Free The Companion by Susan Squires Page B

He’s sure it is on its way back to collect us. That is why he leaves his lights on, and plans no evasive maneuver.”
    Beth caught her breath. “You don’t think it is possible?”
    He glanced at her and hardened. “Perhaps.”
    “A pleasant lie but probably not useful,” she remarked. “In case you don’t think I know what that might mean, I do. And since I am nowhere near pretty enough to grace a first-rate seraglio, it might be relatively unpleasant.”
    Her bluntness must have startled him, for he looked sharply at her.
    “What are we to do, then?” she asked, prompting.
    He straightened. “They will not sink us. They do not mean to see our cargo at the bottom of the sea. They’ll try to board. Our guns are not near those of our sloop-protector—carronades fit only for close range and even then hardly accurate. We’ll have to let them close with us to fire them. If they manage to board, we might repel them, if these bastards will fight.” He looked his apology for the profanity.
    “Then let us hope these bastards will fight,” she returned. “They seem hardened enough, but they are only merchant seamen. One can never tell what is in a man’s heart. Will he fight if he is not led?” She looked pointedly up at him.
    “You already know my opinion of Tindly.”
    “There must be a remedy for that. . . .” Let him make of it what he would.
    He peered around. “They have seen action. Look at them. Eager. Thank God pirates are willing to fight at night. There may still be hope.”
    What did he mean? Their chances must surely be much better if the pirates did not engage them at night. He turned again to her. “We will put you females into the hold. You may escape the second-rate seraglio yet, ma’am.” He smiled, tightly. That was his resolution again.
    “Poor Mrs. Pargutter! Surely we do not have to take such measures yet.”
    “Battles at sea are damnably slow, Miss Rochewell. They will not catch us for hours.”
    Beth vowed she would not be clapped into the hold to await her fate. There must be some more active role she could play to be of use.
    Something else occurred to her. She looked up at Rufford. He might be killed in the battle that was coming. She might be killed or worse. To have all the possibilities of life twisted off at the root so suddenly seemed . . . unfair. Mr. Rufford might never live to see the sorrow in his eyes quenched by a renewed love of life. And she . . . she would never even have been kissed.

Five
    For the next hours Ian watched the pirate corsair close on them with the girl at his side. Their Captain’s orders were timid and contrary, causing havoc on deck. That damned incompetent would be the death of them. Ian swore he would not be taken slave again. Since suicide was denied him, he must fight to the last drop of his blood.
    “Does he want them to board us?” he muttered to Miss Rochewell as they leaned over the railing, craning to see. “If he will not crack on, why does he not wear and give them a broadside? We are in range, surely.” The crews were ready at their guns. Carronades required only two men to fight them, unlike the longer cannons, which took eight. Merchant ships carried far fewer men than a Navy vessel or a pirate.
    The girl started as the hands brought up a clanking batch of sabers and pikes. “The Captain certainly thinks we will be boarded,” she observed with a creditable imitation of calm.
    No weapon was offered to Ian, but he could rectify that lapse once the fighting started. The hands hoisted a net of ropes above the frigate’s waist.
    “What thing is this?” Miss Rochewell cried.
    “It protects the deck from splinters.” It was no good tominimize the danger, and she did not seem to be a female who wanted lies. “The pirates will try to take out our rigging with their cannon instead of sinking the ship.”
    She gulped and nodded. “I suppose you mean very great splinters.”
    “I have seen them two-foot-long and more.”
    “So