Castaway Dreams (36 page)

Alexander came up on deck after a morning of routine work in the sick bay, the usual assortment of men displaying sprains, boils, inactive bowels and the consequences of time ashore in the arms of women who'd been passed around like after dinner brandy.

Daphne had her own routine. She walked the dog in the morning while Alexander saw to the men, then she would join him for a cup of tea and she would take down his notes in, he had to admit, a clearer and more legible fashion than he would do for himself. He could live with the daisy borders and unicorns for the ease of reading later.

After luncheon Daphne napped with her pup while Alexander caught up on other tasks, or strolled the ship to keep an eye on the men and their health. If he could order them into sick bay before they were in a crisis situation it made his life easier.

He pulled his heavy weather coat closer around him now as the wind whistled through the rigging. The day was bleak and even the normally sunny Captain St. Armand was on edge. He stood at the rail scanning the Atlantic when Alexander came alongside him.

"If we encounter trouble, Mr. Murray, are you prepared?"

"That is an unanswerable question at some levels, Captain St. Armand. What kind of trouble do you anticipate? I feel as prepared as I can be given the supplies aboard this ship and the lack of a proper cockpit, but I've been on vessels with less."

"I do not know what kind of trouble," the captain said pensively, tapping his fingers against the rail. "It is a premonition, if you will. And I learned over the years not to ignore my gut in these situations, even when I don't know what to expect."

"Is it the weather?"

St. Armand shook his head.

"There is another ship out there, Mr. Murray. I can feel it. I can almost smell it."

The words were no sooner out of his mouth that the lookout yelled, "A sail, Cap'n!"

St. Armand pulled his spyglass out of his coat and put it up to his eye. Whatever he saw restored his good humor.

"Mr. Fuller!"

"Aye, Cap'n?"

"Call the men to quarters! These lazy lubbers are going to earn their pay. It's time to hunt!"

A cheer rose from the pirates and Mr. Fuller bawled out orders to clap on more sail. Alexander turned to the captain and said, "Whose ship is it?"

"I hardly think that should matter to you, Mr. Murray. Your task is to go below and prepare your station."

He smiled as he said this, as usual, but there was a fierce look on the pirate captain's face that promised he would not be entertained by arguments from his passenger. He turned away from the surgeon to confer with the mate. Alexander shaded his eyes and looked out over the water where the mist was beginning to dissipate. He could see a ship, but couldn't make out its flag or heading.

Alexander's years of naval service had his fists clenching in frustration. Pirates were the navy's prey, and to be a part of their marauding was unconscionable. What was more, for all he knew the other ship was also pirates on the prowl, making him dependent on Captain St. Armand's seamanship to survive this. Not a good situation, no matter what angle he studied it from, but his task for now was to prepare for casualties. And to keep Daphne safe.

The door nearly hit Daphne as he entered the cabin and she jumped back as the dog yipped.

"I was just about to go up to see what all the commotion is, Alexander."

"Captain St. Armand is chasing a ship," Alexander said, his words clipped. "You must stay here when we engage them so you do not come to harm."

"But who are they attacking?"

Alexander sighed.

"Does it matter? I suspect Captain St. Armand is not particular about whom he robs as long as the ship has gold or goods."

Daphne's eyes were huge, her face pale. Her dog whimpered and she stooped to pick him up, clutching him to her breast.

"Where will you be during the fight?"

"I will be in the sick bay, dealing with casualties."

"Is it safe?"

He was about to reply that they were on a floating piece of wood in the middle of the Atlantic and nowhere and no one was truly safe, but that would do no good and a great deal of harm.

He stepped over to her, took her by the shoulders and said, "I have been through countless engagements at sea, Daphne. This will just be another day of work for me."

"What should I do?"

He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead.

"Stay here. I will return when it is finished."

He was still holding her shoulders, and she was still holding the damned dog. He wanted to smile, to reassure her, but his face wouldn't move into the proper configuration. So she smiled at him, instead. It was a wan effort, but at least as good as anything he could produce.

"I know you are worried about me, Alexander. Pompom and I will be all right here."

"I am reassured that your guard dog is on the job."

"Don't joke, he can be quite fierce when he needs to be."

Alexander took the fierce dog from her arms and put him on the deck. Then he took Daphne into his arms, holding her tight, his mouth near her ear. Her hair smelled of sunshine and soap, and it was a scent he tried to store away in his mind, in his memory, because he knew what he would be experiencing and smelling during a battle.

"Daphne, when the attack starts it will sound to you as if the world is coming to an end. The guns explode with noise and the ship shakes. You will be afraid, but that is normal. You are a strong and brave woman, and you will weather this, too."

Daphne pulled back and looked at him.

"You think that of me, Alexander? That I am strong and brave?"

"I know it for a fact, Daphne, because I saw you in action, afloat in a boat and building a haven on a deserted island. You
are
brave and strong."

And very precious to me.

Instead of telling her, he showed her how he felt about her by pulling her back into his embrace and kissing her, memorizing the taste of her as he memorized her scent, her shape, her feel in his arms, all the quirks and joys comprising Daphne Farnham.

She clung to him like a drowning woman, her arms around his neck, her hands fisted in his hair. But there was duty, even on a pirate ship, and he pulled back from her and looked into those eyes the color of the ocean on a sunny day.

In the silence as they stood there looking at each other they heard the shouts of the men above, even laughter, as they prepared to engage with the unknown vessel.

The dog whined, sensing the tension in the cabin. She stooped and picked him up, clutching him close as he licked her face, seeking reassurance. Daphne's eyes were on Alexander though as he backed out of the cabin and closed the door behind him.

* * * *

Daphne thought herself prepared after Alexander's talk. She'd heard the guns when the men practiced their gunnery, but that was different. That noise hadn't been accompanied by screams, and shouts, and someone firing back at them.

The crash of something smashing into the ship scared Pompom so much he had an accident on the deck.

Daphne nearly joined him, she was that frightened. So she cowered in her bunk, clutching the dog and wondering if this is what hell was like, the noise, the confusion, the smoke. How did Alexander stand it? How could he work under these conditions?

* * * *

When the door to the sick bay opened Alexander looked up from what he was doing and he stared at her standing there wringing her hands. He was covered in blood despite the leather apron he wore. There was blood in his hair, blood on his face and his neck, he had his hand inside the person on the table and blood covered his arm up to the shoulder. He paused and raised one crimson-splattered eyebrow.

"Miss Farnham, if you faint, you will block the doorway. What are you doing here?"

His tone and the way he called her "Miss Farnham" brought her back to herself. Daphne swallowed, and regretted it, for that only intensified the odors in the cabin, an effluvia she tasted on the back of her tongue.

She clasped her hands even tighter, tempted to turn and run and lock herself back in her cabin with Pompom and resume cowering in the bunk. It was what people expected of her. It was what she would have expected of herself a few weeks back.

That was then. Today, Dr. Murray said she was brave and strong.

"I want to be useful," she whispered. She cleared her throat and said it again, and while she tried to be that brave, strong person, her voice shook.

Alexander stared at her, the man beneath his hands mercifully unconscious. He looked down at him, then back at Daphne.

"A useful person is always appreciated," he said mildly. But the look in his eyes told her much more and she straightened her back to be that Daphne, the one in his eyes.

"There are two rules for you in my surgery, Miss Farnham," he continued, doing something inside the poor man. "Rule one, you do everything I tell you without question. Rule two, you cannot vomit on a patient. Or on me."

"I will not vomit!" Daphne said indignantly. That didn't sound like something brave, strong, and useful people did.

"Yes, you will. Just try to be discreet about it. One more rule--no humming. Come over here, I could use your hands."

"Yes, Dr. Murray."

She put her hand where he told her on the man, one of the pirates whom she knew in passing, a scruffy individual who had an amazingly beautiful singing voice.

"Will he live, Dr. Murray?"

"Put pressure there--yes, right there, Daphne, harder. Good girl."

He continued to do something messy and seemed to be thinking about what she asked.

"Will he live? I do not know, but I am fairly certain he will die if we do not help him."

He said "we." Daphne hugged that to her heart and tried to focus on what he was doing with his hands, but sweat was pouring down her forehead and she blinked her eyes to clear it out.

A splotch of red hit her arm, then another. Daphne looked up, blinking again as another splash of red hit her in the face.

It was blood. Dripping down from the deck above.

Daphne swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth, swallowed again, but it was no good.

"I have to--" she said, barely getting the words out before she lurched to the bucket and gave up the remains of her meal.

When she was done, she wiped her hand across her mouth, which was a mistake. The fresh copper scent of the blood assaulted her. Nothing in her life had prepared her for the horrors of the surgery. Her senses were bombarded much as the ship was, with smells, with sights, with sounds, all of which she feared would come back to haunt her in her dreams. All she wanted to do right now was turn around and run back to Pompom. How could Dr. Murray deal with this? How could any human being?

"Now that that's over with, come back here and get to work."

The astringent words jerked her upright, bracing her. She returned to him, and to her tasks. He gestured with a nod to a clean cloth on the shelf.

"Wipe your face with that, then wipe mine. Daphne, I am going to teach you a new word now."

"Osculation?"

His lips twitched but he didn't look up.

"No, I will wait for a more auspicious time to teach you that word. Today we will learn about the surgeon's tools, so that you may assist me. Hand me that tenaculum now, the instrument on the end."

He gestured with his elbow and she grabbed the wooden handle of the tool with a hooked end.

"Now hold that needle ready for me, the curved one. Yes, that's the one. Daphne, what was that novel you read aboard the
Magpie
?"

Blood was dripping on her, there was an injured sailor whose guts were being rearranged, and Dr. Murray was chatting with her as casually as if they were walking in Hyde Park.

Except, when she looked at him, he was anything but casual. He concentrated on his patient, his hands moving with a sureness that dazzled her. He wasn't just a grumpy surgeon, he was a grumpy surgeon who saved people's lives, and her breath caught as she realized he might be the most useful person she'd ever met. No wonder he had such high standards when it came to those around him! All of her acquaintances back in London, useless, the lot of them. Unless one needed fashion advice. And didn't many of them turn to her in that situation? Now she was being even more useful, expanding her skills. Why soon, she would be the person people went to for everything from how to boil an egg to--

"More pressure, Daphne, there. Yes, right there. No shaking now, I need your hands steady. Tell me about that book you were reading, do you remember it?"

She tried to think back to that night so long ago, when she had clean clothes that fit her, and shoes, and a cabin where she was alone, and for a moment, she wondered if she'd ever be able to again sleep in a bed without a man who snored a little (though she'd never tell him that) sleeping alongside her.

Right now, she wanted to just come through the next hour without anyone blowing her up. There was the sound of the guns firing again and the ship lurching as it moved far too suddenly for her peace of mind.

"You haven't answered my question," he said evenly.

"Oh, the book. It was
The Mysteries of Udolpho.
You said reading novels contributed to my having a nightmare. You listened to my chest."

"Yes, that's correct. Move your body, not your hand, a little to your right so I have more light."

She did as he instructed and he continued working and there were squishy noises and smells that she feared she'd carry in her memory for a lifetime, but she held her ground and her hand was steady.

"When you write your novel about your heroine stranded on a desert island--don't move, I am almost done here--I hope you will craft the sort of prose which will inspire, and not lurid scenes to cause nightmares in impressionable minds."

"Now, really, Dr. Murray! Who are you to criticize my writing--or other peoples' novels? You admit you do not read such books, so it hardly puts you in a position to be a critic. What is it I am doing here, anyway, Dr. Murray?"

She chanced a glance down, then looked away at the lantern until the black spots in her vision went away.