Castaway Dreams (29 page)

St. Armand did not confirm or deny his nationality, and before Alexander could probe further, there was a rap at the cabin door, followed by men bearing covered dishes that by their aromas were a far cry from raw fish. They were set before the captain and the covers removed, and Daphne whispered a worshipful, "Oh, my goodness!"

"I have an excellent seacook," Captain St. Armand said, reaching for a dish of roasted chicken smothered in a sauce that carried a hint of ginger and cinnamon. He served Daphne, then passed the plate to Alexander, who found his own mouth watering at the delights before them. In addition to the chicken there was a rice pilaf, flatbreads, fresh vegetables and a round of cheese. The two castaways refrained from falling on the food like starving beggars, but they did justice to the
Prodigal
cook's efforts.

"This is an amazing feast, Captain St. Armand. Far better than the food we had aboard the
Magpie.
"

Alexander grudgingly added his approval of the meal.

"It is good. Have you had this cook with you for long?"

"No, Hill is working his passage to England, but he says he'll leave us there. A shame, really. Someone of his talents should be cooking for a duke or a king. Or me.

"So you see, I can offer you good accommodations and a fine ship for your voyage. As far as outfitting you, I am certain we have items in ship's stores that will take care of your needs."

Alexander had to admit there were worse ways to make the ocean crossing than in a comfortable, well-armed ship with an excellent cook. He would, however, vastly prefer being aboard a vessel with an older, uglier captain, one less liable to turn Daphne's pretty head. He'd given his word he would watch over her until England and he still intended to do that. Having her fall into the arms of a handsome pirate was not going to happen, not on his watch.

"I do appreciate your letting me make use of the cloth you have, Captain. Wherever did you find such beautiful fabric?"

"It fell off a boat."

"A frequent occurrence, Captain St. Armand?"

"It does seem to happen when I'm in the area, Mr. Murray." He turned back to Daphne. "Some of the men are small and slender enough that you could fit into their clothing until we can make you some of your own. They would be happy to share with you, and Mr. Murray appears to be of a size with Mr. Fuller."

Daphne giggled softly.

"After losing my clothes in the shipwreck, dressing like a sailor will be another adventure, Captain St. Armand. I will put it all in my book!"

"You are an authoress, Miss Farnham?" He looked surprised and interested, and Alexander shifted in his seat.

"Not yet, but I hope to be published one day. Dr. Murray is helping me."

She looked at Alexander with that smile on her face he'd come to think of in a proprietary fashion as "his smile," and he felt some of the tension ease out of his back and neck.

"If there are quarters ready for us, Captain St. Armand, perhaps Mrs. Murray could rest and then we will see about outfitting ourselves."

Captain St. Armand rose to his feet and stepped outside the cabin. Daphne started to speak, but Alexander brought his finger to his lips, signaling her not to talk, and for once she simply did as instructed.

He had no illusions the rest of the voyage would be that easy.

Captain St. Armand returned and said, "Mr. Fuller's cabin is ready for you. If you'll follow Conroy he'll show you which cabin is yours."

He took Daphne's hand in his before Alexander could stop him, bowed smoothly over it and said, "Until later, dear lady."

Alex took another look around the cabin. With those fluffy, brightly colored pillows, the mirrors, the fondness for pink satin, the luxury...perhaps Captain St. Armand was of an inclination where he would not be a threat to Daphne's virtue. However, Alexander had spent enough time at sea to have a good instinct in these matters, and he rather expected that the bold pirate would be a great deal of trouble indeed.

"Daphne--Miss Farnham--we must talk."

"We absolutely do need to talk, Dr. Murray! When were we married?"

"We are not married, Miss Farnham, it was a ruse--"

"Hah! I thought I would remember if we were married. I am tired of pretend marriages, Dr. Murray. They are not at all the done thing, I assure you!"

He looked at her with that expression of exasperation she suspected was the same look Pompom saw on her face when he'd chewed a slipper. What did the doctor expect? He said she was married to him, and did not remember being hit on the head, but now he said she was not really married to him. She had already been in one almost marriage and she was not about to do that again, thank you very much!

"A ruse to keep you safe," he continued, almost as if what she had to say on the nature of marriage was not important at all. "If this crew believes you are married to me, then I can protect you.

"And before you protest further, if Captain St. Armand does not believe we are married, he will not allow us to share a cabin. You would be too vulnerable alone, Miss Farnham. This is not the
Magpie
, and these men are not the sort you are used to."

"Because they're pirates?"

He sighed and rubbed the spot between his eyes.

"Yes, because they're pirates."

"I knew there would be pirates," she said with satisfaction.

"That does not make our situation better, Miss Farnham, it makes it worse."

"It certainly makes it more interesting."

"Miss Farnham, I have been doing my best to escort you to England in one piece, but if you wish to arrive there safe and sound, you will pay attention."

He was looking at her again as he had aboard the
Magpie
, as if she were a nuisance or an unruly child, or worse, and Daphne felt something inside her curl up and wither like a frost-nipped rose. On the island it was different. When it was just the two of them, he looked at her like she was special, not like she was a chore akin to swallowing unpleasant medicine. It was the same look she'd received from Mrs. Cowper and Captain Franklin. The same look she received from her father when he was disappointed with her, which happened too often.

"I liked it better on the island," she said in a small voice.

He started to shake his head, then stopped, and said gently, "The island was special, Miss Farnham. But it was unreal, much like Shakespeare's
Tempest.
Now we must face the reality I warned you of. You will take your place again in society, I will make a place for myself amongst the laboring classes. This vessel is our best option for traveling to England, but I do not trust Captain St. Armand."

"Why not?"

"I cannot believe he is in the habit of rescuing stranded travelers," he said thoughtfully, placing his hands behind his back and pacing the small cabin. "Normally, pirates want to keep a low profile. He has his own reasons for taking us aboard. It may only be that he wants a surgeon on this voyage, but I urge you to be cautious, and let me deal with him."

Daphne couldn't argue with the logic of that, but she was also sure Dr. Murray had no idea how luscious the pirate captain was. His looks! His manners! His flair for dressing! It was a most entertaining display. She had spent her life being admired for her looks and grace, and could appreciate those qualities in others.

Captain St. Armand did seem to bring out dear Dr. Murray's grumpy side, so she would work to smooth over relations between the two men, otherwise this could be an uncomfortable voyage.

And speaking of uncomfortable, she gave a small sigh as she looked around Mr. Fuller's cabin. It had none of the color or flair of the commander's quarters. The bunk was narrow and covered with a plain gray blanket, there was a drop-down writing desk attached to the bulkhead, one straightbacked chair, and no mirror. It did have a small porthole, and that at least was a luxury anyone could appreciate, light and air in the cramped space.

"You will take the bunk, Miss Farnham. I can rig a hammock."

"I don't think the bunk is that narrow, Dr. Murray. I'm sure we can share it if we are very close--oh!" Her hand rose to cover her lips as she imagined how close they'd be in that small box.

"Exactly."

There was a knock on the door, and a sailor missing part of his left ear entered, Pompom cradled under his arm.

"Here's your doggy, Miss."

He scratched Pompom behind the bichon's ear, which made the dog wriggle in delight.

"He's a lively pup. If you like, I can rig a collar and leash for you to walk him around the deck."

"Would you, Mr. Norton? That would be wonderful."

Daphne smiled at the young man, who turned twenty shades of red.

"'S no problem," he muttered, not looking directly at her. "I do macramé and I can fix something up quick."

"Macramé! You make the pretty knotted strings? Will you teach me how to do that?"

Dr. Murray cleared his throat.

"We can discuss this later, Mis...Daphne. Why don't you let Norton return to his tasks now?"

Norton looked relieved to be released from her presence. He stammered out that he'd rigged a box for the dog to use near the head, but as soon as he said "head" he turned so red she feared he'd explode. He ducked out of the cabin before this could occur.

Pompom sniffed out every corner of the small space, then jumped on the bunk and pawed at the covers until he made himself a nest, turned around three times and threw himself down with a sigh. He'd had a difficult day, too.

"You said you did not trust Captain St. Armand, Doctor. Do you think he plans to rob us? We do not have anything of value except Pompom."

"I do not think robbery is what Captain St. Armand has in mind," Dr. Murray said slowly. "I do not know what his game is, but for now I think we should be watchful and see what develops."

* * * *

"Why are you dressed like someone from a theater troupe that wanders from village to village being paid in chickens and turnips?"

Robert St. Armand chuckled as he poured out two glasses of rum, one for himself and one for his mate. Horace Fuller had gloomily predicted for years Robert would come to a bad end, and was at his back in tough situations often enough that he deserved an explanation.

"You do not like my costume, Mr. Fuller? I assure you, it accomplished exactly what I hoped it would. Do I not look every inch the romantic pirate captain?"

"You look like a damned mountebank," Fuller growled, tossing back his rum.

"Oh, I don't know. I think this red sash makes the outfit. Regardless, there's a method to my sartorial madness. The name 'Daphne Farnham' meant nothing to you, Mr. Fuller, but it did to me when you informed me of our unexpected guests. Miss Farnham is a famous heiress. When that girl made her debut it was all the talk of London. So beautiful! So rich! So brainless! Everything a man could desire."

"A lot of money?"

"Oh yes, enough to keep a man happy for many, many years. Think about it--what impressionable young woman is not in love with the idea of a bold buccaneer? A voyage across the ocean is just the opportunity I need to sway Miss Farnham to my side instead of Mr. Murray's."

St. Armand braced his arms alongside his mirror, looked into the glass and sighed with satisfaction.

"I am so damned pretty, Mr. Fuller. It is no contest at all. The girls at Madame Cornelia's fight to spend the night with me. The boys at Ganymede's Cup swoon over my face and form. Miss Farnham is no different, and I will soon have her bedazzled. It is inevitable. It is fate. Her money and I were meant to be together."

He smiled, admiring the teeth that were as white and shiny as ever.

"He says he's her husband."

"Murray?" St. Armand looked over his shoulder at his unsmiling mate and snickered at the thought of his competition. If one could even call Mr. Murray competition. Which one would not, because the concept was so ridiculous.

"Then she'll make a lovely widow in need of comforting, won't she? A ship at sea is a dangerous place, Mr. Fuller. People slip overboard, are struck by flying tackle, fall down into the hold, fall atop swords by accident. Terribly unsafe. I predict that if Miss Farnham is in fact Mrs. Murray, it will not be an issue by the time we dock."

Fuller grunted, taking this all in stride as just another day's work aboard the
Prodigal.

"Want me to remove him?"

Robert St. Armand thought about this while he looked back into the mirror. He adjusted his shirt collar open and tousled his hair to make it a tad more windswept. Much better.

"We could use a surgeon, so let's keep him around for a while. There is plenty of time over the coming weeks to deal with Mr. Murray."

* * * *

Norton and another sailor named Conroy delivered clothing and other items to the
Prodigal's
passengers that afternoon.

Daphne's wardrobe consisted of trousers that were tight through the hips and cut off short at the bottom, showing a scintillating amount of ankle, and two shirts--one a knit that was made for an individual with a much flatter chest, and a sailor's blouse that laced up the front. There was also Captain St. Armand's red sash for use as a belt, sent "with his compliments, Miss."

Alexander's clothes also featured too-short trousers and a too-loose shirt that Daphne said did nothing to enhance his appearance beyond covering him.

"I am surprised such a fashionable man as Captain St. Armand couldn't find more flattering clothes for you, Dr. Murray."

"I am not surprised."

There was another knock at the door, and Norton stuck his head in.

"Miss, Captain St. Armand says," he swallowed, the color rising again in his face. "Cap'n says you can take a bath in fresh water while we're here and this is the last opportunity you'll have to bathe before we set out," he gasped out in a rush. "It's in his cabin."

The door slammed behind him and Alexander wondered if the malicious captain sent this particular sailor just to see if he could make him die of blushing. Daphne clapped her hands and looked at Alexander.