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quarters. The chamber was made up of no more than canvas walls and a wooden post frame, too flimsy a shelter for two beings he wished to keep out of harm’s way as much as possible aboard a vessel that could and did go into action at a moment’s notice. But not on this run, not with noncombatants aboard, however much that annoyed the crew hungry for prize money. He didn’t like vulnerable people exposed to more danger than necessary. Even this canvas room would not do for long for its inhabitants. They needed to be back in their own cabin, now that he had had a good look at the Americans and deemed them harmless.
    Not that he had intended to welcome two Americans aboard.
    Grinding his teeth over the unwelcome passenger, he knocked on the door to the temporary cabin. In response, a high, clear voice called, “It’s unlocked.”
    “Why?” Rafe turned the handle.
    The instant the door latch clicked, one of the beings went into action. She sprang up from the lantern-lit hammock and charged toward him, tiny legs flying, mouth open in a joyous grin.
    “Do not leap on me, you wee beastie.” He scooped the black-and-white terrier into his arms.
    She proceeded to lap her miniscule tongue across his chin.
    “She doesn’t like being stranded down here any more than I do.” The disembodied voice rose from the depths of the hammock.
    “Why was the door unlocked?” Rafe emphasized his earlier query.
    “As if a lock would stop anyone from breaking in. The walls are canvas. Rip.” A hand emerged from the hammock and sliced through the air. “They’re to hold me hostage. Which sounds rather intriguing.”
    “You would not think so if you had it happen to you.”
    “It must be better than being stuffed down here like cargo. ’Tis stifling and boring.”
    “You have your books.”
    One of the tomes thudded to the deck. “Stuffy and boring.” A head emerged from over the edge of the hammock. Dark red hair gleamed in the glow of the lamp.
    Dark red hair that should have hung in a braid at least a foot past thin, childlike shoulders. Except it now swung in a tangled, ragged mass to just above those shoulders.
    “What . . . did you do . . . to your hair?” With care, Rafe set the dog on the deck and closed the yard and a half distance between door and hammock. He curled his fingers around a hunk of the ruined hair and glared into the child’s green eyes. “Answer me, Mel.”
    “I cut it.” A round chin jutted. Mel’s full lower lip protruded. “It was heavy and ugly, and I’d have cut off more if Jordy did not stop me. Now I look more like you.”
    “I don’t want you to look like me. I’ve told you ’tis not safe.”
    “Only if we lose a fight.” Mel rolled off the hammock and scooped up the dog. “Besides, I have Fiona here to protect me.”
    Rafe set his hands on his hips and scowled. “She’s a wee dog. She cannot protect you against a horde of bloodthirsty Frenchmen or Americans. If they think we’re related—”
    “They’ll treat me with courtesy and kindness.” Mel chuckled in a voice surprisingly rich for a child of barely twelve years. “What did that one broadsheet call you? The scourge of the English Channel?”
    “You should not be reading such nonsense.”
    “Why not? You’re a hero.”
    “Nay, I’m no more than a legalized pirate making a profit off this war with France.”
    “And now America.” Mel rubbed grimy hands through the dog’s black-and-white fur.
    Fiona wriggled and made noises that sounded as though she were trying to purr like a kitten.
    “See, she thinks so too.” Mel grinned.
    Rafe sighed. “You’re both daft. There is naught heroic in war. I’d like to see it all end.”
    “But how will you make money if the war ends?”
    “I have more than enough.”
    More than enough to provide a fine home. More than enough to return to most of the life he’d had before evil men ripped his world apart. More than enough to see Mel educated and clothed properly and