Page 18 of The Heart of an Earl

The sailors scuttled about in front of her, adjusting sails, shouting back and forth, hauling rope—all of it so familiar to her now. Different men, but the same life. Wind, weather, work.

The heartbeat of the ship was the same.

The only difference was that she was standing at the sides. Not being sent up the masts to untangle rigging. Not hauling ropes from one end of the ship to the other. Not constantly sewing rips in sails. Not dumping Redthorn’s chamber pots. Not forced to set needle through skin to set wounds closed.

No work. Stuck on the sides. Watching.

There had always been so much expected of her on theRed Dragon. On this ship, she just stood there, watching the flurry about her. Nothing expected of her. Her fingers twitched nervously at her sides, waiting for someone to yell at her to move. To work.

She heard the scream before the thump.

A man falling just to her left. Falling from the foremast and landing on the deck. Hard.

His wail pierced the air. With a wicked scream, his body shriveled into himself. The scream morphed into soundless agony.

Jules laughed. Loud and cruel. “Ye done it, ye fool. Ye should’ve just aimed to the left three feet and sent yerself to the briny deep.” Her coarse laughter cut through the air again.

Her laughter petered to nothing as her gaze lifted from the injured man writhing on the deck, to the men standing about her.

Silence. Silence all around.

All the men frozen in mid-motion, their jaws agape.

Staring at her in horror.

Disgust.

No.

No, no, no.

She looked around, frantic, her face falling. Not a single person was laughing. Every one of them staring at her as though she were a demon straight from hell.

She couldn’t have just done that.

She couldn’t have.

She wasn’t on theRed Dragon.

She couldn’t have just said that.

The injured man wailed again and the sound jerked several of the men into motion, going to him, dropping to their knees beside him to help him.

The rest still stared at her, loathing in their glares.

A hand wrapped around her upper arm, clasping it hard—too hard—and dragged her forward and down from the forecastle deck to the cabins set below the quarterdeck.

Des.

Dragging her without kindness. Dragging her with fury in each step he took.

He shoved her hard into his room, sending her flying, her shins hitting the bedrail as she fell onto the bed, her arms wild, unable to catch her fall.

The door slammed behind him.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

“I—I—” She knew it. She knew the atrocity of the words that had just left her mouth, her cackling laugh still echoing in her ears.

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