Castaway Dreams (46 page)

So here he was, riding like young Lochinvar to claim his bride. It was an image that under other circumstances would make him snicker, but he wasn't feeling amused at the moment. Poets and authors and even philosophers had written about what he was feeling. He'd thought he was above it all, that a good mind and a calm disposition could take him through life.

He'd been wrong.

How could he have ever thought he'd be able to live days, much less decades, without someone who adored fluffy dogs and pink frocks and, most amazingly, him?

He pulled up on the reins of the gelding when he saw the light in the tower, an abandoned mill, Fuller said. Alexander tied the horse and approached on foot, his pistol by his side. He saw no guards, only a shed with two animals stabled for the night and behind it a carriage. He led his horse there and saw to his needs while thinking through the best course of action.

No guards were necessary because the door to the mill was bolted from the inside. It was thick oak, unbreakable without a battering ram. Alexander walked around the structure, looking for gaps, for other entrances, for some way in. There was nothing, only the window up at the top of the mill where lamp light filtered through shutters.

He pulled his coat tight around him as he looked up at that window, so far from the ground, the hard ground that could shatter him like a dropped wineglass. It was not the weather that sent a shiver down his spine. There was only one way he was going to break in to that dark tower looming over him like a monster from a fairy tale. There was a princess in that tower, a princess who kept special smiles for him, and held him in her arms and thought him worth those smiles.

He took off his coat, rolled up his sleeves and set his fingers into the bricks of the mill, his sensitive fingertips capable of finding veins and arteries and tiny fragments of shrapnel, now searching for crumbled mortar and precarious handholds.

His princess needed him. Alexander began to climb.

* * * *

"Marry me, Miss Farnham, and I will take care of you. You can spend your entire day shopping for hats and trying on new frocks. Wouldn't that be fun?"

Daphne pulled on her hand, but Captain St. Armand had it in a firm grip, and stroked it with his other hand. He was a most persistent pirate!

"You and I are so well matched," he continued. "Think of what a beautiful couple we will make, at the opera, at the theater."

"Alexander says it is more important to have brains than beauty."

The pirate snickered.

"I do not care about your brains, Miss Farnham. I am dazzled by your loveliness! Forget Murray. We would make a much more handsome couple, you and I. I would be Apollo to you, Daphne. With Murray, you would be Beauty and the Beast."

"You are beautiful, Captain St. Armand, but it is my dear doctor's physiognomy which appeals to me."

"His what?"

"You see? You do not know enough to be my husband," she said loftily. "I want a natural philosopher, a man who is cool-headed and rational, who always thinks through a situation before he acts and isn't swayed by passion and emotion."

The shutters burst open and the wind howled in, but the tempest was nothing compared to the demonic creature flinging himself through the window, blood oozing down his face, sleeve torn at the shoulder and fluttering in the wind. His hair was blown about like a madman's and his breath poured in-and-out like an overworked bellows. Steam rose off his sweating skin.

"Get your hands off my woman!" he roared.

Daphne smiled happily.

"You see? That is the man I want. Good evening, Alexander."

Captain St. Armand rose to his feet.

"This is...unexpected," he murmured.

"Daphne, has he hurt you?"

"What kind of a monster do you think I am, Murray! We were only chatting."

"Move away, Daphne. I do not want any of his blood to splatter you," Alexander said, advancing into the room.

"What is wrong with his face?"

"He is smiling, Captain. Dr. Murray is happy to see me."

Alexander's fists were clenching and unclenching, and "insane glee" came closest to describing the expression on his face. He looked like a Bedlamite. He looked like her own dear surgeon.

Captain St. Armand looked worried. He held his hands from his sides.

"As you can see, Mr. Murray, I am unarmed."

"Excellent! It will be easier to rip your head off!" Alexander bellowed, rushing at him.

Daphne sighed, and grabbed the wine bottle off of the table. Alexander was sweet, but he really wasn't very bright. Captain St. Armand was lying, he was a pirate, for heaven's sake! He pulled a knife from his boot and watched Alexander rush at him. He did not watch Daphne, a tactical error as she smashed the wine bottle down across the pirate's wrist, causing him to yelp and drop his knife.

* * * *

"She is the wrong woman for you, Murray! Use your brain! Think, man!" St. Armand said, trying to salvage the situation as he moved around the table.

The noise Alexander made in response to that was closer to a snarl than something coming from a human throat. It was all so simple. He was going to rend his enemy's limbs apart. Then he'd roger his woman within an inch of her life. There was no thinking involved at all.

Alexander moved fast and grabbed St. Armand, slamming him up against the bricks of the mill.

"See? I warned you, Captain," Daphne said, sliding out of harm's way.

St. Armand landed a punch that made Alexander's ears ring, but it didn't matter. The younger man landed another punch that made Alexander grunt, but he didn't loosen his grip. His arm flew forward and he heard, and felt, the satisfying crunch of cartilage being rearranged beneath his fist. St. Armand howled and threw his hand over his face, blood streaming out from between his fingers.

"OW! You boke by dose!"

"I can fix that!"

St. Armand tried to scramble away, but Alexander was faster, twisting the broken nose back into shape, eliciting another howl from the wounded pirate. Alexander grabbed a fist full of his shirt and pulled him up, shaking him like Pompom shaking a rat.

"You will never, ever put your hands on my woman again, you scum! Do you understand me?"

He didn't wait to hear the reply but dropped St. Armand like a bag of dirty laundry and turned to Daphne. She was looking at him like he was, in fact, "So daring in love, and so dauntless in war."

"Oh, Alexander!" she gushed, clasping her hands together. "You climbed up here! You are the most wonderful, bravest man I have ever known!"

He strode over to her and pulled her into his arms, and she threw her own arms around his neck, gazing up at him adoringly, ignoring the blood, sweat, and grime covering him.

"I knew you would come for me!"

He ached in every bone from the long ride, from climbing the damned mill, and from the pirate's blows. He'd never felt better in his life. He kissed his woman with all of the passion of a man driven to the brink of despair and back. Then he set her from him and gripped her shoulders.

"You are never to worry me like that again, Daphne Farnham!"

"Yes, Dr. Murray," she said demurely, but her eyes glowed like sapphires, making him suspicious of her meek response. Then she turned her beautiful face up for another kiss and all of that was forgotten.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw St. Armand twitch, and he reluctantly broke away. Then he saw the bed against the far wall and that bestial sound escaped from his throat once again.

Daphne grabbed his arm.

"Nothing happened, Alexander. Other than abducting me, tying me up, and making me write lies, Captain St. Armand was a perfect gentleman."

She was clutching his arm and he was trying to pull away to remove St. Armand's head from his neck, as promised, but the pirate was prudently inching toward the door. His face was swollen and his eyes were blackening, and Alexander felt a rush of satisfaction. The pirate would not be so pretty in the future.

The satisfaction must have showed on his face, for St. Armand wiped his still streaming nose across his sleeve--gently, wincing--and said, "Didn't you take an oath to do no harm?"

"A common misconception. Physicians swear oaths, surgeons carry knives. And sometimes, pistols," he said, pulling out the weapon he'd tucked into the waistband of his trousers. "Daphne, gather your things, we are leaving."

"Go, go." St. Armand waved his hand at them irritably, the hand that was not holding a stained handkerchief over his swollen nose. "I will not follow. She is all yours, Murray. You two deserve each other."

"Isn't that what I said all along?" Daphne said. She took Alexander by the arm and smiled up at him. "The doctor and I complement each other like...like my new morning dress and my delightful Huntley cap, the primrose satin one with three rows of blond lace.

"I would have said we're more like a tenaculum and a crowbill forceps."

"Oh please, would you two leave so I can suffer in peace? You nauseate me."

Alexander felt his lips pull back in that unfamiliar fashion that meant he was smiling. He was sure the feeling would pass, but right now the idea of pounding St. Armand into jelly continued to appeal. However, victoriously leaving with the lovely prize felt even better.

"Come, Miss Farnham, let us leave Captain St. Armand to lick his wounds."

"Yes, Dr. Murray. Goodbye, Captain St. Armand!"

She'd brought nothing with her but her cloak, so he put it around her shoulders and held her arm as they navigated the stairs down to the front of the mill. He put his own coat on, hitched the horses and tied Mr. Farnham's gelding behind. St. Armand could crawl to Portsmouth for all he cared.

"There is an inn a few miles back. We will spend the night there and leave for London in the morning. We will say we are husband and wife."

"Another pretend marriage? Dr. Murray I am so tired of that! I want a real marriage!"

"That is good, Miss Farnham, for I happen to have a special license in my pocket." He turned and looked at her, her face shining in the moonlight. "I bought it before any of this happened, because I was coming to you, Daphne. I was just waiting until I had the proper wardrobe."

Daphne giggled, a sound warming Alexander's heart. He wanted to hear that soft sound of joy every morning for the next ninety or one hundred years.

"Silly Dr. Murray, you did not need fashionable clothing to court me! Don't you know I would take you in nothing at all? In fact," she said in a low voice, "I prefer you in nothing at all. I was waiting for you to come for me."

Even now, when he looked at the stunning creature seated next to him, glowing like a pearl in the moonlight, he could not believe she wanted him.

"I do love you, you know," she said softly, as if reading his mind.

"I cannot imagine why. You were right all along, Daphne. You are a clever woman--thank you for that 'sea' clue about Captain St. Armand--and I am an idiot."

"You are just saying that to make me feel good."

"No. I'm an arrogant ass, thinking everyone should be like me. You think differently, but not stupidly. Why you want to marry me is a mystery."

"Alexander, I love you for lots and lots of reasons! You have strong shoulders and a deep voice, and you make me feel special, but not like the other men do. They like my face and form. However, none of them bothered to teach me new words or talk to me about things that are important. Important besides fashion. You do. You love me for my mind!"

"I do? I mean, of course I do, Daphne."

"I knew that." She gave him a smile that had him blinking, and turned up the corners of his own lips. This smiling business was becoming habit forming.

"You are correct again, Daphne. I do love you for your mind. Yes, you have a beautiful face and a form that would tempt a monk, but I love the way you make me think in a new fashion, see things I have not seen before, or have not appreciated for far too long."

"You've changed, Dr. Murray."

"You haven't, Daphne."

She pulled back from him, affronted.

"Yes, I did change! I am a useful person! I learned how to make custard, and my father said it was excellent. I can read important books and become more intelligent if that is what you want."

He pulled up on the reins. The road was empty at this hour and if he did not take this woman into his arms in the next minute, he would not answer for the consequences. She moved into his embrace with a sigh of satisfaction, her luscious mouth opening beneath his like a summer flower. By the time he was done kissing her she was sitting across his lap, her arms about his neck and most of the tapes of her frock undone.

"Daphne, there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. You were always useful and intelligent, but in your own way. Not about fashion, but about making people smile, and feel better about themselves, and laugh at life rather than consider it a gloomy journey to an inevitable end. You taught me so much, Daphne Farnham. I need you to keep teaching me to laugh and to take joy in each day. I need you to remind me life is not about enduring, but about living. Most of all, I need you to love me."

"I can do that."

"I know you can," he said, and kissed her again.

"You are smiling," she said dreamily as they broke apart, her finger tracing the outline of his mouth.

"You taught me how to smile, Daphne," he said gently. "That is far more important than making a custard. Though I confess, I am fond of custard and I hope you will cook some when we are married."

"We must marry immediately, Alexander. I cannot wait to make custards for you! And I am learning how to cook a chicken stew also, in case we cannot hire a cook."

"Ah. About that, Daphne, I have something I need to tell you. It seems I am a wealthy man. I can afford to keep a cook."

"And buy me bonnets?"

"At least two. One for summer and one for winter. More than that would be an extravagance. You only have one head, after all."

"You made a joke, Dr. Murray!"

"I never joke, Miss Farnham," he said sternly. Then he felt his lips move upward again. "Sometimes, though, I sing."