"You wait here with the lady, Mr. Murray," Fuller said, directing them to an area near the mast where an awning offered shade from the tropical sun.
"I would like to speak with your captain as soon as he's available," Alexander said as an answer, then helped Daphne to sit on a coiled hawser with Pompom on her lap, out of the sun.
Mr. Fuller nodded and went below. Daphne looked around with interest, humming to herself. After about thirty minutes there was the sound of voices and footsteps coming up from below, and Alexander helped Daphne to her feet. She was looking over his shoulder and her eyes were as large as Delft saucers before a smile grew on her face that had Alexander turning around to see--
"Bloody hell," he swore.
The captain of the Prodigal stood on his deck, perfect white teeth flashing in his perfectly bronzed face with its cleft chin, the golden sunlight winking off of his single earring. He was tall and lithe and wore a billowing white shirt, its laces unfastened to reveal a muscular chest. His hands were fisted on his hips, legs spread in a pose that drew all eyes to him. Alexander took this all in clinically as he studied the man. It was about as bad as it could be. From the top of his windswept ebon locks to the kohl-lined blue eyes, even bluer than Daphne's, to the red satin sash that girdled his waist, his legs encased in lovingly fitted buckskins, his feet in polished boots, he might as well have hung a sign around his neck saying, "Look at me! I am a dashing pirate rogue!"
And Daphne, poor impressionable child, she was eating it up like sugared custard.
"See?" She sighed happily. "I told you there would be pirates!"
At her words the captain strode over and took her hand, bowing over it to give it a kiss, then rose to say in a mellifluous voice, "Pirates? Dear lady, we are sea merchants here on the Prodigal."
Alexander did not need to sneer at this absurdity as the crew was supplying the commentary for him with their collected snickers.
A glare from Mr. Fuller put a stop to that, and the captain rose from his bow and, still holding Daphne's hand, said, "But I am so rude! You must forgive me, lovely lady, I have never seen such beauty aboard my sad little vessel. I am Robert St. Armand, captain of the Prodigal Son. And Mr. Fuller tells me you are a Miss Farnham?"
"She is Mrs. Murray," Alexander growled.
"I am?"
"Later, Daphne."
The captain turned smoothly to Alexander.
"Ah yes, Mr. Fuller mentioned there was some... confusion... about the young lady."
"I am Alexander Murray. The young lady, whose hand you will release, Captain St. Armand, is my wife."
"Are you certain?"
"Not now, Daphne."
The captain listened to their conversation, his head cocked to the side. He did not release Daphne's hand from his own until Alexander glared at the offending body part. Pompom sniffed around the captain's feet, rejected the interloper, instead trotting back and lying down with his head across Alexander's bare foot.
Maybe the animal was more intelligent than Alex suspected.
Daphne, however, was acting exactly as he feared she might. A silly smile was plastered across her face and a hum was slipping out of her while she stared at the pirate captain.
"We need to talk, Captain St. Armand, about your taking us to a port where we can obtain assistance."
"Come down to my cabin, Mr. Murray and..."
"Miss Daphne Farnham," Daphne chimed in, at the same time Alexander said, "Mrs. Murray."
"I do not think that is quite correct," Daphne frowned.
"Do not worry about that for now, m'lady," the captain said, which caused Daphne to giggle, a sound that once again irritated Alexander's ears. Maybe it only happened aboard ship. Or maybe it was because she was favoring another man with that giggle, a man who was younger and taller and leaner and was going to be missing vital body parts if he did not stop looking at Daphne that way.
Pompom growled softly, which had Daphne swooping him into her arms.
"Pompom does not seem to like you, Captain St. Armand..."
Alexander swore he'd give the dog part of his sea biscuit the next time they ate. Maybe all of it.
"Which is strange, because Pompom likes everybody. Even Dr. Murray, who threatened to stew him for our supper, didn't he, my widdle baby boy?"
To his credit, even St. Armand looked slightly nauseated at this dialogue, but he said, "Give your pup to Norton to watch while we go below and discuss your situation."
Without waiting for Daphne's approval, he plucked the dog from her arms and shoved him into the hands of a sailor standing nearby. The dog seemed to like the sailor well enough, and Daphne asked him to feed Pompom his supper and find him fresh water. Alexander headed off the captain and offered Daphne his arm to escort her, a move that startled her, but she took his arm and they followed the captain below.
St. Armand's cabin depressed Alexander further. It was the most sybaritic seagoing suite he'd ever seen. An oversized bunk was buried under soft pillows in an explosion of crimson, amber, midnight-blue and even one covered in fur, all atop a deep mattress cushioning its occupant from the roughness of the seas. The bunk hung suspended by chains so the bed would move comfortably with the ship's motion.
He did not want to contemplate what other activities would made that cradle rock. He glanced sidelong at Daphne, whose eyes were shining as she took it all in--the bunk, the gold leaf adorning the woodwork, the giant mirror fastened to the bulkhead and positioned so that it reflected the bunk, the large stern window allowing daylight to stream in and light up the room.
Like a moth to the flame, Daphne was drawn to the mirror, but when she looked into it she gave a shriek of dismay.
"Oh, no! My complexion!"
To his eyes, the perfect grain of her skin was as fine as ever, the warm blush in her cheeks caused by sunshine and fresh air, not paint pots.
"I like you like this," Alexander murmured, but no one heard.
"Do not fret, dear lady," Captain St. Armand said, coming up behind her, and he would have been at her back sharing her reflection if Alexander had not positioned himself in his way. St. Armand just favored him with a small smile, and Daphne never noticed the two men jockeying for position, as she was still absorbed with the ravages of her sea voyage.
Daphne turned to Alexander.
"Dr. Murray, help me! I need to fix this before we reach England."
Alexander was going to dismiss this as nonsense, but when he saw St. Armand about to speak he jumped in first. For all he knew the pirate carried stock for a lady's dressing table aboard his vessel.
"You look fine," Alexander snapped. "Wear your hat in the sun. I will give you some olive oil to rub into your skin at night and you will look just like a fashion doll in no time."
Which was not at all what he'd planned to say.
Daphne looked at him, startled and maybe a little hurt by his tone of voice. But then she smiled and said, "Poor Dr. Murray. I think all this has been a bit much for you. Do not worry. Soon we will be safe and you will not need to deal with me anymore."
Which was not at all what he wanted to hear. Alexander put his hand on Daphne's arm and eased her away.
"Do not forget, Daphne, you are my wife--no, do not say anything. You are my responsibility and I will see that you are dealt with properly."
"Such touching sentiment! I am overcome at these outpourings of emotion. It is more than a man of my delicate sensibilities can handle."
Daphne turned to the pirate, a look of concern on her still lovely, sun-warmed face.
"Do not worry, Captain St. Armand. You should not let what Dr. Murray says upset you. Sometimes he is grumpy, but he cannot help it. It is just the way he is."
Before Alexander could refute this nonsense, Captain St. Armand nodded gravely.
"I do understand, Miss Farn--Mrs. Murray."
"Oh please, just call me Daphne!"
"No."
The two beautiful people turned their heads and looked at him, almost as if t
hey were surprised he was still in the cabin.
"We can discuss this later," Captain St. Armand said easily. "Right now I imagine you are hungry. Mr. Fuller is freeing up his cabin for your use, and while he is doing that we will have some supper."
"This is such a fine vessel, Captain St. Armand. Far nicer than the Magpie."
"A woman of your beauty and breeding deserves nothing but the best, Miss Farnham. That dress you are wearing, that shade of pink looks lovely on you."
He walked to the door, stuck his head outside and called to the sailor stationed there.
"Tell Mr. Fuller to fetch the bolts of cloth retrieved from the cave, Simmons."
He turned his head and gave Daphne a warm smile over his shoulder.
"The cloth will be yours to use, Miss Farnham. Sails can help you make dresses from it."
"Oh, Captain St. Armand, what a lovely idea! Thank you so much. Maybe Mr. Sails can help dress Dr. Murray also."
The pirate looked at Alexander and his mouth twitched.
"I do not think pink satin flatters Mr. Murray's coloring."
Daphne looked at Alexander and frowned in agreement.
"True, Captain St. Armand. Pink is not the doctor's color, not with his red hair. It would clash horribly."
"I defer to your judgment, Miss Farnham."
Alexander'd had enough of this foolishness and tired of correcting the pirate regarding Daphne's supposed marital status, but he did not want a discussion with Daphne, not here and now. It could wait until they were in their cabin.
At Captain St. Armand's invitation they seated themselves at his table, and he poured them each a glass of canary.
"Where are you bound, Captain St. Armand?" Alexander said.
"England," he said crisply. "This stop for water was my last before heading out into the open sea."
"Why, we were going to England also! What a coincidence!"
"A most fortuitous one, Miss Farnham," the captain said. "I can offer you passage."
"We need to go to St. George to let people know we are alive, and outfit ourselves for the journey," Alexander said.
"That is not going to happen," St. Armand said, looking at him steadily with no smile at all. "I am leaving these islands and it would not be convenient for me to return."
"Are you sure you are not a p-i-r-a-t-e?" Daphne whispered. Alexander wished she didn't sound quite so hopeful.
"Good heavens, absolutely not, dear lady!" the pirate said. "However, the islands are full of different governments and sometimes, through no fault of my own, there is confusion over cargoes, disagreements over salvage rights, that sort of thing. It is time for me to voyage to England. And I can offer you passage. Perhaps Mr. Murray would lend his skills to the care of the crew on this voyage? It would be most appreciated."
"You are English," Alexander said abruptly. Captain St. Armand spoke in the same cultured accents as Daphne Farnham. He was either of the same background, or a very good mimic.
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.
Chapter 16
"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.
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