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.

Well, she knew what Rhystan thought of her.

No matter, she didn’t need him to save her.

But a second glimpse to the empty quarterdeck cost her dearly as a sneaky blow to her temple knocked her sideways. As she scrambled to fight the darkness crowding her vision, the man slammed into her body, taking them to the ground. He smelled worse than he looked, the foul stench of his breath blowing into her face.

“Got ye now, wench.” His tongue snaked out to lick her cheek, and she gagged at the unwashed smell of him. His hands tore at her shirt, clamping over one bound breast and squeezing roughly. “I knew ye weren’t a boy.”

Sarani snarled in his face, shoving her arm down between their bodies. “And I knew you weren’t a man.” With a howl, he went still, and Sarani knew what he felt—the point of her blade jammed right into the soft flesh of his testicles. “Touch me again, and you’ll be gelded, I promise you. Now, get the hell off me.”

But before he could move on his own accord, he was torn away like a piece of fluff.

Rhystan stood there, chest heaving and eyes blazing, holding the man by the nape of his neck. The smell of blood and urine permeated the air as he handed him off to a silent Gideon.

“Cap’n, I didn’t know she was yers, I swear,” he blubbered.

“She’s not mine,” Rhystan growled. “She’s not anyone’s property.”