Daphne smiled at him and Fuller blinked, and looked for a moment as if he'd been whacked with a belaying pin.
Alexander cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to him, a safer outlet.
"I have my chest and there's Daphne's bag, but nothing else of value here."
He looked around and saw that the colorful pieces of seaglass and some of the shells were gone, and he suspected they were in Daphne's valise. He said there was nothing of value, but then why did it feel like he was leaving behind happiness and joy along with battered dishes and pots?
Fuller picked up the bolt with its remaining cloth and Daphne's valise. Daphne took Alexander's free arm, Pompom following behind.
At the shoreline Fuller handed the cloth off to a man and directed his guests into the boat beached at the shoreline. Alexander had his surgical chest and Daphne had her valise as the sailors rowed. The only other item they brought with them from the island was Daphne's hat, which she wore now. She looked over her shoulder as the land receded in the distance, the smoke from their dying fire fading away.
"Regrets, Miss Farn--Daphne?"
She looked at him, her plush lips curling up, but only a slight amount. Not her usual smile.
"I will miss our island, Dr. Murray. It will always have a special place in my heart. Will you miss it?"
"Will I miss the insects, and the thorns in my bare feet, and hunting for enough food to survive one more day?" He looked down at the animal, who somehow had ended up in his lap for this latest sea voyage. "At least we didn't need to stew the dog."
"Dr. Murray!" she gasped. The dog, sensing he was the topic of discussion, licked Alexander's hand, the one absently scratching under the dog's chin. Pompom kicked his hind leg in doggy ecstasy at the attention.
Mr. Fuller hailed the
Prodigal
, and a ladder was lowered. Alexander popped the dog into Miss Farnham's valise, and gave it to one of the sailors to bring aboard. He took charge of his chest, slinging its worn leather strap over his shoulder before following Daphne up the ladder, which she climbed with the same skill she'd assured him she'd bring to tree climbing.
The stunned silence as she ascended caused him to look over his shoulder and frown at the sailors staring at Daphne's trim ankles and calves and the satin drawn tight over her derriere as she made her way aboard, but there was nothing to be done for that now.
When he saw the number of guns on deck he knew he was either aboard the safest merchant vessel afloat, or one that preyed on commercial shipping. Not many merchantmen would give up valuable cargo space to carry enough shot and powder for four four-pounders and a pair of swivels. The crew also wore more blades and jewelry than one might expect of merchant sailors. Usually, the only men who went around looking like that in port were those who were prepared for a fast fight and a faster getaway, wearing their wealth for a quick escape.
The other suspicious fact was the Spanish colors the ship flew, despite most of the men speaking English. He'd know more when he met the captain.
"You wait here with the lady, Mr. Murray," Fuller said, directing them to an area near the mast where an awning offered shade from the tropical sun.
"I would like to speak with your captain as soon as he's available," Alexander said as an answer, then helped Daphne to sit on a coiled hawser with Pompom on her lap, out of the sun.
Mr. Fuller nodded and went below. Daphne looked around with interest, humming to herself. After about thirty minutes there was the sound of voices and footsteps coming up from below, and Alexander helped Daphne to her feet. She was looking over his shoulder and her eyes were as large as Delft saucers before a smile grew on her face that had Alexander turning around to see--
"Bloody hell," he swore.
The captain of the
Prodigal
stood on his deck, perfect white teeth flashing in his perfectly bronzed face with its cleft chin, the golden sunlight winking off of his single earring. He was tall and lithe and wore a billowing white shirt, its laces unfastened to reveal a muscular chest. His hands were fisted on his hips, legs spread in a pose that drew all eyes to him. Alexander took this all in clinically as he studied the man. It was about as bad as it could be. From the top of his windswept ebon locks to the kohl-lined blue eyes, even bluer than Daphne's, to the red satin sash that girdled his waist, his legs encased in lovingly fitted buckskins, his feet in polished boots, he might as well have hung a sign around his neck saying, "Look at me! I am a dashing pirate rogue!"
And Daphne, poor impressionable child, she was eating it up like sugared custard.
"See?" She sighed happily. "I
told
you there would be pirates!"
At her words the captain strode over and took her hand, bowing over it to give it a kiss, then rose to say in a mellifluous voice, "Pirates? Dear lady, we are sea merchants here on the
Prodigal.
"
Alexander did not need to sneer at this absurdity as the crew was supplying the commentary for him with their collected snickers.
A glare from Mr. Fuller put a stop to that, and the captain rose from his bow and, still holding Daphne's hand, said, "But I am so rude! You must forgive me, lovely lady, I have never seen such beauty aboard my sad little vessel. I am Robert St. Armand, captain of the
Prodigal Son.
And Mr. Fuller tells me you are a Miss Farnham?"
"She is Mrs. Murray," Alexander growled.
"I am?"
"Later, Daphne."
The captain turned smoothly to Alexander.
"Ah yes, Mr. Fuller mentioned there was some... confusion... about the young lady."
"I am Alexander Murray. The young lady, whose hand you will release, Captain St. Armand, is my wife."
"Are you certain?"
"Not now, Daphne."
The captain listened to their conversation, his head cocked to the side. He did not release Daphne's hand from his own until Alexander glared at the offending body part. Pompom sniffed around the captain's feet, rejected the interloper, instead trotting back and lying down with his head across Alexander's bare foot.
Maybe the animal was more intelligent than Alex suspected.
Daphne, however, was acting exactly as he feared she might. A silly smile was plastered across her face and a hum was slipping out of her while she stared at the pirate captain.
"We need to talk, Captain St. Armand, about your taking us to a port where we can obtain assistance."
"Come down to my cabin, Mr. Murray and..."
"Miss Daphne Farnham," Daphne chimed in, at the same time Alexander said, "Mrs. Murray."
"I do not think that is quite correct," Daphne frowned.
"Do not worry about that for now, m'lady," the captain said, which caused Daphne to giggle, a sound that once again irritated Alexander's ears. Maybe it only happened aboard ship. Or maybe it was because she was favoring another man with that giggle, a man who was younger and taller and leaner and was going to be missing vital body parts if he did not stop looking at Daphne that way.
Pompom growled softly, which had Daphne swooping him into her arms.
"Pompom does not seem to like you, Captain St. Armand..."
Alexander swore he'd give the dog part of his sea biscuit the next time they ate. Maybe all of it.
"Which is strange, because Pompom likes everybody. Even Dr. Murray, who threatened to stew him for our supper, didn't he, my widdle baby boy?"
To his credit, even St. Armand looked slightly nauseated at this dialogue, but he said, "Give your pup to Norton to watch while we go below and discuss your situation."
Without waiting for Daphne's approval, he plucked the dog from her arms and shoved him into the hands of a sailor standing nearby. The dog seemed to like the sailor well enough, and Daphne asked him to feed Pompom his supper and find him fresh water. Alexander headed off the captain and offered Daphne his arm to escort her, a move that startled her, but she took his arm and they followed the captain below.
St. Armand's cabin depressed Alexander further. It was the most sybaritic seagoing suite he'd ever seen. An oversized bunk was buried under soft pillows in an explosion of crimson, amber, midnight-blue and even one covered in fur, all atop a deep mattress cushioning its occupant from the roughness of the seas. The bunk hung suspended by chains so the bed would move comfortably with the ship's motion.
He did not want to contemplate what other activities would made that cradle rock. He glanced sidelong at Daphne, whose eyes were shining as she took it all in--the bunk, the gold leaf adorning the woodwork, the giant mirror fastened to the bulkhead and positioned so that it reflected the bunk, the large stern window allowing daylight to stream in and light up the room.
Like a moth to the flame, Daphne was drawn to the mirror, but when she looked into it she gave a shriek of dismay.
"Oh, no! My complexion!"
To his eyes, the perfect grain of her skin was as fine as ever, the warm blush in her cheeks caused by sunshine and fresh air, not paint pots.
"I like you like this," Alexander murmured, but no one heard.
"Do not fret, dear lady," Captain St. Armand said, coming up behind her, and he would have been at her back sharing her reflection if Alexander had not positioned himself in his way. St. Armand just favored him with a small smile, and Daphne never noticed the two men jockeying for position, as she was still absorbed with the ravages of her sea voyage.
Daphne turned to Alexander.
"Dr. Murray, help me! I need to fix this before we reach England."
Alexander was going to dismiss this as nonsense, but when he saw St. Armand about to speak he jumped in first. For all he knew the pirate carried stock for a lady's dressing table aboard his vessel.
"You look fine," Alexander snapped. "Wear your hat in the sun. I will give you some olive oil to rub into your skin at night and you will look just like a fashion doll in no time."
Which was not at all what he'd planned to say.
Daphne looked at him, startled and maybe a little hurt by his tone of voice. But then she smiled and said, "Poor Dr. Murray. I think all this has been a bit much for you. Do not worry. Soon we will be safe and you will not need to deal with me anymore."
Which was not at all what he wanted to hear. Alexander put his hand on Daphne's arm and eased her away.
"Do not forget, Daphne, you are my wife--no, do not say anything. You are my responsibility and I will see that you are dealt with properly."
"Such touching sentiment! I am overcome at these outpourings of emotion. It is more than a man of my delicate sensibilities can handle."
Daphne turned to the pirate, a look of concern on her still lovely, sun-warmed face.
"Do not worry, Captain St. Armand. You should not let what Dr. Murray says upset you. Sometimes he is grumpy, but he cannot help it. It is just the way he is."
Before Alexander could refute this nonsense, Captain St. Armand nodded gravely.
"I do understand, Miss Farn--Mrs. Murray."
"Oh please, just call me Daphne!"
"No."
The two beautiful people turned their heads and looked at him, almost as if they were surprised he was still in the cabin.
"We can discuss this later," Captain St. Armand said easily. "Right now I imagine you are hungry. Mr. Fuller is freeing up his cabin for your use, and while he is doing that we will have some supper."
"This is such a fine vessel, Captain St. Armand. Far nicer than the
Magpie.
"
"A woman of your beauty and breeding deserves nothing but the best, Miss Farnham. That dress you are wearing, that shade of pink looks lovely on you."
He walked to the door, stuck his head outside and called to the sailor stationed there.
"Tell Mr. Fuller to fetch the bolts of cloth retrieved from the cave, Simmons."
He turned his head and gave Daphne a warm smile over his shoulder.
"The cloth will be yours to use, Miss Farnham. Sails can help you make dresses from it."
"Oh, Captain St. Armand, what a lovely idea! Thank you so much. Maybe Mr. Sails can help dress Dr. Murray also."
The pirate looked at Alexander and his mouth twitched.
"I do not think pink satin flatters Mr. Murray's coloring."
Daphne looked at Alexander and frowned in agreement.
"True, Captain St. Armand. Pink is not the doctor's color, not with his red hair. It would clash horribly."
"I defer to your judgment, Miss Farnham."
Alexander'd had enough of this foolishness and tired of correcting the pirate regarding Daphne's supposed marital status, but he did not want a discussion with Daphne, not here and now. It could wait until they were in their cabin.
At Captain St. Armand's invitation they seated themselves at his table, and he poured them each a glass of canary.
"Where are you bound, Captain St. Armand?" Alexander said.
"England," he said crisply. "This stop for water was my last before heading out into the open sea."
"Why, we were going to England also! What a coincidence!"
"A most fortuitous one, Miss Farnham," the captain said. "I can offer you passage."
"We need to go to St. George to let people know we are alive, and outfit ourselves for the journey," Alexander said.
"That is not going to happen," St. Armand said, looking at him steadily with no smile at all. "I am leaving these islands and it would not be convenient for me to return."
"Are you sure you are not a p-i-r-a-t-e?" Daphne whispered. Alexander wished she didn't sound quite so hopeful.
"Good heavens, absolutely not, dear lady!" the pirate said. "However, the islands are full of different governments and sometimes, through no fault of my own, there is confusion over cargoes, disagreements over salvage rights, that sort of thing. It is time for me to voyage to England. And I can offer you passage. Perhaps Mr. Murray would lend his skills to the care of the crew on this voyage? It would be most appreciated."
"You are English," Alexander said abruptly. Captain St. Armand spoke in the same cultured accents as Daphne Farnham. He was either of the same background, or a very good mimic.