Castaway Dreams

by Darlene Marshall

  "I need restraints for this table, a brazier, and plenty of lanterns."

  Fuller grunted his assent.

  "What else do you need?"

  "Bring me Captain St. Armand's medicine chest and anything else you have aboard this vessel for dealing with the ill and wounded. I will inventory it. I'll also need bandages. Clean ones, and vinegar and soap."

  He did a quick survey of the space, judging the size of the cabin against his need to be flexible in his movements.

  "Finally, place a drop-down desk and a chair, and install a locked cabinet on the bulkhead."

  "The carpenter will take care of it," Fuller said.

  "Have you been with Captain St. Armand long?"

  "Aye."

  Alexander waited, but the man held onto his information about the captain as tightly as a spinster guarded her modesty. If he wanted information, he would have better success with the crew. Nervous men chattered, and a trip to sick bay was usually enough to make any strong man break out in nerves.

  "Sick call will be after I eat my breakfast. I need journals to record information about the men."

  "Sounds like a lot of bother," Fuller grumbled. "Never had a surgeon before."

  "No, and I imagine there are dead or injured sailors who wished there had been a surgeon aboard. Who cared for the ill and injured?"

  Fuller shrugged.

  "The cook, or captain, or sometimes the carpenter."

  "I assure you, Mr. Fuller, the men will be gratified there is a competent surgeon to deal with their ills, rather than the carpenter." He peered around at the space. It could use a good scrubbing, and he said so to the mate.

  "There's not much here normally except cargo, so it isn't cleaned as much as the rest of the vessel," Fuller acknowledged, and said he would see that it was done before the next morning.

  Alexander had to admit Captain St. Armand ran a tidy ship. No one was sitting around drinking, the ship was clean, the men appeared healthy, and even the rat population was normal for a vessel of this tonnage.

  "I will begin tomorrow morning then. Good day, Mr. Fuller."

  * * * *

  Daphne breezed into the cabin on the heels of Dr. Murray, who was washing his hands when she entered. She set Pompom on the deck and her parcel on the bunk. The dog immediately ran to the surgeon, rolled over on his back, and presented his furry belly to be rubbed.

  Now, if only Alexander would do that for her!

  Daphne smiled to herself at the thought, but clearly Dr. Murray had other matters on his mind, though he obligingly rubbed the dog's belly and asked how her morning was.

  "Oh, lovely, Dr. Murray. I have been talking with Mr. Sails. He is going to take fabric and make me up some dresses to wear aboard ship, and he found this coat for you in ship's stores. Look!"

  It was a brown heavy weather coat. There was a hole in the chest with some rusty stains around it.

  "Thank you, Daphne, that's a useful item. Though I believe I will have it cleaned and patched. That hole looks too much like a target."

  "I knew brown was your favorite color, and the more I've thought about it, the more I believe it is a good choice for you, Dr. Murray. It flatters your coloring and hair."

  "I am glad it meets with your fashionable approval. Speaking of which, what about you, Daphne? What will you wear when the weather turns cold?"

  "We took care of that. Mr. Sails will use the wool from the cave to make me a quilted coat that he says might not be the first state of fashion, but it will serve."

  "I am not sure I approve of Sails measuring you for garments, Daphne."

  She giggled, then walked over to put her hand on his arm.

  "Dr. Murray, Mr. Sails was a tailor before he went to sea. We talked about clothing, and fashion and I assure you his interest in me is only as a form for his designs."

  "You are sure?"

  "This is an area where I am experienced, Dr. Murray. Yes, I am sure."

  Alexander pulled out his surgical chest, saying he needed to return to his sick bay. Daphne sat on the bunk, playing with Pompom, tossing a red cloth ball for him to fetch. After Alexander left the cabin it was quiet, and she realized something was bothering her. It took her a few moments to put her finger on it, but then she figured it out.

  She was bored.

  On their island she'd been busy from sunup until sundown, but there was no place for her on this pirate vessel. She was useless. An ornament, again, just sitting on a shelf like a china doll waiting to be admired. And that wasn't right.

  She was a different person than before the shipwreck. Butterflies were lovely, but sometimes you needed to be not a butterfly but a bee--busy, busy, busy.

  A deep "Enter" was the response when Daphne knocked at the door that a sailor told her was the new sick bay.

  Alexander looked startled to see Daphne inside his workspace, but he only said mildly, "I am glad I did not have a sailor in here with his trousers down, Daphne. I was not expecting you."

  "Would you say 'enter' if you were in the midst of examining one of the men?"

  Alexander thought about this for a moment, a frown creasing his brow.

  "I spent so many years in the navy it would not occur to me to be concerned for the privacy of the men I treated. I see I will have to give new consideration to how I deal with patients when I practice in England."

  "You see? I am being useful to you again. That is why I am here," she added briskly. "On the Magpie you insisted I help you in your sick bay. There is no reason why I cannot be useful here, rolling bandages or something."

  "You enjoyed being useful," he said, and there was a gleam in his eye, and she thought he was laughing at her.

  "Exactly!" She crossed her arms over her chest, trying for a stern glance. He did it so much more effectively. Maybe she just needed to practice more.

  "You are thinking back to our conversation, Dr. Murray, the one we had just before Mrs. Cowper passed on."

  "You must admit, my dear Daphne, if one were keeping score of such things, then one would be forced to concede I won that argument."

  "Good thing no one is keeping score, Dr. Murray, because then I would need to keep track of all your fashion disasters just to keep the game fair."

  He watched her still, and she'd swear the corners of his mouth were higher than they'd been a few minutes earlier. Alexander called her his "dear Daphne," which made her feel all warm inside, like she'd just had a drink of chocolate. He was looking at her chest where her arms were crossed, and he looked at ease as he talked with her--dare one call it bantering? She'd been dreading him returning to his old Dr. Murray ways once they were off the island. She relaxed as she realized their relationship was still a special one, even away from their paradise.

  "I do want a task, Dr. Murray. It will make me feel better."

  "I think we can accommodate your needs and mine, Daphne. Do you write a fair hand?"

  Daphne clapped her hands together in joy.

  "Yes! My former governess praised my handwriting and still mentions it when I write her."

  "If that is the case, I could use someone to transcribe my notes on my patients into a more readable form. You could be my amanuensis."

  "I would be a man?"

  "No," he said with a shake of his head. "Amanuensis means one who takes down the words of another in writing. Like a clerk or a secretary."

  "Oh!" Daphne said, sounding out the syllables of the new word. "Amanuensis. Oh my, Dr. Murray, you taught me a new word. Now we can save osculation for later. You will not forget, will you?"

  The corners of his eyes crinkled, matching that newfound curl at the corner of his mouth.

  "Never fear, Daphne. I will not let us forget osculation."

  Chapter 19

  Daphne hummed to herself as she copied Dr. Murray's notes that afternoon and took down his words into the journals from the Prodigal's stores. She enjoyed this, keeping track of what Alexander was doing, updating lists, making notes. It was all so interesting!
>
  She assured her surgeon she would never discuss outside of the cabin what he said or wrote about the sailors, or what diseases he treated.

  "They would be uncomfortable knowing you knew which of them were suffering from various ailments, especially the diseases of Venus."

  Daphne blushed at his words but also felt a secret spurt of satisfaction that he was conversing with her like an adult, and not like some fresh out of the schoolroom miss.

  He looked over her work, and he appeared, not unhappy, but bemused.

  "Daphne, there are hearts dotting the i's."

  "Oh!" Daphne's hand flew up over her mouth and she giggled. "That is my habit, Dr. Murray."

  He turned his journal sideways.

  "Is it also your habit to decorate your work with...is that a rainbow? And a puppy?"

  "I think a little decoration helps make the reading more interesting, don't you?"

  "The only thing I expect to see pictures of in my journals are dissected organs." He sighed. "I suppose I can live with it."

  Daphne stretched her cramped fingers.

  "Here, let me see," Alexander said, taking her hand in his. His hands were strong, and when he held her hand she felt a feeling unlike any other. She loved his kisses and thrilled to their lovemaking in the bunk, but an act as simple as her bare hand in his felt--it felt like something that could last a lifetime, not just a momentary flash of pleasure. He stood next to her, and she felt his warmth, and inhaled his scent--clean, and earthy, and real.

  He caressed her fingers, opening them, flexing them, turning her hand over in his. He rubbed where a tiny callus was forming from holding the pen, then raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it, not on the back as a greeting, but at the wrist, at the pulse that she felt speed up beneath his firm mouth.

  A gasp escaped from her own lips and he raised his eyes, dark and full of those emotions that did not show in smiles or laughter, but were kept only for her. It made her catch her breath, and made her heart melt.

  "Oh my," Daphne said, as the realization of these new feelings struck her. She would have to think about this, but right now she was too distracted by what his mouth was doing to her.

  Unfortunately, he stopped doing it.

  Alexander stood straight and took a step away from her, wiping his hand across his brow.

  "I--I did not mean to take advantage of the situation as I did. We must be careful, and avoid further complications."

  He could say that after the way he made her feel when she was in his arms? He wanted to stop, again? That was not going to happen, not if she had anything to say about it! Daphne took a step toward him.

  "Alexander, if you feel this way every time you kiss me, it is going to be a long and uncomfortable voyage. There is no going back, not after last night! That sheep has already left the barn!"

  "Horse. That horse has left the barn, Daphne."

  She grabbed him by the lapels of his coat.

  "This is no time to be discussing the habits of livestock! Kiss me!"

  So he did.

  His mouth felt as delightful on her lips as it had on her wrist and she gave a little sound of satisfaction, and maybe even triumph when he opened for her, and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to him. She went willingly, eagerly, into his embrace. Now that she knew what she wanted--Grumpy Doctor Mister Alexander Murray--she was prepared to use every weapon in her arsenal of flirtation and a lifetime of coquettishness to convince him to see her as someone he'd let draw rainbows in his journals for years and years to come.

  She knew he wanted her. He demonstrated that over and over again most effectively last night. She would not let him run away from her, not when she was working so hard to keep him.

  "We should return to our cabin," she murmured when he pulled his lips away from hers and began tickling kisses down her throat, across the expanse of skin exposed by the wide neckline of her sailor's shirt.

  "This cabin door has a lock on it," he said, his deep voice rumbling over her senses, that slight burr tickling her nerves much as his tongue sent shivers over her skin. "And there's no animal here."

  "But this is the sick bay, Dr. Murray."

  He straightened up and looked around, and when he looked back at her there was heat in those hazel eyes.

  "So it is. Which means it is an ideal place to give you a most thorough examination, Daphne. Now, remove all your clothing. No giggling, this is serious business."

  He was being silly, but he was also being, again, highly rogerable, so she stepped away to follow his directions. Besides, she liked it when he was silly. She suspected it was a side of him no one else in the world was privileged to see, and that made her feel special indeed.

  "I need help out of my clothing," she said.

  He latched the door, then looked at her sternly, arms crossed over his chest.

  "You are not wearing a dress that fastens in the back, Daphne, you are wearing men's clothing."

  "Oh. Does that mean you won't undress me?"

  He put his hand on his chin and rubbed it reflectively.

  "I think you should demonstrate for me how you dress--and undress--yourself in these garments."

  She almost giggled again, but as she was feeling overly warm, taking off her clothes sounded like an excellent idea. And he was watching her so intently.

  She looked down at her bare toes that moments ago had been curling when she was being kissed so expertly. She'd been promised shoes by Mr. Sails, who said he could cobble something together before they were in colder waters, but for now her clothing was not complicated at all.

  Nonetheless, she took her time, thinking about how to do this most effectively. She brushed her hand across the wide neck of her shirt, easing it away from her collarbones, then sweeping her hand down, slowly, across her breast, demonstrating just what a close fit the tight garment was. So close that when she moved her hand down she felt the point of her breasts, her nipples pulled tight and erect against the fabric. It felt good to touch herself that way, and the man watching her made a noise deep in his throat that sounded like he approved as well. She glanced at him from under her lashes. Oh yes, given the condition of his trousers he very much approved of what she was doing.

  "This shirt is so tight," she said, her voice coming out soft and breathy. "I may have to wiggle my way out of it."

  His eyes gleamed and, yes, that was definitely an upturned corner on that luscious mouth.

  "You do whatever you need to, my dear. I am a patient man."

  He said that, but he looked tense as he watched her take the bottom hem of the shirt and slowly lift it. There most definitely was wiggling involved to pull the tight shirt over her head, but she finally managed, and the look on his face said it was worth the effort.

  "Now the trousers," she started, but he stepped closer, and put his hands on her hips.

  "I can assist you with that," he said in a low voice.

  "You don't need to."

  "I think I do," he said, his hands brushing up across her ribs, down to where her waist curved in. They paused at the buttons, then moved up again to her breasts, enveloping her, cradling her.

  "You were beautiful last night in the dark, but to see you now, in the light, to see my hands on you, it is better than anything I could imagine."

  His thumbs rasped across her nipples and she arched into those hands. Daphne put her fingers behind her neck, lifting her hair, lifting her breasts higher into his grasp, and she held herself still, bound by his touch as surely as if she'd been bound with shackles.

  She braced her legs wider to balance as the ship soared across the Atlantic waters, bringing her closer to home, closer to all those problems that would appear when she was back in England. For now she was here, in this cramped space with this wonderful man, and she intended to seize every moment of happiness she could. People thought her shallow and flighty, but she'd had her share of pain in her life. It left her knowing happiness was something you grabbed. People you loved could die,
or could be disappointed in you, which caused its own little death inside your soul.

  Alexander cared for her. She saw it when she saw the smile in his eyes, when she felt his hands on her body, so careful, so capable, and she released her hair and wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing his head down to kiss her.

  Daphne could spend all day in Alexander's arms, enjoying the feel of his mouth on hers, his tongue sweeping inside and causing her to rise up on her toes and hold him tighter, even as his hands finished with her trouser buttons and her garment fell to her feet.

  He pulled her against him and she felt how much he wanted her, how his own needs overcame his constant thinking with that large brain of his. She approved, and let him know with her mouth, and her hands, and her own whispered words that what he was doing now, with his mouth on her breast felt like heaven--

  "Mr. Murray? Are you in there?"

  They both froze at the voice outside the sick bay. Alexander raised his head, his hair mussed and falling across his forehead and his eyes narrowed as he looked at the door.

  "It's locked, isn't it?" Daphne whispered.

  He nodded, but he was focused on the door and the passageway beyond. Now there was a second voice.

  "What is it, Turnbull?"

  "The door to the sick bay is latched, Mr. Fuller. I saw Mr. Murray in there a while back and I was going to ask him about this rash on my arse."

  Alexander put his finger up over Daphne's lips when she would have said something. The latch rattled on the door.

  Alexander sighed and leaned his forehead against Daphne's.

  "If we are very quiet maybe they'll just leave?" Daphne whispered hopefully.

  "Pull up your trousers, Daphne."

  The voices from the passageway continued to drift in, more sailors milling about as Daphne yanked up her trousers. She was not happy about this, not at all! Didn't those sailors have a ship to steer, or sails to reef, or something else to do besides annoy her?

  "Why do you think the door is latched?"

  "I saw Mrs. Murray go in there with him earlier."

  Daphne paused as the passageway went silent, the men out there no doubt mulling this latest development over in their little waterlogged minds. Alexander sighed again and ran his hand through his hair, giving her a vaguely apologetic look.