Castaway Dreams by Darlene Marshall Page A

charm her. His verbal provocations made her want to respond in kind. While their encounters too often left her feeling like she was lacking in some fashion, at least they made her feel alive and stimulated.
    "Captain Franklin, why did you say this may be our last hot meal?"
    Captain Franklin paused from lifting his overloaded fork to his mouth, looked at the food he wasn't about to chew with a moment of regret and answered her.
    "We're in for rough weather, Miss Farnham. Nothing the Magpie cannot handle, but when we're tossing about, we can't risk a fire in the galley. As soon as we're past it, though, Cookie will put something on the boil for us, you can be sure."
    "I will be ready for your men, Captain," Dr. Murray said.
    "You are making me glad I brought you aboard as a passenger," Captain Franklin said with a genuine smile. He shoved his food into his mouth and spoke around it. "I wish I could carry a sawbones on every voyage, and save myself from the chore of tending the men."
    Dr. Murray said nothing to this, carefully cutting his beef into small bites. Daphne had not thought about a voyage without a medical man. On her journey to Jamaica she'd been too busy dealing with the violently ill George. The ship's officers and crew were full of helpful advice, so she did not miss having a physician or surgeon about.
    There was always a physician or surgeon available when she was growing up, whether in the country or the city. Her father's wealth guaranteed a fast response and her every need was attended to promptly and diligently. She paused, thinking about Dr. Murray as one of those men. She could not see him dropping everything and neglecting his other patients to leap at her father's commands, as she suspected Dr. Drummond did when called to treat Mr. Farnham's gout or Daphne's occasional childhood ailment.
    Dr. Murray glanced up and met Daphne's eyes across the table. He held her glance and the cabin became oddly hushed in the moment. It was an interesting face, she thought, broad and well-made, with a blade of a nose. His forehead was high, the rufous hair neatly swept back and kept short, a style more suited to practicality than fashion. Not a handsome face like Mr. Carr's, and one could easily overlook it, focusing instead on the surgeon's gruff demeanor. After all, when one was having dealings with a surgeon, what his face looked like was generally the last consideration, wasn't it? You looked at his hands, the strength in his arms for bone-setting or bone-sawing.
    Daphne broke the glance and looked down at those hands, finely shaped, with long fingers holding his fork and knife in a delicate manner, handling them like instruments, no motion or effort wasted.
    Then she remembered that those hands would shortly be on her, helping her out of her clothes, and she felt the warmth flow across her cheekbones. Startled, she looked up at Dr. Murray. He was still watching her face, but now his eyes were darker, more brown than the blend of forest colors she saw when he was in the sunlight. Unaccountably nervous, Daphne licked her lips and his eyes grew darker still at the motion. He set his silverware down on the rough table and appeared about to speak.
    "Excuse me, gentlemen," Daphne said, rising to her feet, and there was a wave of motion as the men jumped up, Dr. Murray the last to rise as he watched her still.
    "Are you well, Miss Farnham?" Mr. Carr asked concernedly.
    "Yes, indeed I am, but I just recalled some tasks I must see to in my cabin before it becomes too late. If you will forgive me, I will say goodnight now."
    Daphne paused outside the captain's cabin, holding her tinware plate for the dog, and took a deep breath. She could still hear the rumble of voices within as the men finished up their supper and port.
    There was nothing to be nervous about. Dr. Murray would be brisk and efficient, as he always was, and he would look at her as if she had a brain the size of Pompom's.
    * * * *
    There was nothing to be nervous