Castaway Dreams (27 page)

"We need a sledge," Alexander said.

Daphne looked at him in confusion.

"Some means of hauling other than our own backs, Miss Farnham. There is rope here, and wood. If we pry open the top of that long case, I can attach ropes to it."

"What a brilliant idea, Dr. Murray!"

She gave him that look that made him straighten his back, and he repressed the urge to strut and crow like a rooster.

They stepped back out, blinking furiously at the stronger light and stuck their torches in the sand. Alexander looked around for a rock he could use as a wedge to pry open the box, found one of suitable size, then turned to his partner.

"Look here. This one should do the--"

Daphne looked up from where she was scouting for her own rock. She said something, but he didn't hear her, his eyes frozen on the ocean that stretched out from their little paradise. Daphne came up beside him and in his peripheral vision he saw the concern on her face, then she turned and looked out in the direction of his gaze. When Daphne drew close to him and slipped her hand in his he gripped it without saying a word, grateful for her touch.

"A ship," she said in a low voice.

He knew her mind now. She was frightened of the unknown, and his job was to reassure her as best he could. Even when he could not reassure himself.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and questioning. Some hair came loose from her braid and fell across her forehead, and Alexander let go of her hand and brushed those stray locks off of her face. The silken strands snagged on the rough skin of his fingers, callused from his instruments and years of clutching the handle of the saw. Not a gentleman's hands, a reminder he scarcely needed as he resisted the urge to undo the braid and bury his hands in those curls one more time. Maybe one last time.

He looked back out on the water.

"Yes, it is a ship. Come, Daphne, we must prepare."

She glanced at him when he used her name, but did not say anything. As they started walking back in silence she maintained her grip on his hand, and he held on to her, not willing to let her go a moment sooner than he must.

Alexander stood at ease in front of his signal fire, the sky behind him painted in the clear blues of mid-afternoon. A breeze came up wisping the smoke in his direction, then back out, but he ignored it as he watched the half-dozen men climbing the hill after rowing ashore from the schooner anchored in the cove. The vessel flew Spanish colors, but that didn't mean anything, not in these waters.

A weathered man with gray hair in a tight queue at the base of his neck led the sailors. They'd spotted Alexander early on, but other than pointing and talking amongst themselves, did not hail him. Their leader, though, was watchful, scanning the hills as the men hiked, but Alexander knew he would see nothing odd.

At least he hoped not, recalling his last conversation with Daphne before climbing the hill.

"You are to hide yourself and not come out, no matter what, Miss Farnham."

"They came because of our fire. They are here to rescue us!"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I will initiate contact and determine whether they are our saviors or our enemies. If anything should happen to me--no, do not interrupt!--if anything should happen to me, you will be safe here until the woodcutters return."

Her hands flew up to cover her mouth in fright. He could not blame her, but the last thing he needed was Daphne distracting him. It had been hard enough earlier, when they took stock of their possessions in case they had to leave quickly. Alexander also loaded his pistol and put it in his coat pocket. He banked the fire outside their hut so it would not draw their visitors, and when he stepped inside, Daphne stood there, wrapped in pink satin.

She looked like a present, like all the gaily wrapped parcels he'd spotted in the fine shops in London, shops that carried goods far beyond the reach of a struggling surgeon. He swallowed as he took the sight in. Her shoulders and arms, bronzed from the sunlight, glowed warmly against the gold threads of her improvised dress. She'd tied the cloth at her shoulder in a bow, and it draped itself like a classical garment, a sash of the same fabric tied around her waist.

"I wanted to wear it for you," she whispered.

For once, Alexander did not stop to think about consequences. He put the pistol on the table and stepped over to where she stood, her hands clasped together in front of her. He framed her face with his fingertips, memorizing each detail, the individual lashes of her eyes, the wings of her eyebrows. Her fine skin contrasted with his rough hands, but a tremulous smile moved up the corners of her lips, those lush lips like rose petals begging to be tasted one more time.

So he obliged her, touching lightly at the corner of her mouth, taking his time, exploring her jawline, her eyelids, the curve of her cheek, and finally returning to that soft mouth that opened for him, inviting him in, drawing him into her warmth and her embrace. His hands moved around to her back, sliding over satin that was no softer than the skin it covered, reaching up to bury itself in her hair.

He angled his head to explore her mouth more effectively and she drew up on her bare toes, her hands clasping around his neck, cradling him against her as his pulse raced with the sheer physical pleasure of holding Daphne in his arms again.

She smelled like fresh air, sunshine, and woman, her beauty unmarred by cosmetics or perfume, purely her, all of it Daphne.

He wanted to unwrap her like the gift she was, but that part of his brain still functioning, that still had blood flowing to it, asserted itself and he pulled back. Even then he was unable to resist placing more kisses over her eyelids, the sensitive spot in front of her ear where her hair floated out like silken floss, the collarbone above the satin, and finally, the pulse at her neck beating fast, rapid with her longing and desire, desire for him.

He rested his forehead against hers while she sought to catch her breath. He knew she could feel him pressing against her, his need for her rampant, but she did not say anything. Her hands slid slowly, reluctantly from his hair and she fell back on her heels, stepping away from him.

Daphne took a deep breath, then looked up at him.

"Are we doing the right thing, Dr. Murray? Should we hide and wait for the woodcutters to return?"

He looked at her, drinking her in, wanting the moment to last forever, but he shook his head.

"We cannot risk being stranded if rescue is available, Miss Farnham. I will go to the signal fire. You will stay here."

He stooped and picked up Pompom, who wriggled and tried to lick his face as he passed the dog to her.

"Your task is to keep yourself and your animal safe until I return, Miss Farnham."

Now he stood remembering the look on her beautiful face as he left. He was calmer knowing she was at their hut, away from immediate danger. It was prudent for any sailor to go armed in these waters, but the extent of the strangers' weaponry as they approached made Alexander glad he insisted Daphne stay behind.

The leader said to him in heavily accented Spanish, "Is that your signal fire,
señor
?"

"Yes," Alexander replied in English, "I hoped a passing ship would see it."

"You are English then," the man said in the same language, his voice reflecting his Liverpool origins.

"Scottish," Alex said, "I am Alexander Murray, late of His Majesty's frigate
Caeneus
, now castaway here."

"Yes, I suspected as much," the Englishman said dryly, looking at Alexander's bare chest beneath his coat, and his ragged trousers. "I am Horace Fuller, mate aboard the
Prodigal
, bound for..."

His speech was interrupted by a high-pitched yipping noise. Alexander's head whipped around to see the bichon burst through the underbrush and make straight for him. The dog planted himself in front of Alexander, lowered his head and growled at Horace Fuller, who looked stunned at this unexpected attack. Alexander swooped down and scooped the pink beribboned animal into his arms, where it began frantically licking his face and wagging its tail, no doubt pleased at having protected him from the intruders.

"Well now," Fuller said with a slight smile on his grizzled face, a scar at his jawline pulling up like a curtain string. "I can see you weren't alone here, Mr. Murray. What's your dog's name?"

Alex hesitated for half a second, but there was nothing for it.

"Pompom."

It took another half a second, and then the air was filled with the whoops of the sailors laughing their salty arses off.

"Pompom! Ooooh, what a sweet widdle name for a doggy!"

"Careful, Mr. Fuller, or Pompom might nibble on your toesy-woesies!"

Alexander bore it stoically, even as he wondered why Pompom was not with his mistress.

"All right, all right, belay that, you lot," Fuller finally said, putting a halt to most of the tomfoolery, though a chuckle or two still drifted over on the sea breeze. He wiped his hand across his face.

"So, Mr. Murray, you are all alone here? Except for," a snigger leaked out, "your little friend Pompom?"

"What are you doing with my dog? And my doctor?"

Alexander closed his eyes and said a hasty prayer, but when he opened them and turned around he saw exactly what he feared he would see.

Daphne Farnham, looking like a sun-kissed Aphrodite in pink satin, her uncorseted form all too clearly outlined beneath her fine fabric, bounced up through the palmettoes. The sailors from the
Prodigal
were struck dumb to a man, their eyes wide with awe at the amazing example of pulchritude headed their way. She looked like every sailor's dream over a long voyage, and Alexander feared the situation would become very serious very quickly if he did not do something.

"By King Neptune's damp balls!" he heard one of the men whisper worshipfully. "Would ye feast your peepers on that?"

"Can we keep her, Mr. Fuller? Can we? Can we? Please say yes!" another sailor pleaded.

Mr. Fuller watched Daphne's progress, his mouth slightly ajar. He closed it with a snap and stared at Alexander.

"Does this woman belong to you, Mr. Murray?"

"Aye, for my sins."

"That woman, there, that woman coming up the path, is
your
woman?"

Alexander heard the patent disbelief in the man's voice, and could hardly blame him. He couldn't quite believe it himself. However, it gave him an idea...

"Oh, Pompom, did these nasty men hurt you, my precious?"

She snatched the dog from Alexander and glared at the men surrounding them, oblivious to the fact that she was on the receiving end of a glare as well.

"Didn't I instruct you to wait and not follow me?"

"I had to come after you! These pirates have my dog! And my doctor!"

"Always a comfort to know where I stand in your affections, Miss Farnham."

"Pirates?" Fuller said, not looking pleased to be labeled that way.

"This is my wife," Alexander said abruptly. He needed to regain hold of this situation, as best he could. "Miss Farn--the former Miss Daphne Farnham is my wife."

"I am?"

"She took a blow to the head during the storm that shipwrecked us here, and doesn't remember the shipboard wedding, poor dear."

"I was not hit in the head!"

"You see? She doesn't even remember the mishap that cost her some of her memories. It is a common result from such an injury. I have been addressing her as Miss Farnham while we are stranded here, hoping to ease her back into her memories of our marriage. Too much information too soon, forcing the memories of our deep connection and love, could cause a brain fever."

"It could?" Now she looked worried. "I do not want a brain fever, Dr. Murray."

"She even continues to refer to me as 'Dr. Murray' even though I'm her own dear Alexander."

"You are?"

Mr. Fuller looked like he'd heard a similar tale 'round Banbury, but watched the two of them while the men stood silently, hands near their weapons, awaiting orders. He finally made up his mind.

"We'll let the captain sort this out. You're a physician?"

"A surgeon. Miss Farnham--Mrs. Murray likes to call me 'Doctor.'"

"A surgeon, eh?" Mr. Fuller looked at Alexander with new interest, and Alexander's heart sank. It was not unheard of for pirates to kidnap surgeons, keeping them aboard their vessels to tend to the wounded. But most of these incidents had happened long ago, so it was possible Mr. Fuller simply wanted his pox treated or to discuss his piles.

"We'll take you aboard the
Prodigal
, and see what's what," Mr. Fuller said. He instructed some of the men to start filling the water butts they'd brought from the ship. He turned back to the couple watching silently.

"Come with me, Mr. Murray and...Mrs. Murray. Do you have any gear you want to take with you? We will spend the night aboard ship."

Daphne moved close to Alexander and he put his hand on her arm, to reassure her, and to convince Fuller that she was indeed his wife.

"There are some items down the trail at the woodcutter's hut."

"I know where that is," Fuller said. "Paget!"

"Aye, Mr. Fuller?"

"You're in charge of this lot. I will meet you at the beach."

"Aye, sir."

Fuller followed the silent couple down the trail to the hut. His eyes scanned the room, resting on the bolt of pink satin.

"Looks as if you've been exploring, Mr. Murray." He looked at Alexander. "Take anything else for your use?"

"No," Alexander said. Fuller's question confirmed his suspicions that the
Prodigal's
crew was responsible for the cave of hidden goods.

"We had to take that cloth, Mr. Fuller. My clothing was just in rags! I know you would not mind a lady making use of those items you left behind."

Fuller looked at Daphne's bare shoulders above her pink satin wrap and patches of color stained the older man's cheekbones. It appeared even hardened pirates weren't immune to Daphne's charms.

"Well, miss--ma'am, I can see how you might need to make use of our goods."