Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  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.

  "A bath! How wonderful, and how thoughtful of Captain St. Armand."

  "Yes, he's all that is considerate."

  Daphne ignored his mood, humming happily as she gathered items from the goods sent to them by the ship's crew, including fine citrus-scented soap, no doubt Captain St. Armand's own stock.

  "Why don't you use the bath when I'm done, Doctor? You must admit, it is a wonderful luxury."

  Alexander acknowledged a bath and the opportunity to shave would be appreciated, so he fetched his razor and his own borrowed clothing.

  When they arrived at the captain's cabin it was unoccupied, but there was a slipper bath with steam rising from the water's surface. Alexander ushered Daphne inside, closing the door firmly behind her. He then took up a stance against the door, arms crossed over his chest, and was unsurprised when Captain St. Armand came down the ladder a few minutes later.

  "Mr. Murray. I did not expect to see you standing outside my cabin."

  Alexander nearly told the captain what he thought of his presence while Daphne was inside, humming merrily as she splashed in the bath, but he thought better of it. They were still at anchor and it would not be difficult for the pirate to arrange for Alexander to accidentally be left behind when they were underweigh.

  It also seemed a prudent time to remind the captain of a surgeon
's value on the coming voyage.

  "Is there space for me to set up a surgery while we are at sea? It would be best if I did not have to use my own cabin for examining and treating your men."

  Captain St. Armand leaned against the wall opposite his door, his own arms crossed, and for an instant Alexander saw beneath the jovial mask to the man who commanded other pirates.

  "I will have an area prepared for you. It will not be large, but will serve once we rearrange the cargo in the hold. Are you a competent surgeon, Mr. Murray?"

  "There are captains and commanders in the Royal Navy who would assure you of my skills," Alexander said without a trace of false modesty.

  "You are no longer in the navy, are you?"

  He shook his head, trying not to be distracted by the splashing and humming he heard coming through the door. He had an excellent imagination, and envisioned Daphne smiling happily, rosy nipples peeking above the waterline while she raised one long leg and soaped it, from her slender ankle all the way to her snowy thighs...

  "Mr. Murray?"

  "No, I am no longer in the navy. I am returning to England to deal with business and set up my practice."

  "Having a lovely young wife by your side will surely be an asset to you," St. Armand said, smiling at him.

  The man smiled too damn much. It was akin to a shark showing you its teeth just before it struck.

  "What about you, Captain St. Armand? Were you in the navy? Anyone's navy?"

  "All that regimentation, the uniforms? Sailing at the orders of others? Leaving a port before I've the opportunity to experience all its delights? No, it's the rover's life for me, Mr. Murray, depending only on the wind, sailing where my fancy takes me."

  "How poetical," Alexander couldn't help the slight sneer that crept into his voice. "It is a good thing we were there to keep the sea lanes open for, ah, merchants such as yourself."

  "I am quite grateful to you and the navy for its fine work," St. Armand said cheerfully. "Mr. Fuller will organize the men so you can have a regular sick call each day, if that would suit you, Mr. Murray."

  Alexander was listening with half an ear, distracted by the low singing coming from inside the cabin, a siren song luring him to open the door. His imagination went wild wondering if Daphne was using a sponge to cleanse herself, soaping it up, running it over her rounded breasts, her shapely belly, cleaning down around those delicate pink toes that had been bared to his gaze on the island.

  Bare toes were generally not considered an erogenous area of the body, but he was always open to exploring new possibilities. Exploring Daphne Farnham's nooks and crannies and toes was taking a firm hold of his thoughts, so much so that he jumped when the captain snapped his fingers.

  "Now that I have your attention again, Mr. Murray, I was asking about sick call for the men."

  "Yes. We can do a sick call every morning."

  Daphne sang now, a sea shanty about a ship's carpenter who'd smuggled two women aboard and was working at keeping both women satisfied over a long, rough passage...

  "Captain St. Armand."

  It was Alexander's turn to wave his hand in front of the captain's glazed eyes, eyes focused on the cabin door while a slight sheen of sweat glistened on his unlined forehead.

  "I'm sorry, I was distract--where did she learn that song?"

  Alexander ran his hand through his hair and felt a moment's empathy with the bemused pirate.

  "Daphne makes friends wherever she goes."

  "It must make life more interesting for you, Mr. Murray."

  "It keeps me alert," Alexander said, adjusting his stance before the door. "I would not want any of Daphne's friends to misunderstand her open and trusting nature and take advantage of her."

  "No, of course not," Captain St. Armand said blandly. "It is good she has a mastiff along with her little dog to guard her."

  Alexander had no reply to this because the singing stopped, thank heaven, and the tone of the water splashing behind him changed. He knew Daphne was standing up in the tub, water sluicing off of her like Venus rising from the sea, her limbs glistening with moisture, the hair between her legs slick and doing little to hide the delights within....

  "I said, I am somewhat concerned that you seem distracted, Mr. Murray. And you look fevered. Did you catch an illness on the island? I don't want it passed on to my men."

  "No, I am not fevered. The air in here is close, that is all. Do not worry, Captain," Alexander said, tugging at his coat, which allowed him to also surreptitiously adjust his trousers, "I have enough experience to treat your men and weed out any malingerers who might show up. My greater concern is the damage my supplies suffered when my surgical chest was in the water. It would be best if we stopped in a port so I could re-stock."

  "There is a medicine chest on the Prodigal and while it is not up to your standards, it will serve. Your presence aboard is a luxury, Mr. Murray. I am certain a man of your skill and experience will manage with whatever we have at hand."

  "I will give your men my best efforts, Captain St. Armand, as I always do."

  "Excellent!" St. Armand said, "In that--"

  The door opened and Alexander nearly fell into the cabin, but recovered himself. Daphne stood there, rosy and glowing from her bath, her freshly washed hair wisping around her face and falling down her back in a golden skein. She had toweling wrapped around her, from her armpits to her knees, but she might as well have thrown it open and stood there naked for the effect she was having, and a sidelong glance at St. Armand's face showed that the pirate wished she would do exactly that.

  So Alexander slipped into the captain's cabin, pulling the door closed behind him and nearly smiled at the muttered curse he heard in his wake.

  "Would you help me dry my hair, Dr. Murray? It will take forever to dry otherwise. Maybe I should cut it off after all."

  "No!" He didn't know why he felt so strongly about this, except that it would be like damaging a fine painting, to snip off that glorious mass of gold simply for the sake of fashion or expedience. "I will help you, Miss Farnham, just as I have been doing."

  "Oh good," she said, relieved. "I hoped you would say that. Now, where did I put that brush..."

  "Miss Farnham..."

  She turned and looked over one creamy shoulder at him.

  "Doctor?"

  "Why don't you dress first and I will brush your hair."

  "Oh." She colored rosily and looked down at those toes, those bare, pink toes that were wiggling in the oriental rug in front of the captain's bunk. He stared at those toes and started to sweat again, and wondered again if he perhaps was suffering some kind of brain-fever after all.

  "There are no undergarments to wear beneath my clothing, Dr. Murray," she whispered.

  "Bloody hell," Alexander said, tempted to ram his head against the bulkhead to remove these latest fervid images from his mind. "Just...just put the clothes on, Miss Farnham, and no one will know."

  "I will know!"

  "Just do it, Miss Farnham." He turned his back to give her privacy, staring at the door, until she said, "I am dressed, Dr. Murray."

  Her appearance now did little to help his equilibrium. It was abundantly clear that the knit shirt she wore was not designed for someone who was abundantly endowed. His eyes narrowed. The trousers flattered her in a way he'd never imagined a woman could look, clinging to her thighs and ending at the top of her ankles. They were loose at the top, but the captain's sash took care of that problem, and drew the eye to her narrow waist, which was, of course, St. Armand's objective.

  Daphne looked down at herself and giggled.

  "I never imagined myself in such an outfit, Dr. Murray. La, if they could see me at Almack's dressed like this, I'd be barred for life."

  What she said sank into her consciousness, and she looked up at him, her clear eyes troubled.

  "No one aboard this vessel will be in a position to spread gossip about you," Alexander said, wondering why he even felt compelled to reassure her that she'd
be able to safely congregate with other empty-headed fashionables in the rarified atmosphere of her little world. "They will not be conversing with your peers at Almack's."

  She brightened at that, and then she clasped her hands together.

  "That reminds me, Dr. Murray. I did not learn a new word today. I want to show all my friends how educated I've become. I already knew macramé, so that is not new. Do you have a word for me, Dr. Murray?"

  I have lots of words for you, he thought. Pulchritude, glistening, luscious, toothsome, resplendent...

  "I'll wager a pirate like Captain St. Armand could teach me any number of new words!"

  ...air-headed, feather-brained, nodcock, cloth-headed, ninnyhammer...

  "You will leave the teaching of new words to me, Miss Farnham," he said crisply. "I have experience in this field, Captain St. Armand does not."

  "That is true, Dr. Murray. So, what is my word for today?"

  Alexander thought about it for a moment.

  "The word for today is...ascariasis. It means to have intestinal worms, such as roundworms."

  "Oh no! Do I have asc...ascar..."

  "Ascariasis. No, you do not. To the best of my knowledge. But if you wish to use it in a sentence, you could say, 'Captain St. Armand appears to be infested with parasites. He likely has ascariasis.'"

  "Ascariasis. Ascariasis. I will remember that, Dr. Murray, though I am not sure I can work it into polite conversation."

  "You never know, Miss Farnham. I find words like ascariasis appear regularly in my conversations."

  "I think you made a joke, Dr. Murray! Not much of one, but a joke, nonetheless. I believe this adventure has been good for you."

  She beamed at him, which caused a funny jump in his pulse-rate. He started to say something, he was not sure what he was going to say, but Daphne turned around and looked at the tub.

  "All our talking has allowed the water to cool, Dr. Murray. Why don't you bathe while I return to our cabin, then you can help me with my hair?"

  Alexander checked the passageway to make sure there were no lurking rogues and watched Daphne enter the cabin and close the door behind her. The dog barked twice to signal his approval at her return, and Alexander felt secure enough for the moment that he could strip off his rags and take advantage of the Prodigal's tub.