears or needles and thread or seamstresses or a dressmaker's form."

"In the Marquesas Islands--that's in the Pacific, Miss Farnham--the women wrap a length of cloth around themselves and fasten it at one shoulder."

He did not feel compelled to add that the style left a breast bare, but the image of Daphne Farnham wrapped in pink, one soft, rose-nippled breast exposed, a perfect complement to the blush satin, came to his mind and refused to leave him. He shifted the package on his shoulder and thought about the wool back in the cave. Thought about good, stout wool cloth and cold, damp Scottish winters. Damp, frigid, sleeting weather when you bundled up from top to bottom...and how wonderful it would be to peel off layers in front of a roaring fire, exposing ivory-hued limbs and a creamy white arse and soft golden curls hidden beneath cozy flannel undergarments...

He stumbled and caught himself, swearing beneath his breath.

"Dr. Murray? Did you say something."

"I stubbed my toe. Keep walking, Miss Farnham, I wish to return before nightfall."

Daphne turned her head and flashed him a smile, which did nothing to drive his mind back to a safer path. The sound of barking ahead of them drew her attention and her dog burst through the brush, wagging his tail and jumping up to try and lick her. She swooped the pup into her arms and it covered her face in wet kisses.

Lucky cur.

They paused at their water stop and Alex refreshed himself, shifting the parcel to his other shoulder. He ached from carrying the heavy bolt, but shook his head when Daphne said he could leave it behind and they would fetch it tomorrow.

"No. I can do this."

He needed to do this. There was not much he could do for his companion, stranded here with him through no fault of her own, but he could put a sparkle back in her eye by giving her this frivolous cloth. He put the cloth inside the cabin and the dog sniffed at it, but at a sharp word from his mistress let it alone.

"You go wash up, Dr. Murray. I can put supper on."

Miss Farnham said this with such pride in her voice that he paused from wiping his sweating brow and looked at her.

"Thank you, Miss Farnham. That would be greatly appreciated. When I return, I will check the signal fire."

"Is that wise?"

She was watching him, waiting for him to make a command decision.

"We do not know how long that cave has been occupied. We are still better off taking our chances of rescue by some fisherman or naval vessel."

When he returned from the pond, wiping the water out of his hair, she was waiting outside their cabin.

"I want to go with you," she said, and he gave her his arm.

The late afternoon air was soft, but there was a hint of coolness as the sun dipped low. He was glad they'd found the wool cloth. They were going to need it.

Their fire was embers, as neither of them had been there during the day to feed it. He threw some wood on and waited until it caught. He stood now, as he did each night before sunset, scanning for any sign of other humans. He took his time, methodically looking at all directions of the compass. Finally, he put his hand down from where it was shading his eyes, and turned to his silent watcher.

"Nothing there," he said.

Was that relief on Miss Farnham's face? Surely not. She'd been an amazingly adaptable companion--no, a partner in this castaway adventure, but she must long for a ball or a visit to the theater where she could dress in pink satin with gold trimmings, rejoining the world she was born into.

They walked down the hill, Daphne humming a merry tune, one he knew.

He did not realize he was humming along until she stopped and giggled, and then, all unexpectedly, took his hand in hers and they continued down to their little hut hand-in-hand.

* * * *

Daphne prepared for bed still humming. The pink satin was propped up in a corner, nearly glowing in the firelight that came through the door. She hugged herself. Tomorrow she would make a dress, one unlike anything she'd worn before, and there would be no one to point and laugh and criticize or tell her it was not
à la mode.
There was just dear Dr. Murray and Pompom. Both males seemed to like her the way she was, calluses and dry skin and all. In fact, she almost thought Dr. Murray liked her better than when she'd been so careful with her appearance.

He was an odd man, but he'd found a special place in her heart. When she was with him she felt a warmth she'd never felt with any other man.

Warmth was perhaps not the best word.

She wanted him to roger her within an inch of her life.

There! She'd said it! To herself, because she was too much of a coward to sit up and demand that Dr. Murray do what she knew he wanted to do. Even she was not that much of a hussy.

Not yet, anyway, but if they had any more wonderful days like today when all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and smother him with kisses, the silly man had only himself to blame for being so...so...rogerable.

And now he was returning from banking the fire for the night and once again she would lie down next to him and he'd put those muscled arms around her. While that was all well and good, and it was really quite delightful sharing warmth that way, it just wasn't enough.

Atrophy was becoming more and more a concern for her.

Daphne excused herself to take Pompom out one more time, and scrub her teeth with the salt water and peeled twig as Dr. Murray had shown her.