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.