Castaway Dreams Read online

  She leaned over and put her hand on his arm.

  "Thank you. I know you find me a sad trial, Dr. Murray, but I do enjoy talking with you. I will always remember these days and this island."

  "Perhaps we should leave the island first before we wax nostalgic for it. I will build that signal fire in the morning."

  "I have another favor to ask, Doctor. Would you show me how to start a fire?"

  "You never started a fire for yourself?"

  She looked at him as if he was the one who was not very bright.

  "Why should I? Every morning of my life, when I woke up a maid had lit the fire in my room. If I needed to light a candle or lamp, a footman would do it for me, or I could light a taper from an existing flame. I had no need to do it for myself."

  Alexander was stunned that this woman in front of him, who came from the most civilized and privileged society, was incapable of performing one of the most basic of human tasks.

  But as she said, why would she learn?

  "Yes. I will teach you in the morning how to start a fire. It is something everyone should know, and it is important for you to learn it here and now. Something could happen to me, and you need to know how to light a fire to warm yourself and cook your food."

  Daphne drew back in shock.

  "Something happen? What would happen to you?"

  "Anything could happen, Miss Farnham. That is the nature of life...and death. I could be hit on the head by a tree branch, or choke to death on a fish bone, or be punctured by a sharp stone and become septic."

  "But...then I would be all alone!"

  "Yes, you would. I am going to do my best to ensure, Miss Farnham, that if anything happens you can care for yourself. You already learned some skills in food gathering. You would survive, with or without me."

  "Oh, please, do not tell me that!" She clutched his arm, her eyes round in terror. "I do not want to think about being here alone! I would die! You need to stay alive, to take care of me!"

  He knew he was being brutal with her, but it was better than giving her silly platitudes or making promises he could not keep. He leaned forward and put his hand on her other arm and felt her fingers digging into him, their contact a circle of comfort in the darkness.

  "Miss Farnham--Daphne--listen to me. I do not expect any further disasters. Remember when I told you to pack your valise aboard the Magpie? It was a precaution, but you were ready when the ship went down. The officers of the Magpie prepared the boat by putting water in it. We might not have survived in the ocean had they not done that. This is just more preparation, and preparation and knowledge is always better than not knowing how to deal with a situation."

  "You won't leave me here alone?"

  "I will do my best not to," he said gently.

  Daphne Farnham threw herself into his arms and clamped herself to him like a limpet, just as he'd done with her earlier in the day.

  It was fear, he told himself, fear of being alone, fear of him not taking care of her, just as his response this morning had been the unreasonable fear of his boyhood tragedy repeated.

  But his mind was telling him one thing and his body another. His hand hovered above her head, ready to burrow into that silken hair and clasp her to him. She was warm in his arms, and soft, and smelled of wood smoke and woman. It was all he could do to control himself, to not take hold of her and lay her down on the soft ground and bury himself within her welcoming heat. To forget his own fears for a handful of blissful hours.

  Someone was going to have to be cool-headed and rational, and he was going to have to be that someone. Again.

  He disengaged her arms from around his neck, and held her hands a moment so she would not be hurt by his rejection. Though why he cared about whether her feelings were hurt was a mystery to be solved another day.

  "Why don't you find your hairbrush, Miss Farnham, and I will brush out your hair for--for you. We will deal with the rest in the morning."

  He did not want to say "for bed" because the intimacy implied by that was more than either of them needed to be contemplating this second. She rose and fetched her hairbrush from the cabin, then settled between his legs.

  Neither of them remarked that she was now quite capable of brushing out her own hair. When he was satisfied, at least in the sense that her hair was gleaming and unsnarled, he said, "You go to sleep. I will be in after I tend to the fire."

  "I need to learn that also, Dr. Murray."

  "Tomorrow, Miss Farnham."

  "Do you want Pompom to stay with you? He is good company."

  Alexander looked at the animal sprawled on its back, legs up in the air as it dreamed doggy dreams.

  "No, take him with you, Miss Farnham. He would miss you."

  She gently awakened the dog and gathered him up in her arms, Alexander watched her walk into the dark cabin, and not for the first time, envied the dog.

  Chapter 12

  "Do you have everything you need?"

  Daphne looked at the items in front of her and ticked them off on her fingers.

  "I gathered the driest wood and plant shreds I could find. Here is your piece of char cloth. I have my twigs ready and more dry wood. I prepared the firepit."

  "Then stop humming and listen, Miss Farnham."

  Daphne couldn't help it. She was so excited at learning how to make a fire the humming was springing out of her like the water burbling up to the pool. Why had no one ever realized how much she loved learning new things? Why had she never realized it? Daphne vowed when she returned to England, she would make it her goal to learn one new thing each day. Maybe learn a new word like "gravitas," or how to build a fire, or how to help gruff surgeons smile.

  That last one needed further work.

  Daphne slanted him a glance from beneath her lashes. Dr. Murray had his jacket on today, the one that washed ashore. It was torn at the front and could not be buttoned, and his chest shone through the opening. If he thought by putting on the jacket he could redirect her into not dwelling on his body and the pleasures they could enjoy together, he'd failed miserably. The civilized coat combined with the uncivilized sight of his bare chest, as hard and solid and golden brown as the wood of the cedar tree behind her, was even more enticing than when he'd been completely bare.

  "Miss Farnham. Pay attention, please, and stop making noise."

  "Yes, Dr. Murray," she said, squelching the musical notes leaking out of her.

  "Now, we will prepare the firepit."

  He motioned her closer, and she crouched down next to him, so close she could smell the salt on his warm skin.

  "Miss Farnham, stop looking at me, and look at the firepit."

  "I cannot help it, Dr. Murray. I like looking at you."

  He turned his head and looked at her, his brows pulled together in a frown.

  "You need to put your hat on, Miss Farnham. The sun is affecting you."

  "No, it isn't. I do like looking at you, Dr. Murray."

  He swallowed, and she saw the strong lines of his throat move. No wonder men wore high collars and cravats! She had no idea the sight of a man's naked neck was so enticing. It was a good thing men kept them covered most of the time, or women would want to do things like lean over and lick the little bead of perspiration trickling down into the collar of his torn coat.

  "Stop looking at me, Miss Farnham," he said hoarsely. "You are only reacting this way because of proximity and our being the only two people on this island."

  Daphne thought about this.

  "No, I'm not. It is you, Dr. Murray. You make me feel this way."

  She'd woken up this morning in his arms, her nose buried against his chest, and she lay there, feeling him, his body not stiff with the tension and tightly wound emotions he kept as far from her as he possibly could. Instead he felt warm, and made her feel safe. She'd leaned back to see his face, and asleep he looked younger, even with his bearded stubble, the lines of care and worry smoothed out. Daphne also felt him against her belly, and now that she knew
he wasn't going to die from being erect she found it rather...enticing. It made her want to rub against him, and stroke him, and see if he would feel as good inside her as he did outside her. It was all she could do not to kiss him awake, just to see what his eyes would look like when they opened and she was the first thing he saw. Would they light up with one of his hidden smiles? Would they grow dark with desire?

  She was not to know, because he came awake with a sudden jerk, his eyes widening as he realized he was entwined with Daphne. He'd pulled away quickly, rose to his feet and left the cabin.

  Now though they were sitting so close together, and really, what did he expect? It wasn't her fault that dry old Dr. Murray had turned out to be a very...what was that word? Virile. Very virile looking man.

  "Miss Farnham. You are either giggling or humming. If you cannot refrain from making unnecessary noises I will not be able to demonstrate fire making for you."

  "Yes, Dr. Murray," she said, brought back to earth. He might be much better looking than he'd been aboard the Magpie, but he was still a grumpy stick.

  She paid attention to the demonstration with the flint and steel from his surgical chest.

  "Why do you keep fire making tools in your chest?"

  "Because my chest is the one article I know I always have with me. And there are times when I need to start a fire to mix a preparation or boil water. Pay attention now."

  He blew on the tinder to fill it with air, which he said would help feed the fire, then placed a piece of char cloth atop it. Holding the flint and steel at an angle, he struck the flint downward and a shower of sparks fell onto the prepared area. It took a few strikes, but he said, "See the glow?"

  Sure enough, there was a spark atop the char cloth. He placed the tinder around it, and leaning over, blew gently onto the material until a wisp of smoke rose into the still air. Then he reached over with his fingers and pinched the fire out.

  "Why did you do that, Dr. Murray? You had a flame almost started."

  "I already know how to build a fire, Miss Farnham. Now that I have demonstrated, you will do it."

  "I will?"

  "Yes. Find fresh tinder and we will begin."

  It took more tries than Dr. Murray's efforts. First she had to repeat striking until she found the right angle for the spark. Then she lost the spark by either smothering it with the tinder or blowing it out. Her back ached from leaning over, her tense muscles cramping up as she struck the steel again. This time she was rewarded with her own wisp of smoke, and following the surgeon's instructions fed it tinder, then kindling, and finally, small sticks until the fire was crackling along.

  Dr. Murray stood, his knees making a noise that had him wincing, but Daphne felt invigorated.

  "I did it! I made the fire!" She clasped her hands together as she sat back on her heels. "Dr. Murray, this must be how Adam and Eve felt in the Garden when they made fire for the first time."

  "You did well, Miss Farnham," he said, smiling at her. No, wait, he was not smiling at her, not with his teeth, but his face! She could tell by that gleam in his eyes and the angle of his eyebrows he was smiling at her.

  Pride washed through Daphne as she took his hand to climb to her feet.

  "I can build a fire. I can boil crabs and cook fish in leaves. I can dig vegetables from the garden and cook and eat them. I can boil eggs."

  "And you can braid your own hair. Yes, you are on the way to becoming a self-sufficient woman of parts, Miss Farnham."

  She watched him closely, but for once he did not sound sarcastic. Maybe he was proud of her also.

  He looked around where they were standing atop a hill. It had been a strenuous climb after breakfast, but he said, "Look out to sea, Miss Farnham. This may be the highest point on the island. Your fire will be our signal fire."

  "Oh! My fire is important? Not just for practice?"

  "Not just for practice. We need to gather wood, green and dry both. Your blaze will be a pillar of cloud by day, a flame by night, just like the one that led the Israelites out of Egypt."

  "What if the fire goes out during the night?"

  "Then you will restart it, Miss Farnham."

  He said this matter-of-factly. Like he could depend on her.

  They trooped back down to the cabin, where the fish stew was cooking over a low flame. They'd worked on it together that morning, Dr. Murray supplying the fish, Daphne gathering the vegetables. She was keeping an eye on the garden to make sure there would be enough of the crops left for the future. It would not do to eat the seed corn.

  When she said that to Dr. Murray, he looked at her with that odd expression he wore whenever she said something that surprised him. Surprised him in a good way.

  "I grew up in the country, Dr. Murray. My father was busy in the city, so it was easier for him to leave me at Rawlings. One of my special friends there was the estate manager."

  She had not thought about Mr. Branch and his wife Hilda for some time. It was funny. Whenever she thought about them and their snug little cottage, her memories were of it always being sunny, even though there were many rainy afternoons she'd sit curled up in front of the fire listening to Mr. Branch talk about crop rotation and silage and drainage and which crops to put in the next year and lambing season with its joys and woes.

  "We may be eating this stew again for supper, Miss Farnham. There is more than I anticipated, even with your dog helping us consume it."

  "I do not mind, Dr. Murray. I vow, after eating raw fish in the middle of the ocean, I will never again complain about a cooked meal."

  "It does give you a new perspective," he agreed. "Do you know what I miss the most with a meal like this?"

  Daphne blinked. They were having table conversation, just like normal people did. They were sitting outside the hut in the shade of the trees, on the ground, but it was almost like sitting at the table.

  "No, what do you miss, Dr. Murray? Wine?"

  "No, although that would be pleasant. Or ale. I am not much of one for spirits. No, what I miss with a meal like this is a good fresh loaf of bread," he said wistfully. "That is one of things I'd crave most when we were at sea. Light, fluffy loaves, hot from the oven, smeared with freshly churned butter, and perhaps a dollop of marmalade."

  "I had not thought about it until you just said it, but you are right, Dr. Murray. I never realized how much good food was part of my life until now, though this stew is quite tasty."

  "It is tasty because we are hungry and worked hard for it," he said.

  "Do you know what I miss the most?"

  "Your frivolous hats?"

  "No, I mean food I miss. I miss my morning chocolate. I would have chocolate and a small sweet roll every morning when I arose."

  "That is not a breakfast," he said dismissively. "Good hot porridge, thick enough so a spoon stands straight up in the center, with plenty of cream and honey, now, that is a breakfast that gets your bowels moving so you can start your day."

  His face grew red when he'd realized what he said to her, russet enough to match his hair.

  "What I mean is that porridge is a better choice for your diet, Miss Farnham."

  "I do not mind that you said 'bowels' to me, Dr. Murray. After all, did you not say that my parts were the same as anyone else's?"

  She put her hand over her flat belly, looking down at those parts in question.

  "I have lost weight, Dr. Murray. I can see bones where I could not before. Just as well my dresses washed away, since none of them would fit properly now."

  "Won't you take in your dresses if they are too large for you?"

  "Heavens, no, Dr. Murray. I will buy new ones."

  "Sounds like an unnecessary expense when you could make do with your old dresses."

  "La, but they would be out of fashion. And the lines would not be the same on them if I took them in."

  He was looking at her intently.

  "Yes, I understand you feel that way, but what would you do, Miss Farnham, if you did not have money for n
ew dresses?"

  Daphne looked at him, speechless.

  "Not have money for new dresses? What else would I spend money on? Oh, hats and shoes, of course, but really, Dr. Murray, you need dresses to go with the hats and shoes. And gloves."

  "Some people, Miss Farnham, must spend their money on food and shelter and do not have any left over for new dresses each season."

  "I know that, Dr. Murray. I am not like that French queen who told people to eat cake. I would have told them to eat meat and vegetables instead and buy cakes later. But that is not the point. Just because some people do not have money for new dresses doesn't mean I don't have money for new dresses."

  "What if..." He looked down at the bowl in his hands, turning it around. "What if you married a man who had no money to support you in that fashion?"

  "You mean like George? That would have eventually worked itself out. My father loves me, after all, and would not want to see me suffer. He would have sent money to us."

  Then she remembered how her father tried to force her into a marriage she did not want. But that was then. Now that he knew she was serious about not marrying old Lord Bernard he would welcome her back.

  "I hope you are right, Miss Farnham."

  He rose to his feet.

  "I liked being married," Daphne said abruptly. "I would not mind having another husband, if he were the right man."

  She looked down at the stones on the ground while she said this, unaccountably shy all of a sudden. She did not want to look at Dr. Murray to see his reaction to her statement.

  "Matrimony is a natural estate for most adults, Miss Farnham, at least ones who are settled with enough income to support a family."

  She looked at him now, through her lashes. He was looking out to sea.

  "Most ladies would be pleased to marry you, Dr. Murray. Except..."

  He looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. She knew his language now, and answered his query.

  "Dr. Murray, if you want a lady to marry you, you need to smile. Laugh, even!"

  There. She'd said it. He could make of it what he would. And then he made of it pretty much what she expected he would.