For My Country's Freedom Read Online Free Page B

were in the room with them. He would be an attractive man but for the side of his face, which looked as if it had been clawed off by some terrible beast. She remembered when they had sighted Larne bearing down on them after the suffering and death they had witnessed; and the offer of a yellow gown, which Tyacke had kept hidden in his sea-chest, to cover her sunburned body. The gown bought for the girl who had rejected him after his injury. He was worth a better woman than she could ever have been.
    Bolitho said simply, “I want him to be my flag-captain.”
    She said, “He will never accept. I am not even certain that he should.”
    Bolitho guided her to the last stairs. Then he said, “That is the cruelty of it, Kate. I need him. I cannot manage without him.”
    Later as they lay in the big four-poster, she considered what he had said.
    And what he had not said. About his impaired vision and what might happen if the other eye was injured. He must have a captain he could trust. No wonder Richard wanted to meet Tyacke alone. He must never think that Richard was using her presence to persuade him into accepting the promotion and all it stood for. And what it would demand of him.
    She pressed her body against his and murmured, “Whatever you do, dearest of men, I shall be waiting.”
    The next sound she heard was a cock crowing, and she had not been dreaming.

2 M ORE THAN LOYALTY
    T HE SMALL unmarked carriage, its windows and doors streaked with mud from the rutted roads, paused only briefly at the gates to Plymouth dockyard in order to allow the passengers to be identified. As the wheels clanged over the cobbles Bolitho guessed that the youthful Royal Marine lieutenant in charge of the guard was probably staring after them, his mouth likely still open.
    His arrival at Plymouth was a private one. He tried to smile, if only for his flag-lieutenant’s benefit, but the effort was too much. It would not be private for much longer. The Royal Marine was no doubt already on his way to the port admiral’s house. Sir Richard Bolitho is here, sir!
    Bolitho clung to the window-strap and peered across the cluttered dockyard, unaware of Avery’s curious stare. Of all the naval ports in England, Plymouth was most familiar to him. Here he had been parted from Catherine and had left for the Mauritius campaign. Avery had been with him then, their first commission together. Avery had kept his distance, had felt his way, too hurt by what had happened to him after the court martial to trust even his own judgement. How he has changed. Perhaps they both had.
    â€œWe shall walk the rest of the way.”
    Avery rapped on the roof and the horses stamped to a halt.
    Bolitho stepped down and felt the edge of the wind on his face. The rolling hills beyond the River Tamar were lush green. Just a river, and yet it separated him from Cornwall, his home. It looked dark and muddy, hardly surprising after all the heavy rain.
    â€œShe’s over yonder.” He wondered if Avery had been aware of his withdrawn silences during the uncomfortable journey. He might even resent it now that he had returned to be his aide, having probably killed all chance of promotion for himself, let alone a command.
    Bolitho looked at him now, at the strong, intelligent profile, and said, “In truth, I am bad company. So much began and ended here.”
    Avery nodded. He had been thinking of that other visit when he had seen Bolitho take leave of his lovely Catherine over at the Golden Lion. And of his own emotions when the big frigate Valkyrie had broken out Bolitho’s flag at the foremast truck. It had been like being reborn, taken back again by the navy which had been ready to reject him.
    Bolitho fell in step beside him and together they walked along the wall, their boat-cloaks hiding their uniforms and rank from any zealous onlookers aboard the many ships undergoing repair.
    Avery recalled very clearly how they had stopped