Eden's Pass

by Kimberly Nee

  A surprising giggle burst free at the absurdity of the moment and she indulged in the laughter for several moments before reining it in. Swallowing her remaining giggles, she pulled herself back into the cabin and closed the window. “Mayhap he won’t miss it.”

  After tidying up, she moved to the bed, dropping to her knees beside it. She stretched her arm into the darkness beneath it to retrieve her bandages. The linen was dry, but stiff, and she breathed a sigh of relief they hadn’t been discovered. “Thank you, God.”

  Quickly rolling them up, she got to her feet and ducked around the head of the bed where she’d hidden the chamber pot she’d happened upon during an expedition into the hold. She made use of it as fast as she could, emptying it the same way she did the lather cup, and stowed it back into its crevice between the bed and the wall, hidden in the shadows and out of sight.

  She eyeballed the bandages with disdain. The last thing she wanted was to bind herself again. The last two days had been wonderful and having to bind herself again made her eyes well with tears. The door handle rattled and she whirled about, stuffing the rolls beneath her tunic as the door opened and Iñigo stepped into the room.

  “Ah, you’ve tidied up.” He nodded, glancing at the now-empty table top. “Good. Now, you will go and fetch my breakfast.”

  She glared at the parchment he held out at her. “What is this?”

  “Breakfast. You speak no Spanish. Guillermo speaks little English. Go to the galley and give this to him. You know the way, do you not?”

  Stomping up to him, she snatched the parchment from his fist. “Aye. I do believe I can manage to find my way,” she snapped, marching to the door and yanking it open. “I will return.”

  “Do be quick, Finn, as I am more than a mite hungry.”

  She made her way down to the galley, where she handed over the orders. Without waiting for Guillermo’s response, she turned and left just as quickly.

  With time to spare, she went topside to let the sun warm her. It was another glorious day, with brilliant sunshine and a gentle, salty breeze. She moved to the rail and took a deep breath, savoring the tang filling her lungs as the ship rose and fell with the gentle waves. The sunlight danced over the water’s surface, which was as smooth as sapphire silk. A ship appeared in the distance, but otherwise, the María was the only vessel in the area. Finn smiled. The isolation was perfect, for it meant Barbados was truly behind her. That—

  “Nay,” she whispered, shaking her head as she watched the tiny ship in the distance. “Think not of it. It doesn’t matter now.”

  Reluctantly, she turned away from the water. Much as she wanted to stay topside, to drink in the warmth and the sunlight, breakfast wouldn’t be much longer and she had to go back below before Iñigo came searching for her.

  The galley was hot and steamy, with Guillermo and his helpers chattering and yelling at one another in their almost lyrical language. Guillermo barked unintelligibly at her as he thrust a tray in her direction and she nearly buckled beneath its weight.

  Gritting her teeth, she hefted it to her shoulder and staggered back down the narrow corridor to Iñigo's cabin, losing her footing only once. Tapping the door with her booted foot, she groaned at the burn spreading through her shoulder.

  The door opened and Iñigo greeted her with a mild, “Ah, I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

  Glaring up at him, Finn shoved past him and into the cabin. “If you’d not mind…”

  The dishes rattled, utensils clinking as she set the tray down with a muffled, “Ooof!”

  Still, as she straightened up, pride swelled warmly in her belly. Not a drop spilled and everything remained in one piece. Quite the accomplishment, considering the weight she’d borne. Turning back to Iñigo, she said, “Your meal, Captain.”

  He waved her aside and stepped up to whisk the cover from one tray. Her eyes fairly bugged from their sockets at the lavish fare spread out before her. Fluffy, steaming eggs, crispy bacon, a pot of heavenly-smelling coffee. It was a far cry from the hard tack and salt pork on the Smiling Jack. A far cry, indeed. The heavenly aromas had teased her the entire way back, and everything looked as tasty as it smelled. And the sheer amount! There was more food on the table for one meal than the slaves at Eden’s Pass were fed in a week.

  “I do hope you’ll give up your foolish hunger strike, Finn. I think you will enjoy this far more than the gray paste you ate yesterday,” Iñigo said mildly, pouring a cup of dark coffee.

  She could barely tear her gaze from the stream of coffee flowing into the cup. The rumbling hunger pangs rolling through her belly were almost nauseating. Her pride refused, but her empty belly kept a refusal from passing her lips. To hell with her pride. She was hungry.

  He set the cup before her. It had been a lifetime since she last tasted coffee and this smelled more delicious than she remembered. No doubt, it tasted as wonderful. An enticing plume of steam curled up to vanish into the air, carrying the heavenly, thick scent of fresh coffee to tease her nose. She swallowed hard, her reserve crumbling like a ruin.

  “Go on, then.” Iñigo poured a second cup. “Feel free, lad. You are close to wasting away as it is. I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d be able to carry everything.”

  Fixated on the coffee, Finn barely heard him. Willing her shaky hand to remain steady, she pulled the cup closer and breathed deep before lifting it to her lips. The steam left a warm, damp film on her upper lip and the aroma was strong enough that she actually tasted the rich brew before her first sip. She took a tentative sip, almost crying at the velvety taste. It was the most delicious thing to ever pass her lips and she fought to keep from draining the cup in one long swallow.

  She lowered the cup, wiping her mouth on her sleeve to stifle her satisfied sigh. At Iñigo's raised eyebrow, she said, “Yes?”

  “I take it the coffee is to your satisfaction?” He flicked open a snowy linen napkin. “And by the by, use this, and not your sleeve. We aren’t barbarians.”

  Chagrin heated her from the soles of her feet to the top of her head. “Of course,” she muttered, accepting the napkin.

  Iñigo reached for a plate, heaping it with eggs and bacon before passing it to her. “Enjoy.”

  She gaped at the mountain of food before her. Her stomach almost roared with hunger and the pain made her forget how she wanted to prove he couldn’t force her to eat. Using knife and fork, she went to work, shoveling as fast as she could bend her elbow. Still, she kept one eye on Iñigo, only to see he was in no hurry. Fresh embarrassment seared through her, even though he’d offered no comment on her lack of manners.

  Despite her belly’s urging, she forced herself to slow down and actually chew the fluffy eggs and crispy, smoky bacon. When Iñigo wasn’t looking, though, she still made use of her sleeve, forgetting about her napkin.

  When both plates were clean, Iñigo piled them back on the tray and smiled. “Feeling better?”

  She nodded, feeling fuller than ever before. It was quite possibly the most she’d ever eaten in one sitting and her pants felt a bit tighter than before. It almost brought a smile to her face. “Aye.”

  “Good.” He wiped his mouth one last time and tossed down his napkin. “Now, about your duties for today.”

  She bobbed her head. “Of course. What are they?”

  “You will spend today topside. If I need you, I’ll come find you, but until then, you will heed Juan Pedro.” He cleared his throat. “However, if I do come for you, you heed me at once. And you will obey, without question. Meaning, if I have an itch on my arse and I instruct you to scratch it, you do it without argument. Is that clear?”

  She couldn’t help her stare. “You are not serious, are you? About the itch, that is?”

  He smiled. “I am not.”

  Finn exhaled a breathy, “Thank the Maker.” Meeting his curious stare, she quickly added, “Well, did you expect I would be disappointed?”

  He didn’t answer at once. Instead, he sat back, linking his fi
ngers and lowering his hands to rest on the tabletop. “I must admit, I am quite pleased to see how readily you’ve adapted, Finn. It will be no time at all before you’ve your steel in your hands once more.”

  Those words sent an excited jolt through her, but she kept it from her voice as she tossed out, “When you decide, I suppose.”

  “Oh, most definitely. And until then, you will obey me without question and we shall take things as they come. Is that understood?”

  She sighed. “Of course, Captain. As I said, I will be your obedient prisoner. For now.”

  “I am glad we are in agreement.” He slapped his palms against the table and pushed his chair back. “Go on up and find Juan Pedro. He will tell you what you are to spend your day doing.”

  Chapter Ten

  Finn stared down at the marlinspike clutched in her hand, growling from boredom. She’d been given the most mindless of tasks, her boredom made worse since Ennis had apparently been assigned elsewhere. She’d but caught a glimpse of him shortly after coming topside, nothing more, and it was increasingly difficult to ignore her resentment. Somehow, making rope would be far less dull if she had a companion.

  Iñigo passed by now and again, but even when she couldn’t see him, he was there. Though his presence made her uncomfortable, she was able to put him out of her mind as she perched on her overturned bucket in the scorching sun, separating a length strand by strand with the sharp tip of the marlinspike before joining it with another length. The tool’s wooden handle was worn smooth, causing it to slip from her grasp when she least expected it. More than once, she’d come damn close to impaling her foot to the deck. After a while, she almost hoped she’d slip. Anything to alleviate the monotony.

  She glanced down at marlinspike’s tip. It was sharp, but not overly long. It could be used as a weapon, for it would fit with a nice lethalness between the shoulder blades. She frowned. No, it would be madness, attempting such a thing above deck. Sailors milled about—some repaired damaged sails, some swabbed decks, and still others did exactly as she did. No doubt it would be suicide to attempt anything remotely threatening under such circumstances.

  Dropping the new coil of rope into the basket at her feet, she reached for another length, working the marlinspike through the fibers to separate them. Little by little, everything began to ache—her fingers, her back. Still, she was in the sun and the warm air, which made it bearable.

  By noon, she cared very little about the sun and the air. Her neck was almost too stiff to support her head. Letting the marlinspike clatter to the deck, she reached up to rub the tight muscles, rolling her head in slow circles in an attempt to work the kinks free.

  She winced again at the stiffness cramping her hands. Flexing them slowly, she reached down to press into the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spliced this much rope, for it was a chore Beauregard relegated to a much lower member of his crew, or meted out as punishment for minor infractions.

  The sun beat down on her, the heat thickening as the breeze died. Sweat trickled in narrow rivulets along her temples, gluing her hair to her skin in wet strings. Hopefully, Iñigo would order her to bathe again that night, as her scalp itched something terrible from the sticky heat, and sweat ran down between her shoulder blades, down along her spine.

  Having had no chance to either discard the bandages or make use of them, they remained inside her tunic. After a while, the rough linen irritated her and she poked them around until they were more comfortable. As the day wore on, she was ready to hurl them overboard.

  They sailed due east and she hoped they were not heading to Barbados. Her stomach kinked. Barbados was to be avoided at any and all costs. If she had to jump overboard and swim all the way back to Jamaica, she would do it. She would rather die than set foot on Barbadian soil.

  The afternoon crept on and Finn grew grimier and filthier with each passing hour. The coil of rope at her feet now reached her knees, and she was convinced her fingers would never work properly again. She could barely straighten them, never mind keep her grip on the marlinspike.

  As sun began its blazing descent into the horizon behind them, Iñigo approached her. “Finn!”

  She jerked her head up, wincing at the sharp pain shooting up the back of her neck. She couldn’t help herself, but reached up to rub the burning muscle. “Aye, Captain?”

  “On your feet, boy. There’s more than enough rope there.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief, letting the marlinspike clatter to the deck. “Thank God.”

  He grinned. “A mite tired, boy?”

  “A mite.” She gingerly shook her free hand, trying to restore proper blood flow, and halted her rubbing to do the same with the other hand. They ached enough to sour her mood, and she didn’t mind sharing it.

  Gesturing toward the stairs with one hand, Iñigo gripped her arm with the other. “Come then. I wish to bathe before supper.”

  A groan rose in her throat at having to assist him again. True, it was a welcome respite from making rope, but she was exhausted and achy, and the only thing she wished to do was climb up into her hammock and sleep until morning.

  A grimace curled her lips and a groan rose up as she glared at her blasted hammock. She didn’t know if she’d even be able to drag herself into it at all. In fact, she would gladly curl up on the floor if it meant she could but close her eyes.

  “Finn?”

  “Coming,” she muttered, forcing her feet to move at the impatience in his voice. She plodded along behind him, her feet leaden in her boots, legs tired from being in the same position since morning.

  The shadowy corridor was cooler than topside, but the air was still. By the time she stepped into the captain’s cabin, fresh sweat dotted her forehead, trickled down between her shoulder blades, down between her breasts, and she had to fight down a snarl as the clammy, damp bandages stuck to her skin once more.

  Iñigo closed the door behind her and she stifled yet another groan, spying the tub, already filled, steam rolling from its flat surface. Though it was exactly what she hoped for, there was also what was expected of her. Dear Lord. She rolled her eyes. Give me strength. “Am I to wash as well?”

  His eyes narrowed, but she held his stare, even as his scowl darkened. His eyes flicked down and she resisted the desire to check if the bandage rolls were noticeable. It was difficult, but she clasped her hands behind her back to keep them still.

  The darkness lifted from Iñigo's face, a smile teasing the corners of his mouth. “Aye. You will.”

  “As you wish.” She stepped up to help him undress, her stiff arms making the chore much more difficult, as she could barely lift them to take his shirt.

  A curious thing happened as he dropped hot silk into her outstretched hands. Her belly kinked as she watched the muscles layering his shoulder almost ripple beneath his swarthy skin. Her mouth went dry, her eyes widening as the urge to lean in and nibble at his collarbone struck like a flash of lightning.

  She took a half step back. Where had that come from? Why did she have the maddening desire to flatten her hands against his broad chest and caress his skin? Why did her belly suddenly seem to be in such knots? Why were those knots tightening?

  “Finn?” Iñigo cleared his throat, moving away to bend over his desk. “I will bathe myself this eve. You go to the galley and fetch supper. And tell Guillermo to shake a leg. I am famished.” He turned back to her, holding out a sheet of parchment. “Can you read? I could write my orders as they sound, rather than having to give the list to Guillermo.”

  The heat of shame filled her as she took the parchment and glanced down. Iñigo's handwriting was actually quite elegant, almost beautiful. She only wished she could read what he’d written. “Nay, Captain. I neither read nor write very well.”

  He showed no surprise, but rather nodded, as if this was something he’d expected. “I thought not. Now, do hurry. I am afraid I grow most grouchy when my stomach is empty.”

&nb
sp; “Aye, Captain.” She took it, hurrying from the cabin before he changed his mind about her assisting him. A small victory, to be sure, but one she was grateful to have won. It was difficult to say if she’d be as fortunate in the coming days.

  Chapter Eleven

  Without the usual evening breeze, the cabin was stifling. A fresh layer of sweat broke out over her entire body as she swayed in her hammock and swore softly when the heat jostled her from an already-restless sleep.

  Will I ever feel clean for more than an hour? She crossly kicked the blanket away from her. Her bath after supper had been wonderful, especially as Diego had come pounding on the door to pull his captain away to deal with some emergency or other, leaving her to bathe in peace once more.

  She slept fully dressed, as she had every night since her arrival onboard the María, removing only her boots, and it had worked out perfectly. Her hammock was near the largest window in the cabin, and each night the cool ocean air wafted in to make for pleasant sleeping conditions.

  Without the breeze, the air was heavy and sticky, especially as she had bound her breasts flat after her bath. The linen bit into her flesh and it was only her sheer stubbornness that made sleeping at all possible.

  Low snores from across the cabin told her the good captain suffered no discomfort. Nothing interrupted his sleep. Apparently he was untroubled by the heat, while she lay there in the dark, fuming.

  Rolling onto her side, she just made out Iñigo’s sleeping form through the darkness, aided by a slice of moonbeam cutting across the middle of the cabin. He lay on his back, one arm flung up over his head, the other folded over his chest, which rose and fell in steady, even motion.

  It was difficult to hold back her sigh. They had to reach land soon. Surely they couldn’t roam the seas forever. They sailed southeast, toward the island of Guadeloupe, but she didn’t know if Captain Sebastiano planned to stop at the port at Basse-Terre. He said nothing regarding his destination, and she had yet to decide the best way to broach the subject. Surely she did not wish to arouse his suspicion by showing too much interest in where he was headed.