Relentless Pursuit Read Free Page A

“young gentleman,” neither fish nor fowl, and still look for some weakness to exploit. But he was a popular choice and had settled into the wardroom well, and seemed grateful for his change of circumstance.
    He smiled again and walked to the entry port. The marines were fallen in and dressed in two impeccable ranks, swaying very gently to the ship’s quiet motion.
    He saw O’Beirne, the portly surgeon, hurrying to the companion, down to his own world on the orlop, where some had died and others had survived.
    He watched the gig returning, pulling around one of the abandoned ships. Bolitho’s coxswain was another rebel, or so it had first appeared.
    The boat was turning toward the main chains, the bowman already standing with his hook raised.
    â€œRoyal Marines, ready! ”
    The boatswain’s mates moistened their silver calls on their tongues and gazed at the entry port.
    Galbraith gripped his sword and pressed it to his side.
    For two weeks he had been in charge of this ship and every hour of her routine. Completing repairs, taking on stores and fresh water, powder and shot. Men to be sworn in and issued with clothing. It was a far cry from some ships he had known, when some of the poor wretches dragged aboard by the press gangs had worn their own clothes to shreds before a grasping purser could be persuaded to dole out garments from his slop chest.
    And now that responsibility was over. The captain had returned.
    Galbraith stepped forward, his hand to his hat as the calls shrilled in salute and the marines went through their drill.
    He watched the captain as he climbed through the entry port, eyes moving quickly over and above his ship. At moments like this, a stranger again.
    Adam took his hand and shook it.
    â€œA long two weeks.” He glanced at the other officers and then forward, the length of the ship.
    Galbraith waited, feeling it all again. They had done so much in a year of action and triumph, disappointment and grief.
    He was surprised, ashamed even. This man, who could be so youthful one moment, so grimly determined when he had made a decision which might affect each one of them, was still so distant, so unknown.
    Galbraith recognised it, the old enemy which he had thought laid to rest. Envy.
    â€œWelcome aboard, sir!”
    It was done.
    Adam Bolitho walked to the sloping windows of the stern cabin and stared out at the anchorage. The other ships looked even more desolate through the wet, misty glass. And it was cold, only to be expected in December, but a far cry from the Mediterranean, Malta or Algiers. Unrivalled was a big frigate, but the only heat came from her galley stove.
    He should be used to it, able to accept or ignore it. He knew Galbraith was watching him, his tall frame slightly angled between the deck beams. The boy Napier was just inside the sleeping compartment; he could see his shadow moving up and down as he unpacked one of his captain’s chests, doubtless with a ready ear cocked in case he was needed.
    â€œYou’ve done well, Leigh.” He turned away from the damp glass in time to catch the expression on the strong features. Galbraith still found it hard to accept a captain’s use of his first name. In his absence the barrier had returned. Perhaps it had never truly gone away. “Are the new people settled in?”
    Galbraith seemed to consider it, as if taken aback by the question when all he and most of the others had been concerned about were their orders, their place in things, their world.
    â€œI’ve warned the officers to be ready in the wardroom.”
    â€œYes, I shall want to speak with them.” He shivered and moved restlessly to the opposite quarter. Strain, excitement, or the fact that he had not had more than a few hours’ sleep for days. He thought of Galbraith’s words. In the wardroom. He had noticed the plume of smoke from the galley funnel, had caught the heavy smell of rum even as he had been piped