by Kimberly Nee
Her palms grew damp as the Spaniards swarmed up behind her in a crushing wave, shoving her into the action. She’d never before raised her weapon to attack, only to defend herself, and her blood ran as icy as the rain spattering her skin.
There was no time to dwell. She lost sight of Iñigo, swallowed up by the crush of his men leaping aboard the Magdalena with sabers drawn and daggers at the ready. The ringing clang of steel against steel rose, combined with the shrieks and screams of men being run through in a deafening chorus of brutal noise. Tangy salt air mingled with the coppery stench of blood and acrid sting of gunpowder to permeate the air like a ghoulish perfume. Finn blocked it out as best she could, concentrating on the man suddenly before her, squinting at him as the rain drove harder.
He was near her height, skinny and sinewy, his blond hair matted to his skull, breeches and raggedy pale blue shirt stained with both blood and sweat. His piercing blue eyes were narrow slits as he faced her.
“A mere boy,” he jeered, relaxing and tightening his fingers about the hilt of his sword. “The fierce, arrogant Spaniards are now sending children to fight their battles?”
Though her mouth was as dry as sand under the blazing sun, she forced her tongue free to growl, “Know you this, English,” in a tight voice, her knees flexing as she acclimated herself to the feel of the deck beneath her feet. A sudden calmness filled her. The sounds around her faded into nothing—the world consisting of only her and her opponent. “It’s hardly a child standing before you, but one fully skilled and most experienced.”
“That be so?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “It’s remarkable how you neither resemble, nor sound, like a Spaniard. Methinks you are not one of them, but one bested by them and impressed into service.”
She laughed, waving his taunt aside with a lazy wave. “Think again, mate. I am here of my own free will. It’s the greatest victory, to run through an English dog such as yourself.”
Another derisive laugh. “Run me through? Oh, dear boy, you do have a sense of humor, even as you face death.”
He lunged. She jumped, battle noises swallowing her surprised yelp. Swinging wildly, she slashed perilously close to his midsection. The very tip of her blade caught him between the ribs and he yelped as a thin ribbon of dark blood stained his shirt.
“Ye whelp!” he fumed, swinging around for another attack, shaking his dripping hair out of his eyes. “I’ll cut your heart out for that!”
“I think not, English.” Making contact surprised her as much as it did him, and left her with a much-needed dose of confidence. He swung and she managed to block, taking care not to lose her footing on the rain-slicked deck. “Even if I had not heard that high arrogance in your voice, cur, I would know you to be English. You are every bit as lacking in skill as a child wielding your cutlass.”
The Englishman’s ruddy face grew redder still at her taunt. His eyes narrowed as he swung again. The tip of his blade found its mark, Finn gasping at the sudden, cold sting in her upper arm. Blood rose to the surface, seeping through the frayed slash across her right sleeve and the cold sting morphed into a hot, pulsing throb burning its way through her arm and through her body.
Her fury increased, replaced her false bravado in a wave of red heat. Though she might be powerless against Iñigo, the same could not be said now. She could, and would, take out every last bit of anger, of frustration, of disappointment, on the Englishman. A small comfort, mayhap, but she would take it. He would pay for drawing her blood. She lunged, finding her mark with ease.
The Englishman’s surprise mirrored on his face as her blade sunk into his chest. He let out a sickening gurgle, blood bubbling from the corner of his twisted mouth, foamy as it trickled down over his chin. Raindrops pattered his face, thinning the trickle into a watery, pink ooze.
“And it’s to hell with you,” she muttered as he dropped. Her stomach lurched, bitter nausea adding to the churning. Her mouth filled with a sickly sweet saliva, her arms and legs quaking as she placed her booted foot on the man’s chest, gave a sharp twist of her blade, and yanked it free. She wanted to retch as the steel grated against bone, grinding with a sickening squelch before sliding free.
Dropping to her knees, she fought to regain her bearings, to will her nausea into the furthest recesses of her mind. The rain a welcomed coolness against her hot skin, she closed her eyes, swallowing hard. She fought to return to her feet. It wasn’t easy, but she managed, though a film of icy sweat prickled over her as she turned to face another.
Everywhere she looked, Spaniards were locked in fierce battle, and still English kept coming at them. Blood spattered the decks, stained clothing, hands, faces, and still the English refused to surrender.
She spun about, ignoring the sticky ooze on her cheeks, on her neck, on her arms, the backs of her hands and between her fingers. Blood. Hers. English. Perhaps Spanish. Though her stomach still threatened, its contents remained in place as she cast a wary glance for Captain Kittles. She’d never before laid eyes upon him, but knew him only by reputation. A giant of a man. Nearly six and a half feet tall, with hair so blond it was almost white, and eyes so dark it was said they reflected how he had no soul. All who knew him detested him, and it was rumored his crew was always on the verge of mutiny. That they fought valiantly for him now was most likely a last, desperate attempt at saving their own skins.
He emerged, simply stepping up to her as if from nowhere. He towered above her, a devilish smile on his lips.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” he sneered, holding out his broadsword to press its tip into her chest. “Has the bold, fearless Spaniard, Iñigo Sebastiano, put a boy on his front line? Ah, Ramírez should only see this. He’d never believe it. Tell me, does the cowardly Sebastiano rely on you to keep him safe? And you, a mere boy, a mere whelp from the looks of it, are in the service of Spaniards?”
He spat the word Spaniards at her, pressing the tip of his sword deeper. She gasped at the sharp sting spreading through her. “I am a member of this crew, yes.”
It was all for naught. His eyes flicked down and his cold smile widened, filled with long, yellow teeth. He withdrew his blade. “Have I struck a nerve, dear boy? You seem suddenly pale. Or is your wound causing such paleness?”
Damn! Finn narrowed her eyes. “Hardly. It’s but a scratch. Nay, I am merely biding my time until I run you through.”
“If you are as determined to have at me as you claim, why have you not made a move?”
“Very well.” She swung with every ounce of strength she could muster, determined to sever his head from his neck.
With lazy effort, Kittles lifted his blade and the vibration of her steel striking such immovable an object almost jarred her weapon from her grip. Her hands went numb, while a stinging burn sliced up into her shoulders.
She swung again, only to suffer the same results. A smile lifted Kittles’s lips. “Had enough, dear boy?”
Her arms heavy and aching, her breath coming in short, harsh pants, she shook her head. Though her cutlass grew heavier by the moment, she refused to cry quarter. She could hardly raise her arms, but through sheer will, was able to swing at him once more.
Anger flashed in Kittles’s eyes. “You stubborn cur,” he growled, almost spitting the words as he struck out with a succinct blow.
“Ah!” Kittles’s blade sliced clean into her left forearm. Her hand opened involuntarily, her blade clattering to the deck.
Pain burned through her arm even as her fingers grew colder. Blood seeped through her sleeve, staining it a dingy rust red. Bile rose in the back of her throat and, despite the chilly rain, a fresh sweat prickled over her from head to toe. She fought to remain standing as Kittles stepped up to press the very tip of his cutlass into the hollow of her throat.
Kittles swam before her as she struggled to keep her eyes in focus. The racing thunder of her pounding pulse drowned out all other sound, booming like gunfire in her ears.
He sneered as she took another step back. Moving with her,
he pressed harder and snarled, “I will take great delight in dispatching you, you worthless scum.”
Swallowing hard against the swelling sting, she tried to block out the sickening image of him impaling her through the throat. Her gaze went to her weapon, beyond Kittles’s feet. She managed to lick her dry lips and hiss, “Bastard.”
Her yelp echoed both across the deck and in her ears as Kittles shoved deeper still. “What did you say?”
“You are—a coward. I am but—a—boy. Unarmed, even. And yet—” Her voice cracked, her words faltering as she realized with acute horror she was going to retch.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she swallowed hard against the burning, rising wave. Her knees buckled and it took every bit of stubborn will to lock them back in place. Bells clanged furiously inside her skull, blotting out even the stinging in her neck. It was no use. She could only wait for the blackness to rise up, the blackness that would swallow her whole.
Chapter Thirteen
The stinging vanished completely. Forcing her eyes open, Finn relaxed, seeing Kittles’s sword now on the deck and Iñigo's face beyond the Englishman’s right shoulder.
“Finn, go with Diego and see who is below.” Iñigo's voice was oddly flat.
“But—” she whispered, wondering what had happened and how she could have possibly missed it.
“Go!”
The fiery glow in Iñigo's eyes silenced her protests. Rubbing her still-stinging neck, she nodded slowly, pushing past Kittles to make her way across the deck. The worst of the battle was over, with the Spaniards the clear victors.
Diego met up with her at the top of the stairs, holding out her steel. “You might need this.”
Chiding herself for her foolishness, she accepted. “Shall we?”
Diego nodded, gesturing for her to take the lead. She didn’t argue, but winced at the blood trickling down her throat. Resisting the urge to wipe it away, she descended down into a thick darkness heavy with pungent odors. Grease, mildew and sickly-sweet perfume mingled in a cloud of choking smell to make her eyes water and her throat close.
They moved from cabin to cabin, finding no one. At the last one, Finn said, “I think every able body is topside.”
“Still, we check. One never knows what surprises might await.” Diego tapped on the warped door with his blade. “Is there anyone in here?”
When no one responded, she shrugged. “As I said—”
“Shh…” Diego's eyes flicked to her shoulder. “You are bleeding.”
“That?” She looked at her arm. Blood soaked through both her upper and lower sleeve, dripping onto the floor. “It is nothing. I will tend to it later.”
“Still, you—” A muffled crash from inside the cabin cut him short. Without giving warning, he kicked out a booted foot and the rickety door splintered under the force of the blow.
Finn entered first, cutlass clenched in a tight fist. “Where are you? I know you are in here.” She glanced back at Diego, who gestured for her to repeat her words. “Come out and you’ll not be harmed.”
Diego tapped her shoulder. She turned to find him pointing at a battered, scarred armoire. She nodded, smiling at the faint rustling of fabric coming from beyond the door.
Sheathing her cutlass, she reached out and flung open the doors. Her unsettled belly lurched at the fetid odor rising from the filthy shirts and soiled breeches stuffed inside. She would have missed the young woman entirely if the girl hadn’t screeched.
The girl wasn’t much older than a score. Her reddish blonde hair was tangled and snarled and she was painfully thin. A mottled bruise darkened her left cheekbone, but it was the only mark on her. Clad in a nearly transparent negligee of sorts, she stared at them with hard, dark eyes, her skinny arms folded over her chest.
An unexpected pang of sympathy twinged Finn's innards at the pathetic creature before her. It mingled with a hint of anger at the girl’s obvious mistreatment and disgust as Diego gaped at her. She cleared her throat. “Diego, hand me a quilt.”
Diego's gaze lingered on the girl, and Finn poked him in the ribs to grab his attention. He jumped, but did as she ordered, grabbing a faded blue and green quilt from the bed. Passing it to her, he said, “Wrap her up and we’ll bring her topside.”
“No!” The girl’s eyes, once hard, now widened with fear. “He’ll kill me, should I go to another. It matters not if I am willing or not.”
Diego shook his head. “You’ve nothing to fear, my lady.”
Finn glanced up at Diego as she wrapped the quilt about the girl. “You mean, Captain Sebastiano will take her prisoner? Locked away with those…with the others?”
“Oh, not as a prisoner, such as the men,” Diego chuckled, shaking his head. “No. She will be brought onboard and put to work. She will be kept separate from the others and will be fine.” He glanced from Finn to the girl. “He’ll not harm her. Nor will he allow harm to befall her.”
Not harm her? Finn's mouth went dry. There was only one reason any captain would allow a woman onboard and her belly lurched at the reason. It wasn’t something she wished to think about where Iñigo was concerned. It wasn’t possible that he would sport with the girl, was it? She didn’t wish to think so, especially when the girl had obviously been used by Kittles. No. Iñigo was not that evil. He wasn’t a monster.
She looked from the girl to Diego and had to ask, “Will he drag her into his bed and then pass her around when he finishes with her?”
The girl shook her head, eyes round and glassy. “I belong to Kittles. He’ll allow no one else near me.”
Diego ignored her, giving Finn a queer look. “Drag her into his bed and then pass her around? If I were you, Finn, I’d not tell Iñigo you suggested such a thing. You will stay healthier that way.”
Now it was her turn to give him a queer look. “Me? I’m not suggesting he ought do such a thing. Are you mad?” The pit of her stomach dropped. Would Iñigo keep the woman to himself? An uncomfortable tightness kinked her belly, but she couldn’t say why. Shoving it aside, she shook her head and said, “No matter. I’ll take her to the captain. Grab her something else to wear.”
For a moment, it looked as though Diego was going to argue, as he still stared at her, but instead, he nodded. “Very well.”
Taking the girl by the arm, Finn tugged with no little gentleness, her sympathy for the girl’s plight fading fast. “Come along now.”
In the corridor, the girl sniffed. “I speak true. I am Captain Kittles’s woman. He will allow no other man touch me.”
“That’s all well and good, but I don’t think it is something you need trouble yourself with.” Finn wished she could simply lock the girl in another cabin and leave her there. Without thinking, she muttered, “What is your name?”
“Honoria.”
Finn sighed. It rankled, escorting the girl to Iñigo and, if she were truthful to herself, escorting her most likely to his bed. Her belly tightened further as they stepped out into the gloom. Still, no matter the outcome, Iñigo would leave no bruises on the girl. She eased her grip on Honoria’s arm. It certainly wasn’t Honoria’s fault that Kittles had crossed paths with Iñigo Sebastiano, and Finn could hardly object, when she was supposed to be a boy as it was. She rolled her eyes, imagining Iñigo's reaction, should he see her behaving as a jealous—
I am not a jealous anything. I can only barely tolerate the man myself. Finn swallowed rising irritation as she led Honoria topside and into the brightening afternoon.
The rain had stopped, but still hung heavy in the air. Finn breathed deep, savoring the cleansing fresh air filling her lungs. Her refreshed feeling faded and her heartbeat jumped its pace as they came upon Iñigo and Kittles.
The Englishman sat on the deck, his back against the mainmast, the tip of Iñigo's sword piercing the hollow of his throat.
Finn cleared her throat, ignoring her feeling of triumph at the terror in Kittles’ soulless dark eyes. “Captain?”
Iñigo looked up and his dark expression gr
ew darker still. “Who is she?”
“Honoria. We found her in the captain’s cabin.”
“I see.” Iñigo turned back to Kittles. “She is yours?”
Honoria sighed and Finn turned to see her staring at the Englishman with angry, hate-filled eyes, looking suddenly years older. He regarded her as though she were an insect as he spat, “She’s only some whore I found at Nassau.”
Iñigo nodded. “And did you find her bruised as well?”
His icy, emotionless tone took Finn by surprise. Her surprise only grew as Honoria shook her head, her voice stony as she answered for Kittles. “No. He did this to me.”
“Is this true?” Iñigo directed this at Kittles.
“She is but a whore,” Kittles retorted smugly. He squealed, his face drained of color as Iñigo pressed the bloodied tip of his steel further into the hollow. Kittles’s once arrogant, sneering voice became a pathetic squeak. “Show mercy. I beg you.”
“Mercy?” Iñigo growled, pressing his sword further into the man’s neck, almost smiling at Kittles’ deepening whimper. “Why should I? You showed none toward a mere girl. Tell me, do you enjoy pummeling your women?”
Finn stared. Iñigo's voice was rock-hard with anger, almost biting off the words as they left his mouth.
Her gaze moved to Honoria, who now stared, wide-eyed with adoration, at Iñigo. With a sudden jolt, Finn realized Iñigo was irate on Honoria’s behalf. But why? Why would he be infuriated at the treatment of a woman he was most likely going to use himself?
Her eyes narrowed at the tiny woman beside her. It made her uneasy, but it was simply because she pitied Honoria, wasn’t it?
She shoved the irritating thoughts from her mind. “Where should I take her?”
Without looking at her, Iñigo continued staring Kittles down. “Take her to Farruco’s cabin.”
Gritting her teeth, Finn nodded. “Aye, Captain.” She took Honoria by the arm, saying, “You’re to come with me, then.”