She nodded slowly, her eyes so dark that it was impossible to know her thoughts.
He began to unbutton his coat but she shook her head.
'No. As you are. Not the next time. It has to be now.'
Then she lay back and deliberately raised her hands above her head, crossing one wrist over the other, her hair wrapped around them as if she were tied like a captive.
He leaned down and cupped one shoulder in his hand. She did not flinch, but watched his hand as if unable to move. The captive again.
Then she looked up at him and whispered, 'Whatever I do or say, no matter how much I protest, take me. Teach me. I must know, for both our sakes! '
She cried out as he dragged the sheet away from her body, until she was naked, her arms straining as if they were, in truth, tightly held.
He felt himself soothing her, holding, stroking, exploring her until the blood pounded in his brain like a fever.
She gasped and opened her eyes very wide as his hand found her. How it must have been, again and again.
Compassion, love, need, it was all and none of them. He was kissing her, and her arms were free and clasped around his shoulders. There were tears too, like that day; he could taste them.
He felt her body arch beneath his hand, and her voice, small and far away.
'Now, Adam… dearest Adam. Take me.'
The same church clock broke the spell, but only partly.
She lay naked across the bed, resting on her elbows, while she watched him struggle into his uniform. It seemed darker but it was an illusion, born of joy and of guilt.
Then she stood and put her arms around him and he held and stroked her, kissed the bruises his buttons had left on her skin.
'You must go.' She tossed the hair from her face. 'The sea will always be a rival, but not my enemy.'
The two horses were standing by the gate, their handler no doubt nervous about the time. But he said nothing, and watched Adam climb up into the saddle. He saw the youthful post captain touch his side as he reached down for the reins; he was not to know that it was an old wound, making its presence felt once more.
Adam turned the horse toward the road, and paused to look back at the house. The windows were in shadow now, like eyes at rest, but he knew she was there, in that same quiet room where life, or fate, had changed them. He could still feel her, her fear and doubt giving way to frenzy and then submission. I can still feel you. There would be pain, too. But the fear was gone, perhaps forever.
He felt his crumpled shirt rubbing against the wound, and remembered her lips caressing it as they had lain together.
A woman passed him, carrying a bundle of wood. Without thinking, he raised his hat to her and smiled, felt her staring after them as the horses increased their pace.
He remembered suddenly and vividly a time when he had been a child, and he had been taught to swim in the sea. It had been on the north coast of Cornwall, where the sea is often moody, the breakers pounding the hard sand like thunder. His instructor had been a friend of his mother's. He allowed himself to confront it: one of her lovers.
Out of his depth, the current dragging at his body with sudden strength, he had heard the man calling to him to return to the beach. Instead, he had fought depth and breakers together. Somehow he had survived, his mind reeling from exhaustion and fright.
But above all, he remembered the sense of triumph and of joy-He twisted round to look back at the house, but there were only trees, and the river.
He spoke her name aloud. And she would know it, hear it on the wind.
Like destiny. Like fate.
And the next horizon.
7. Under the Flag
John Bowles, the cabin servant, walked to the sloping stern windows and opened the dress coat which he had just finished pressing, held it carefully in the harsh glare of reflected sunlight, and made sure that it was perfect. Beyond the screen door and beneath his feet the ship was unusually quiet. Sometimes it was hard to believe that the hull held nearly five hundred human beings. He gave a slow grin. If you could call some of them that. It had been rather different earlier in the day, since dawn when all hands had been piped to work ship, and prepare for the arrival of the great man himself. Extra care with the rigging, standing and running alike, more hands sent aloft to check each lashing, and no loose ends, 'Irish pennants', the Jacks called them, to offend the vice-admiral's eye. There was still a hint of cooking in the air, the heady aroma of rum, Nelson's Blood, but the ship was ready.
He had glanced into the spacious cabin beneath this one, and watched it being transformed into something almost palatial. Rich and very costly furniture had appeared as if by magic, even a few paintings in the admiral's sleeping quarters. If they ever had to clear for action some one would have to keep a close eye on those as everything was dragged below and the screens were torn down to strip Athena to her true identity, a fighting ship. He had seen the vice-admiral's servant supervising every aspect of the transformation, a smart looking man, utterly unmoved by the bustle and confusion around him. Bowles had tried to make conversation, but the man, Tolan, had seemed withdrawn, disinterested in anything that might distract him from his purpose.
He gave the dress coat a final examination. First impressions. He almost smiled. It was something the previous captain, Ritchie, had often said. He had served him a long time, but looking back, it was as if he had never really known him. Now awaiting a court-martial. That, too, had surprised Bowles. It was said that Adam Bolitho had been court-martialled a year or so ago, after losing his ship to a Yankee and being taken prisoner. He gave the coat a quick shake. There was a lot he had yet to discover about his new master. Who, for instance, would gallop overland in his best uniform, as if he did not have a care in the world?
He peered across the cabin and saw him now at his desk, his chin resting on one hand, still writing. Today, of all days, when Athena was to become flagship to an admiral about whom most of them knew nothing, the captain could still find the time to put pen to paper.
In an opened shirt, dark hair dishevelled as he ran his fingers through it, as if it were an ordinary day. The small book he carried in his coat lay beside him on the desk, and the well-worn letter he always kept folded inside it. A dreamer one moment, restless and alert the next. Quick to intervene when he thought Stirling had overlooked something. Bowles nodded slowly to himself. In battle or a raging storm, Stirling was like a rock. Duty was duty; like the Articles of War, it was enough.
Adam Bolitho had been well known for his exploits as a frigate captain; a few of the ship's company had served with him in the past, some even under his famous uncle. Perhaps Athena'?' next commission was not going to lead them to another backwater after all… 'Boat ahoy?'
The challenge was clear and loud, and Bowles could almost feel the panic it would cause the watch keepers and, more especially, the first lieutenant. The vice-admiral had changed his mind, and was already heading out to his flagship. Catch every one unprepared. He had heard the flag lieutenant, Troubridge, discussing it with the captain. Sir Graham Bethune was to dine with the port admiral at his residence ashore; his host would have his own barge collect and bring him to Athena at four bells of the afternoon watch.
He cocked his head to listen as somebody replied to the challenge.
'Aye! Aye! ' So, an officer on board, but nobody important. Probably some mail for Athena, the boat coming early to avoid involvement with the admiral.
He realized with a start that the captain had turned in his chair.
'Nervous, Bowles?'
Bowles held out the coat. 'I did wonder, sir.' He looked at the desk again. Dark blue silk, shining in the filtered sunshine. He had had little to do with the quality, but he recognized a lady's garter. So that was where the captain had been, the sudden need for urgency.
Adam stood up. It was almost time. Pipe all hands, band and guard to man the side. The band would consist of
