Free Colours Aloft! by Alexander Kent Page A

“Does it still hurt very much?”
    Her eyes lifted to his. “It is bearable, sir.” She moved her shoulders warily beneath the shirt and winced. “It feels stiff.” She seemed to realize that her borrowed shirt had fallen open and dragged it together quickly.
    Then she said, “I heard what happened today. About me.” She looked up and he saw the anxiety stark in her eyes. “Will I be sent to that ship again, sir? I’ll kill myself before—”
    Keen said, “No. Don’t speak of it.”
    Tuson watched from the door. The tall, elegant captain and the long-haired girl on the stool. Miles apart and yet there was something like a shaft of light between them.
    He cleared his throat. “I’ll fetch some ointment for that scar, my girl.” He looked at Keen and added quietly, “I shall be about ten minutes, sir.” Then he was gone.
    She asked, “Would you like to sit with me, sir?” She gestured to a heavy chest. Then she smiled. It was the first time Keen had seen her smile. She said, “Not what you’re used to, I’m sure.” Her sudden confidence left her and she added huskily, “I am sorry.”
    â€œDon’t be.” Keen watched her hands in her lap and wanted to hold them. “I wish I could make you more comfortable.”
    She lifted her gaze and watched him steadily.
    â€œWhat is it you want of me?” She sounded neither angry nor frightened. It was as if she had been expecting him to demand freely what she had already been brutally forced to give.
    Keen said, “I want to take care of you.” He looked at the deck. He thought she would call for the sentry or, worse, laugh at him and his clumsiness.
    Without a word she moved from the stool and knelt down against his legs and rested her head on his knees.
    Keen found that he was stroking her long hair, saying meaningless words, anything to prolong this impossible moment.
    There were footsteps on a companion ladder and outside the door the sentry dragged the butt of his musket across the deck. Tuson was coming back.
    Then she looked up at him and he saw that her eyes were streaming with tears, could feel them wet through his white breeches.
    â€œYou mean it, don’t you?” The words were torn from her.
    Keen stood up and raised her to her feet. Without shoes she barely reached his chest.
    He touched her face, and then very carefully as if he was handling something precious and delicate he lifted her chin with his fingers. “Believe it. I have never meant anything so much.”
    Then as Tuson’s shadow moved between them he stepped back through the door.
    Tuson watched them, surprised that he could still feel so emotional after what his trade had done to him. It was like sharing something. A secret. But it would not remain one for long.
    Ozzard and his assistants had brought extra lanterns to the great cabin so that the windows overlooking the harbour seemed black by comparison.
    It was the first time that all the captains of Bolitho’s squadron had been gathered together like this. There was an air of good humour and perhaps some relief that they were staying away from the fever.
    Keen waited until all the goblets had been filled and then said, “Pay attention, gentlemen.”
    Bolitho stood by the windows, his hands tucked behind him under his coat-tails.
    A landsman would be impressed, he thought; his little band of captains made a fine sight beneath the slowly spiralling lanterns.
    Francis Inch was the most senior, his long face empty of anxiety or concern about anything. Keen, the only other post-captain, looked tense as he glanced at his companions.
    His mind was still turning over what had happened between him and their passenger. One good thing had occured, Bolitho decided. A Jamaican girl, one of the servants who had been travelling with the garrison wives, had pleaded not to be sent ashore. In view of the Governor’s