Rob stared. ‘Am I dreaming?’ he said to Angus. ‘The gods must be smiling on me.’

  He looked up to the heavens and raised his arms as if in supplication.

  Angus rubbed his eyes. ‘That, or you have the luck of the Devil himself.’

  ‘What is this?’ Coyningham’s voice broke the spell. He had arrived on deck unseen. Rob wondered if he ever slept. He had an unerring instinct for finding Rob, whatever the hour.

  ‘Hezekiah Bracewell!’ Sophie’s father shouted up from the boat. ‘We have orders from the admiral. We are to come aboard and take passage on your ship.’

  Coyningham shot Rob a suspicious look, as if he suspected a plot. But he roused the watch and had them rig the boatswain’s chair, a canvas seat suspended on ropes for those who would not brave climbing the ship’s ladder.

  They hoisted Bracewell aboard like a sack of potatoes.

  ‘This is most irregular,’ sniffed Coyningham. ‘Stealing aboard in the dead of night.’

  ‘Do you wish to consult with the admiral?’ Bracewell retorted. ‘Here are my credentials.’

  He handed Coyningham an oilskin packet.

  But Coyningham did not take it. At that moment, Sophie rose over the side of the ship. In her elegant white dress, hands folded in her lap and skin glowing gold in the lamplight, she looked like an angel hovering in mid-air.

  Coyningham stared, his mouth open.

  He shook himself and turned to the crew.

  ‘Do not leave Miss Bracewell hanging there. Bring her aboard this instant or I will have the hide off your backs.’

  The sailors hoisted the chair over the side and lowered Sophie to the deck. She stepped off, swaying as if she might faint with the unfamiliar rocking of the ship. Coyningham hurried to her and took her arm.

  ‘Thank you, Lieutenant,’ she said with a smile that tore Rob’s heart.

  ‘Let me show you to your quarters,’ said Coyningham. ‘You may have my cabin.’

  ‘That will not be necessary,’ said Bracewell. ‘I am sure when the captain learns we are aboard he will insist on giving up his own cabin.’

  Coyningham swallowed. ‘Of course. I will inform him at once.’

  He led Bracewell and Sophie aft, leaving Rob and Angus amid the baggage that was being hoisted aboard. For refugees fleeing an abandoned city, the Bracewells had brought a good pile of possessions.

  Watching Coyningham take Sophie’s elbow and steer her around a coiled rope on deck, Rob was tempted to grab a pike from the racks around the mast and run the first lieutenant through. He had spent a week dreaming of Sophie; been willing to risk everything for her. And now she was aboard and Coyningham had taken her out of his reach.

  Sophie glanced back. The half-moon lit up her face, so Rob could see every detail of her exquisite features.

  She caught his gaze and held it. She formed her lips in a silent kiss.

  Rob started to breathe again. She still loved him. Sophie disappeared through the door, but he held the image of that last kiss like a portrait embedded in his mind.

  ‘Don’t get no ideas,’ said a rough voice in his ear. Crow, Bracewell’s clerk, had clambered aboard unnoticed. The look on his face said he had read Rob’s thoughts all too clearly. ‘Miss Sophie’s not for the likes of you.’

  Before Rob could respond, Crow spun away to supervise the stowing of Bracewell’s baggage. Rob let him go. He would not be intimidated.

  ‘There’ll be trouble,’ said Angus darkly. ‘Do’nae go fighting the Bloodhound for Miss Sophie’s affections.’

  ‘She would never so much as look at him.’

  Angus gave him a sideways glance. He was about to say something, and then changed his mind. For all his maturity and rank, Rob was still a teenager in the full flower of lust. There were some things he would not hear.

  ‘Bad luck having a woman aboard ship,’ was all Angus said.

  T

  he Perseus set sail next morning, peppered with sleet and hail. Bracewell, Sophie and Crow were the only passengers. Looking back as they sailed out of Boston harbour, Rob saw hundreds of wan figures still huddled on the docks, desperately hoping to be taken away before the rebels took the city. He wondered what power Bracewell had that he could persuade the admiral to let him commandeer the frigate, when the situation was so dire.

  ‘We are sailing south,’ Tew informed his officers.

  He was in a bad humour. He was unimpressed by the new orders Bracewell had brought, and at having to give up his cabin to the new arrivals. Tew had moved into Coyningham’s cabin, Coyningham into the second lieutenant’s, and the second lieutenant – a jovial fellow named Fawcett – into the cabin that should have been Rob’s. Rob, as the most junior officer, had been sent to mess with the midshipmen, a fact Coyningham had taken particular pleasure in. It put Rob further away from Sophie, while Coyningham slept beneath her.

  ‘We are no longer heading for New York,’ Tew continued. ‘We are bound for Jamaica. It seems Mr Bracewell has an errand there which is of the utmost important to the war. The admiral has ordered me to put my ship at Mr Bracewell’s disposal, and render him every assistance.’ He didn’t bother to hide the scepticism in his voice.

  He spread a chart on the table, plotting the route they would take. Rob barely noticed. He was thinking of the voyage ahead. Eight weeks at sea, at least, aboard ship with Sophie. He was certain they would find some way to snatch a few moments away from her uncle, and from Coyningham’s jealous eyes. Thinking about it made his loins stiffen in anticipation.

  Tew rolled up the map and surveyed his officers.

  ‘Let us hope for a calm and pleasant voyage.’

  S

  tanding outside a tent in the Continental Army’s camp, Cal Courtney watched the frigate sail out past Governor’s Island. He was surprised to see her leaving. The rest of the British fleet was still at anchor, still taking on passengers and supplies from the boats that bustled around the wharves. He wondered why this solitary ship had been allowed to leave so soon. Where would she go? Rumours were rife that the next British assault would fall on New York City. Cal desperately wanted to be there.

  That was a foolish hope. The only action he would see now would be a court martial hearing, for striking a superior officer. The knowledge left a void inside him. He cursed himself for not being able to control his impulsive temper. His father had often warned him it would ruin him, and that stung even more.

  How could he honour Aidan’s memory if he could not fight?

  A head poked out of the tent.

  ‘The general will receive you.’

  Two sentries escorted Cal. His hands chafed in the manacles he wore but he stood proud, more like a hero than a prisoner. He stared defiantly at the general sitting behind his desk.

  The general studied him curiously. He had stern grey eyes, and grey hair tied back in a queue. He wore a simple blue coat, without any insignia of rank. He was a handsome man, though his jaw protruded slightly from the false teeth he wore.

  ‘Mr Courtney,’ he said in his soft Virginia drawl. ‘The hero of the hour.’

  He spoke so calmly, Cal could not be sure if he was being sarcastic. Cal said nothing.

  ‘What am I to do with a man who can bring guns across a wilderness that all agreed was impassable, who opens up a city that everyone said was invincible, yet who cannot keep his discipline in the hour of his triumph?’ the general mused.

  ‘We Courtneys have always struggled with authority,’ Cal told him.

  ‘Indeed.’

  Many times, Cal had seen the general stand as solid as a rock, but now he seemed uncharacteristically hesitant.

  ‘This is not an easy army to lead. You may be an extreme case, Mr Courtney, but none of you New Englanders takes well to authority. Colonel Duffield insists I should cashier you, or every man in the Continental Army will think it is his right to assault his superiors.’

  He rubbed his jaw, where his false teeth were uncomfortable.

  ‘Why did you attack the colonel?’

  ‘It was rank cowardice to stop the bombardment so soon,’ said Cal. ‘If we had continued, we could have sunk the British fleet, captured their army and won the war in an afternoon.’

  The general smiled. ‘If only it could be so. But we would have had to destroy Boston to achieve it. The British are dug in like termites – and they have many armies. I only have one with which to defend America. I cannot afford to waste thousands of lives in a vainglorious assault – or to antagonise the Massachusetts representatives in the Continental Congress.’

  ‘I cannot agree, sir.’

  ‘You hate the British.’

  ‘They killed my brother.’ Cal raised his hands, shaking the chains so they jangled. ‘All I want is a chance to avenge him. Take off these manacles, give me a gun and I will risk any hardship for a chance.’

  ‘So I see,’ said the general.

  He thought for a while.

  ‘I cannot keep you here,’ he said at last. ‘We are trying to forge a professional army out of a rabble, and I cannot sanction indiscipline.’

  Cal stiffened. He had half expected this – the general was a stern disciplinarian – but even so he felt betrayed.

  ‘There cannot be a scandal,’ the general went on.

  ‘I will resign.’

  Cal could go into the wilderness, maybe join some of the Indian tribes who were fighting with the rebels. But the general was shaking his head.

  ‘I have a different task for you. One that will allow you to keep your rank, and maybe even burnish your laurels.’

  Cal found himself daring to hope again.

  ‘A French frigate, the Rapace, is patrolling off the coast. France has not yet entered the war, so she is sailing under a letter of marque, as a privateer. It is inconvenient to King Louis that a ship sailing under the American flag should be crewed entirely by Frenchmen. He wishes to maintain a pretence of neutrality, at least for the moment. He has asked for a representative from our army to go aboard as nominal commander and assist with their operations.’

  He leaned forwards. ‘However many sieges and battles we win, we will never defeat the British on land. While they control the seas, they will evacuate their armies, and move them to attack us in another place. We have to beat them at sea to win this war.’

  Cal knew he was being offered a reprieve, but he could not be bothered to feign gratitude.

  ‘I know nothing about fighting at sea,’ he protested. ‘I will not let you exile me to count seagulls in the middle of the ocean just to protect a colonel’s dignity.’

  The general pursed his lips. He was a patient man, but to those who defied his decisions he could be an implacable enemy.

  ‘You will learn the style of fighting soon enough. A cannon fires just the same at sea. And if you think I am sending you away from the action, you are mistaken. The privateer is to sail on a mission of the utmost secrecy. If you succeed, you will turn this war decisively in our favour. You will have your fill of glory. You will also be entitled to a one-eighth share of all prize money for the vessels she captures.’

  The general noted the light that came on in Cal’s eyes when he mentioned the money. Honour and duty were all very well, but like any young man he needed to make his way in the world.

  ‘This ship is a man-of-war in all but name. She will tear through the British shipping like a fox through a hen house. In six months, you could clear one hundred thousand pounds.’

  Cal’s cheeks had flushed red. He wasn’t a mercenary man. He was doing this for his brother, and for the cause of liberty. Yet the thought of such a fortune kindled something different in him. The fight he had had with his father after Aidan’s death still stung. His father had called him a traitor to the family; he had cut Cal off without a penny. How sweet it would be to return in triumph, driving up to the farmhouse in his own carriage. He had sacrificed so much: he deserved something in return.

  ‘I will go,’ he said.

  The general allowed himself a smile. He was a shrewd judge of character, and he had the measure of his man now. He handed him a sealed letter.

  ‘These are your orders. Do not open them until you are at sea. When you see the mission I am entrusting to you, and the opportunities it affords, you will thank me for it.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  The general stood. ‘I have no doubt you will succeed, Mr Courtney. There is something inside you that will not let you fail.’

  C

  al rendezvoused with the frigate at Newport. The Rapace had anchored well outside the harbour, which was still blocked with the black skeletons of the burned fleet. From the launch that carried him out, Cal studied the ship intently. He was determined to master this new domain of war, and he wanted to understand everything about her.

  The boat came alongside the frigate. The lieutenant in the launch gestured Cal to get in the boatswain’s chair that was lowered. Cal pushed it away and started to climb the wooden rungs set in the ship’s hull. He would not be hoisted aboard like cargo.

  The crew were assembled on deck. Cal could hardly help staring. Everything about them looked as if it had been measured against a ruler. They stood in perfect rows, their backs as straight as the creases pressed into their trousers. Every uniform was spotless, nothing out of place. It made a change from the ragged Continental Army, where it was rare to find two men wearing the same colour coat.

  A young officer stepped forwards and offered a crisp salute. He wore red stockings, red breeches, a red waistcoat and blue coat embroidered with anchors on the cuffs. Cal bristled with indignation. The boy was no older than he was. Was the captain trying to humiliate him by having this junior lieutenant greet him in front of all the men?

  ‘Where is the captain?’ he snapped.

  The officer bowed stiffly; but his face was charged with anger.

  ‘I am the Chevalier Étienne de Bercheny, and I have the honour to be the captain of this ship.’

  ‘I was expecting someone older.’

  ‘So was I,’ answered Étienne.

  Their eyes locked. Two young men with all the pride and arrogance of youth. Both fighters and killers, both used to having command, each jealous of his honour. Cal’s hand moved instinctively to the pistol in his belt, while Étienne reached for the hilt of his sword. In that moment, it would only have taken a twitch of a muscle for them to call each other out to a duel.

  But as they looked at each other, the tension changed. Apart from their height, they could hardly have looked more different. Cal, with his thick red hair and strong face; Étienne, blond-haired and pale skinned, with the fine features of an angel. Yet in Étienne’s eyes, Cal saw something familiar, like meeting an old friend. And he could see from the change in Étienne’s face that he had recognised it, too, in Cal. More than the kinship of two warriors, more than a common hatred of the British. Something profound, as if they had known each other in a past life.

  Both men were too wary to drop their guard completely. But they relaxed fractionally. Cal offered his hand, and Étienne shook it.

  ‘I think we have something in common,’ he said, in heavily accented English.

  ‘Oui?’ A number of tutors had attempted to teach or beat French into Cal, but he had never had the patience for it. ‘What is that?’

  ‘We both like killing Englishmen.’

  Cal gave a hearty laugh. ‘Then we will get along famously.’

  ‘Where shall we start?’

  ‘I have orders.’

  Cal took out the packet he’d been given. The general had told him not to unseal it until he was at sea, but Cal had been too impatient to wait. He’d torn it open the moment he got back to his tent. He had read it with mounting amazement, astonished by the audacity of the mission. By the time he finished, any doubts he’d had about accepting the assignment had vanished.

  ‘We are to sail to the West Indies,’ Cal told Étienne.

  ‘But the British fleet is in Boston,’ protested Étienne. ‘If we go to the Caribbean, we will lose our chance to engage them.’

  ‘In the Indies, we will hurt the British more than anything we could do here. Besides,’ Cal added, ‘not all the British ships are in Boston. Three days ago I saw a frigate slip away.’

  Étienne’s jaw tightened. ‘Did you see her name?’

  ‘The Perseus.’

  ‘Three days,’ Étienne mused. ‘She could be anywhere by now.’

  ‘She could,’ Cal agreed, with a wolfish grin. ‘But we have many spies in Boston. Now that the British are evacuating, suddenly everyone is a patriot. It is said that the Perseus carries information vital to the war. And she is bound for Jamaica.’

  Étienne took a deep breath. The fight with the British frigate had been his first battle. The fact that his prey had escaped was an intolerable insult to his pride. Now he had the chance to avenge it.

  ‘I shall set course for the West Indies at once, monsieur.’

  T

  he temperature rose as the Perseus travelled south. She had left Boston in a blizzard of hail and sailed into a three-day storm, but now she cruised under blue skies. Officers abandoned their coats and stood the watches in their shirtsleeves.

  It was not just the sun that warmed the atmosphere aboard ship. Sophie Bracewell’s presence had the men simmering. Captain Tew rigged an awning over the quarterdeck, so that Sophie and her uncle could sit out in the shade. Bracewell often kept to his cabin, but Sophie was out every morning, sitting in a chair with a book or her embroidery. The men on the ship could not take their eyes off her. Sophie seemed unaware. She sat quietly, her head tilted to one side, lips parted in concentration, a stray lock of hair hanging down over her cheek.

  The men could look, and dream, but they knew she was out of their reach. It was different for Rob. He could not forget that night he had spent with her, the touch of her skin and the feeling of her body around his. Going about his duties on deck, watching every other man on the ship staring at her, was torment. Sometimes she would look up from her reading and catch his eye, with a smile, and then the desire would almost burst from him. Sometimes she ignored him, and Rob would descend into a black and sullen mood.