Even back then, she’d defied convention, not one to hide her quick, clever mind, unafraid to use her intelligence. She pushed every limit, exceeded every expectation. She’d lived according to her own rules. A laughing girl with mischief and fire in her eyes. The fierce, rebellious spirit who had stolen his heart. He’d thought he had hers in return. But that girl was gone. Just like the boy he’d been was long gone.
Perhaps nothing of either of them remained. Bitterness and betrayal had a way of doing that, he supposed, scouring away at anything good until it disappeared. He refused to let himself wonder what might have been…whether they would have been married with children by this point, though the thought of her carrying his child made something in his chest ache. Damn, he was a glutton for pain.
“Let me guess,” a smug voice drawled. “You’re lying back and thinking of England. Or is it India?”
He glared at Gideon. That wasn’t what he’d been thinking, though it came damned close. “I’m thinking of wiping the deck with your face.”
“Name the time, Captain.”
Though he was spoiling for a fight, Rhystan’s eyes tracked Sarani’s movements as she headed toward the forecastle, only to be blocked by a handful of men at the entrance to the crew’s quarters. He couldn’t hear the conversation over the snarl of the wind, but he could see the immediate tension squaring her shoulders. Her hands drifted to her waist. He’d noticed the twin brace of knives there. If she was anything like the girl he’d met, those blades weren’t decorative.
“Should you intervene?” Gideon asked with a frown.
Rhystan sighed, propping one leg up on the rail. “Watch.”
* * *
Sarani calmly eyed the men surrounding her, not letting any apprehension or weakness show on her face. For the most part, she’d been left alone by the rest of the crew, with the exception of Red, whom she considered a friend, though she’d felt their stares, some more curious than others.
They knew she wasn’t male, despite the men’s clothes. But well, she couldn’t muck out the pens in a dress, could she? She had Rhystan to thank for that foul duty. It wasn’t too terrible, however. She’d insisted on taking care of her own stallion from time to time in Joor, though she’d never mucked out a manure-laden stall herself. In Joor, such a job wouldn’t be acceptable for a royal, but that didn’t mean she was incapable, especially not to prove a point to him.
Then again, she’d never been the usual type of princess.
Like most royals, her father had always wanted a son, and to her delight, she’d been educated and trained like one. Sarani suspected that her headstrong mother had had a hand in that, too. She’d wanted her daughter to embrace all of who she was, and her father had encouraged it. His pride in each of her accomplishments—from fencing to fighting to riding to her schooling—had never waned, even though other British nobles had turned up their noses, and until that day in the hall when he’d commanded her to marry the regent, he’d never treated her as any less because of her sex.
It was that strength she channeled now as she faced down her aggressor.
“What do you want?” she asked the man who’d blocked her way.
He had gold-edged, brown-stained front teeth, his blond hair was hanging in greasy clumps over his face, and his eyes devoured her body like a galley rat with a biscuit crumb. Red had said he was one of the new crew, hired in Bombay.
There was a tacit understanding that she was under the duke’s protection, and most of the men wouldn’t cross their captain, but these newer recruits didn’t know the rules. Or didn’t care. Twelve weeks on a boat could weaken the hardiest of men.
“Ta talk like.”
Clearly, if talking meant something else entirely. She scowled. “I don’t have time to waste talking. I have work to do, as do you. Let me pass.”
Drawn by the din, more men crowded the way, but Sarani did not let her fear show. Her hands tightened on the hilts of her curved kukri blades tucked into her waistband. A gift from a Mughal emperor, they rarely left her person. Especially since she’d left Joor.
Tej appeared, his dark eyes wild, but Sarani shook her head in warning. He would get his young throat slit in a heartbeat. Her eyes slid over her shoulder to where she’d left Rhystan and the giant quartermaster, but she didn’t let her eyes linger. She could call out for their help, but she preferred to take care of this situation on her own. Things would go better in the long run if she did.
Her weapons master had taught her that being aggressive and confident was half the battle. She straightened, making her small body seem bigger than it was. “I’ll ask you again. Let me through.”
The man licked cracked lips. “Give us a kiss first or show us yer tits under that shirt. Everyone knows ye’re a woman.”
He snatched at the collar of her shirt, and she batted his hand away. Tej lurched forward, murder in his eyes, but she forestalled him with a fierce glare. This was her fight. These men needed to fear her, not some man who came to her rescue. Otherwise, they would only come back when she was alone and possibly more vulnerable.
“Touch me again, and you won’t be using that hand again.”
The man sneered. “Ye mean ta fight me?”
She withdrew her kukri from their sheaths, hefting the familiar weight of them in her hands, and stifled a wince. Her palms were abraded and scabbed from her shoveling work, but that wouldn’t affect her skill, not with this boor. She used the pain to settle her, drawing it in, her focus razor-sharp like the blades in each hand. Energy coursed through her, but she waited, eyes fastened on her target.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” she asked, lifting a mocking brow.
With a leer, he rushed at her and she spun out of the way, her arm flowing upward in a sinuous strike that sliced along his lower ribs. A line of red appeared on his stained shirt.
“Ye bloody bitch!” he snarled, pulling a cutlass from his belt.
He came at her again but she avoided his blows easily, wheeling and ducking, her own arms darting out to leave more scarlet stripes on his person. They were shallow, meant to taunt, not injure. Sarani wanted her skill to be recognized. She wanted the rest of the spectators to know that she was toying with her foe, that she had the upper hand. He realized it, too, rage burning in his eyes.
The man grabbed his crotch. “Ye’ll like what I’m going ta do ta ye.”
“If your skill with whatever’s in there matches your skill with that cutlass, then I’ll have to decline.”
The watching crowd—larger now—guffawed. Her glance slid toward where Rhystan had been, but there was no sign of him now. That rat bastard. He didn’t even care that she was in danger…not that she was in any, of course. Fighting her opponent was child’s play. Still, his absence stung. Just one more hint that he simply did not care.