Castaway Dreams (24 page)

"We should not--"

"Stop saying that!" she hissed, angry and aroused and not knowing if she should slap him or kiss him again. His chin jerked at the tone of her voice. She'd shocked him. Good.

"We are adults, Dr. Murray! I am a widow and not some chit who has never been out of the schoolroom. You are the one who keeps telling me we could die in the next moment from a coconut falling on our head--"

"I do not think there are coconuts here..."

She
was
going to slap him. Later.

"I do not want a nature lecture, you ridiculous man! I want
you
! On top of me, inside of me, kissing me and..."

Whatever other commands she was going to give him were cut off as he groaned, his mouth coming back down on hers, his hands moving down her body to her hips, his arms holding her to him.

This was exactly what she wanted, was needing, after those nights sleeping side by side, the days spent together in closer companionship than she'd ever shared with another human being. She wanted him in a way she had never wanted any other man. She wanted his almost-smiles, his sarcastic remarks, his praise of her accomplishments, his willingness to treat her like she was something more than a beautiful frame on which to hang expensive garments and jewels.

Alexander's mouth moved fiercely across hers demanding her response, a response she was eager to offer him. His hands roamed over her body, and when she felt the heat of his palm on her thigh, she shivered in delight and pulled him closer to her, her hips beginning their own movement against his, craving what was hidden from her by the remains of his garments. She inched her hand down, across his bare chest, and her breathing hitched when she felt his heart beating fast beneath her hand, her explorations drawing another groan from deep in his throat. She was ready for more, she wanted more, and was moving to the buttons of his trousers when he grabbed her hand and gripped it, tight.

He brought their clasped hands up between them, where her heart was pounding a staccato rhythm, their joined fists separating them.

Alexander raised his head. His eyes were dark and the harsh planes of his face stretched stark with need.

"Miss Farnham, we cannot do this."

"Aaargh! I knew you were going to say that! I just knew it!"

"This is not easy for me either! You are the most beautiful woman I ever held in my arms and you are so..." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I have a duty, Daphne, to take you back to your family in England. I cannot take advantage of our situation--"

"Yes, you can!"

"No, I cannot," he snapped. It was as close as he'd come yet to losing his temper with her. He was every bit as affected as she was by their mutual attraction, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

Ridiculous man!

He still held her hand but released her when she pushed against him, turned her back and stomped away, her fists clenching and unclenching as she tried to bring herself under control. When she could speak again she whirled around and pointed a finger at him accusingly.

"I know you think I am some kind of strumpet, but I cannot help myself, Dr. Murray! You make me feel..." She struggled to find the right words, but they weren't there for her and her hand fell to her side, open and empty.

"You make me
feel
! You! Not someone else, not just because we are abandoned here,
you
make me feel this way! This is all your fault!"

"I know that," he said bleakly, looking down at the dirt. "I accept full responsibility for my actions, Miss Farnham."

He was so miserable that her anger at him dissipated, and she was ashamed of herself. He was just a man, after all, and he was trying to do what he thought was right.

"I am returning to the cabin now," she said.

She looked over her shoulder as she started down the hill, but he wasn't watching her. His attention was focused out to sea. She knew he was looking for rescue. From her, and from himself.

Their days settled into a routine where the work never seemed to end, but Daphne acknowledged it was work necessary to their survival. She loved it. She adored their strange, exotic life stranded on this tiny piece of earth where she awakened at dawn to bird calls and Pompom licking her face. She was still hoping for kisses from the other male on the island, but he kept his distance.

Except at night. They slept together and shared their warmth, curled like spoons with his arm around her waist. She sometimes heard him repeating mathematical formulae as part of his ritual to fall asleep. When she asked him if he did this every night, he said he only did it when he was sleeping next to her, which Daphne thought strange. Maybe she was distracting Dr. Murray from remembering all the important things he needed to remember.

Their days began with eggs from the many bird nests scattered about the island, and if there wasn't pepper to put on them, there was salt from distilled sea water. Dr. Murray rigged a piece of shiny tin from the flotsam washed ashore and showed her how evaporation would leave salt crystals behind. He explained the process to her, patiently answering her questions, as if she were a student in university and not a fluff-head.

After breakfast there was wood-gathering and food-gathering, and as they explored their island together they discovered more of its treasures. Their little hut was decorated with flowers sitting in gourd vases, and seashells arranged outside the door. If they were gone when the woodcutters returned, they would be astounded at the changes. Daphne's greatest found treasure was smooth bits of colorful seaglass. She kept them in a flat shell and thought them as lovely as any jewels she'd ever worn.

They also discovered more of the bounty of their little Eden. A sweet bay tree and a patch of fennel seasoned their food, and Daphne took a hand at cooking. Dr. Murray used her one shoe that washed ashore to construct a sling, bringing down some ducks, of all things. That night they feasted on duck, which while gamier than the birds she was used to eating at home, were still a welcome change from fish.

"I wish we could net some ducks," Dr. Murray said as he passed her another piece of the succulent meat, roasted over their fire and seasoned with wild garlic and parsley. "We'd have a regular supply of meat and eggs."

"I was astounded when you brought down that bird, Dr. Murray."

"Frankly, I was astounded myself, Miss Farnham. It has been many years since I've hunted with a sling. It's good to know my skills haven't atrophied."

"Atro...?"

"Atrophied," he said. "A new word for you? It means a wasting away or decline, usually used in relation to a body part."

"Oh!" She couldn't help it, she looked down at that area of her body that had not been used in a long while. "Am I going to be atrophied?"

He saw where she glanced and the color rose in his face.

"That is not a concern for you, Miss Farnham. Stop obsessing over...stop obsessing."

"You will make sure I do not become atrophied?"

"Have some more duck."

Well! If Dr. Murray was not going to see to it that she did not become atrophied, she might need to take matters into her own hands. So to speak.

He looked at her suspiciously when she giggled, but she concentrated on finishing the duck, which was excellent. Between the three of them, for of course Pompom had his share, they made short work of the fowl.

"I am glad we did not have to eat one of the beautiful island birds, Dr. Murray."

"I am sure this duck was thought beautiful by other ducks, but I agree with you, Miss Farnham. I wonder..." his voice trailed off as he thought. It was coming on toward dusk now, and Daphne was glad their chores were done for the day and they had this time to relax together.

"What do you wonder?"

"I wonder if I could rig a snare and capture a duck or two. Then we could build a pen for them and keep them caged for our use."

"That would be useful. It is too bad chickens do not migrate, because then we could have fresh chickens."

She smiled as she thought about flocks of Derbyshire Redcaps winging through the air to their little island. Daphne's arms ached and her back hurt and her hands were blistered and her feet were sore, but she would not trade these moments for all the gold in her father's vaults.

As long as she did not atrophy, it would all be wonderful.

"We explored most of the coast near our beach," Dr. Murray was saying now. "If our chores are done early tomorrow, Miss Farnham, I would like to expand our exploration of the island. We can take some food and water with us and set out while it's still early. Those gourds you gathered are helpful."

He picked up one of gourds from the calabash tree growing near the beach and turned it over in his hands while Daphne basked in his praise. When it was dried out and carved it would make a utensil that had any number of uses. If they had fat or oil to burn it could be a lamp, or a container for food, or a means of carrying live coals for fire-starting.

"If I climbed I could gather more gourds, and some fruit also."

He looked at her sternly.

"There will be no climbing."

Daphne stopped smiling and straightened her sore back, because she had been thinking about this all day.

"I am not sure I should have to always do what you tell me to do, or not to do, Dr. Murray. I know you are a natural philosopher and learned, but in America they let men vote equally, the stupid ones as well as the clever. Not that I am stupid, I am just not as learned as you are. While we are here on this island, just the two of us, we should be voting as equals, don't you think?"

He looked at her in astonishment, setting down the gourd.

"I am amazed, Miss Farnham, that a properly brought-up Englishwoman would take the riff-raff in America as her model for appropriate behavior. No, this is not a situation calling for some anarchic form of democracy. Your vote is not equal to mine.

"Our situation here is akin to being aboard ship where there is a commander. I am he. You are the loyal crew which offers advice and opinions when called upon to do so. Do not argue, you know you must acknowledge that I have more skill, experience and authority than you do."

"Not when it comes to climbing. If there was any climbing to be done, I'd be in charge."

"Miss Farnham, if there was an occasion where one needed to know which ribbon to use to trim a bodice, you would be in charge. Otherwise, I think not."

"I am in charge of the garden because you do not know a turnip from a tulip, Dr. Murray."

He thought about this for a moment and nodded, once. Grudgingly, she thought.

"You are in charge of the garden, that is correct."

"That is why I would also be in charge of climbing, because I climb and you do not."

"There will be no climbing," he stated again.

"But if there was climbing, I would be in charge."

"This is a ridiculous conversation," he said, rising to his feet.

Hah! She knew his ways now. When she was right, or when she disturbed him, Dr. Murray would run away. But she let him go without argument, feeling vindicated, for she knew she'd be the climber if it was ever needed.

After another night wondering whether she was in danger of atrophying, Daphne set out with Dr. Murray. She scratched at an insect bite through a new hole in her dress.

"Don't scratch, you will make it worse."

"The hole in my dress? I fear this garment is beyond redemption, Dr. Murray."

"Actually, I meant the bite. If you scratch it could become infected."

Daphne looked at her arms, bare, brown, and sporting a few bites. The insects here were not as fierce as in Jamaica but they were still annoying, and without cloth to protect her skin they had ample opportunity to feast on her.

"We need to figure out what to do about clothing ourselves, Dr. Murray, or soon we will truly be like Adam and Eve."

The thought tickled her, both of them naked in Paradise save for a few strategically placed banana leaves. She knew the reality would not be pleasant, especially with the seasons turning to winter.

"I have been thinking about that, Miss Farnham, but I have no answers. There aren't any large animals we can skin and weaving plants into garments is beyond my skill."

"You made our hats."

"That covers the extent of my expertise in that area."

Daphne thought about this as she traipsed behind Dr. Murray on a narrow, barely marked path. The overgrown foliage alongside showed the lack of human activity, but a path down to the other side of the island gave Dr. Murray concerns he shared with Daphne when they paused at a rivulet of water trickling down from the hills. It allowed them to refresh themselves and refill their gourds, and Dr. Murray tore a strip of cloth off of Daphne's much abused shift to mark the spot.

"It could be why this path is here. I do not know. To date, we've seen no sign of life other than our absent woodcutters."

"The path continues, Doctor. Maybe there is something on the other side of the island the woodcutters needed? Some particular plants?"

Dr. Murray studied the ferns and fresh water while the dog lapped at a puddle at the base of a chinchona tree. He took his knife and carved off some of the bark, putting it in his coat pocket.

"Chinchona is used to treat fever, Miss Farnham. It's a good idea to gather Peruvian Bark while I can. It also makes me think that you could be correct about there being something on the other side of the island the woodcutters want. Native and slave crews have their own healers, and there could be herbs or plants for healing they want to access."

They set off again as the path wound down from the hills, back to the shoreline. It ended at a patch of sand, which made no sense at all to Daphne.

"If they wanted a pleasant place to swim, why come all the way down here? The water is fine where we landed."

Dr. Murray was looking around them, studying the hills and the rocks at the shore. He looked out to sea, his hand shading his eyes, then turned and studied the hills again.