Eden's Pass

by Kimberly Nee

  “Ah, good answer, Finn. Good answer. Know you I’d be suspicious if the answer was no. I expect no less from so valiant a lad. Or lady, as the case may be.”

  “It is?”

  “Absolutely. Why, I might become most suspicious, were you suddenly to start thinking of me as a friend rather than your master.”

  Her shivers were the chills of his reminder, of his use of the word master. Whether she liked it or not, she was beholden to him. He was, in fact, her master. Things had not changed because he bandaged her wounds, because he knew the truth about her. He was as Tobias Eden was on Barbados. Master.

  “My master.”

  “Aye. But, ours is not the typical relationship between master and servant, is it?”

  “I am not sure what you might mean, Captain.”

  He didn’t reply, but merely smiled and rose to his feet, tugging the counterpane up to her chin. “Sleep now, Finn. I will allow you to rest now but, on the morrow, we will discuss this deception and how we should deal with it. After all, had I known it was a woman assisting me with my bath, I would have surely burned with embarrassment.”

  She didn’t believe him for a moment. Ignoring him, she closed her eyes and willed sleep to haunt her once more, but not before muttering, “Beast,” and sticking her tongue out at him, even as he left the cabin.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Iñigo stood on the foredeck, facing into the warm, salty breeze, which lifted his hair and sent a wayward lock falling over one eye. The rain had finally subsided and the thick clouds parted to reveal the glittering night sky. It was quiet and peaceful, and after the tumult of the day, he was thankful for it.

  Most of the men had retired below deck, where they amused themselves with rum and games of chance. An occasional scuffle would break out, but someone would restore order before too much blood spilt. They were a fine group of men, even the newcomers, and gave Iñigo little cause for concern.

  He sighed quietly, wanting to go below and corner Ennis. It rode him nearly into madness, how much he wanted a clarification as to the nature of Ennis's friendship with Finn. But why? Why should he care? She hadn’t changed. She was still his cabin boy.

  No, he frowned, shaking his head. He needed to remove her from his cabin, as his thoughts were already far too troubling. But where could he put her? She certainly couldn’t sleep in the forecastle with the others. Even with Ennis there, it was far too dangerous.

  Ennis.

  His gut twisted sharply. Ever since discovering those filthy bandages, his thoughts were no longer quite as repulsive. Nor did they make him raise his eyebrows. Rather, it was a relief, knowing the reason why he’d reacted the way he had when she bathed him. It brought a rueful laugh to his lips. There was nothing amiss about the heat scorching through him.

  Unfortunately, it also served to complicate matters as well. How could the boy who repulsed him become the woman he couldn’t deny feeling a growing, maddening lust for? Since he found those blasted bandages, the same scenario crept into his mind on a frequent basis—carting her off to bed.

  For the first time in years, he was unsure how to do this. He didn’t think she’d be at all receptive to any invitation. Rape was never an option. Death would come surely and swiftly to any member of his crew who attempted to force himself on a woman. One man had been foolhardy enough to test his captain some years back, and those who had served Iñigo in those days remembered the man’s fate well. It was horrific enough that no other member of his crew even looked at the women who were unfortunate enough to be on a ship the María plundered.

  “What troubles you, amigo?”

  Iñigo turned to see Diego approaching. Leaning back against the rail, he shook his head. “At the moment, absolutely nothing. How is the lady?”

  Diego did the same, nodding as he leaned against the polished rail. “Farruco says she is well, aside from needing to eat.”

  “Very well. We will need to put into the nearest port and put her off. I wish not to dangle temptation.”

  Diego turned to face him, folding his arms over his chest. “And where do you wish to go?”

  It was a question Iñigo had been pondering. “I don’t know as yet.”

  “We are drawing near Guadeloupe. We could pull into port at Basse-Terre, but what do you plan to do with her? She has nothing. And do you wish to hand Kittles over there, or on St. Philippe?”

  Iñigo sighed. “No. I think Guadeloupe should be avoided right now.” He reached up to rub his chin. “Do you think Kittles spoke true?”

  “About Ramírez?” Diego nodded. “I do. He was terrified and he thought you’d show mercy.” He paused before saying, “Do you mean to set a course for the Orient? We’d need to pull into port and restock.”

  Iñigo mulled it over. His first reaction was to do as Diego suggested—replenish his supplies and set a course for the Orient. But sanity won out and he sighed again. “No. I don’t suppose I mean to do that. Mayhap we should hold our course. St. Philippe. I will turn Kittles over to the authorities and allow them to deal with him as they see fit.”

  “It’s been a while since they’ve had a pirate to hang.” Diego gave him a knowing smile. “Am I to assume Cristina is going to have a new maid to break in?”

  Iñigo tried to grimace, but couldn’t. Diego was right. All Iñigo could do was shrug. “She expects it now. I would disappoint her, were I to fail to bring the lady home.” He hesitated a moment, wondering if he dared let Diego in on Finn's secret. Diego was his oldest and most trusted friend, but Iñigo still hesitated.

  Another sigh and he said, “Actually, I will be bringing two back.”

  Diego's forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What?”

  Iñigo nodded slowly. “Aye. You heard true.” He turned back to the water, muttering, “My cabin boy is no boy, Diego.”

  “What?”

  “You heard correct. He is a she.”

  “You mean to say, Beauregard's cabin boy—your cabin boy—is a girl?”

  Iñigo smiled at the disbelief in his friend’s voice. “Surprised, are you?”

  “Shocked is much more accurate. How long have you known?”

  “Long enough.”

  “This cannot be made known to the others.”

  Iñigo nodded. “Rest assured, Diego, I am well aware of that. It’s why I’ve not said a whit about it. She did not even know I knew until I tended her wounds earlier.”

  Diego grinned. “She hid it well. You must tell, though. How mannish is she?”

  Iñigo smiled. “Mannish is not the word I would use to describe her. Do not be fooled by her shorn hair. When you see her on the morrow, you will not see a boy, but a pretty girl instead.”

  Diego's forehead wrinkled, a furrow deepening between his brows. “If you say so, Iñigo. Rest assured, I’ll not be spilling the truth about her gender. And I will treat her as I have right along.”

  “Then we should be fine. Besides, we are almost home now.”

  “And you will take both to St. Philippe?”

  “I will. If Honoria chooses to remain, so be it. If not, she is free to go.”

  “And your cabin boy?”

  “Ah…”

  “You should only know what volumes your answer speaks,” Diego chuckled, pushing up from the railing. “And with that I shall take my leave. I came up here only to tell you the night watches are in place.”

  Iñigo nodded. “I bid you good evening, Diego.”

  “And to you, as well.”

  Iñigo watched his friend disappear into the darkness below as Diego descended to the main deck. With a low sigh, Iñigo turned his gaze back to the water, resolving not to think about Finn any longer. There were more important matters at hand. Such as whether or not to set a course for the Orient and give Eduardo Ramírez the shock of his life.

  Finn woke and stretched, yelping as she pulled her sore arm. The cabin was dim with the grayish light of first dawn, with darker gray shadows moving along the walls, as if trying to outrun daybrea
k. The hemp squeaked as she reached for the canvas sack hanging above her bed. After fumbling about for the flint and steel, she lit her lantern and smiled as she swung gently with the sway of the ship.

  Gingerly rolling onto her side, she peered across the cabin. Iñigo's bed had not been slept in. The red, purple and blue patchwork counterpane held not a wrinkle. The pillows were smooth and even.

  She sank back down. Where was Iñigo, and why hadn’t he come to tug her out of her bed? Or for that matter, why hadn’t he returned the previous evening?

  As she gazed up at the dented, chipped lantern, she couldn’t help her smile. Her filthy, bloodstained tunic was gone, replaced by a dark gray linen shirt belonging to Iñigo. She’d removed the bandages binding her breasts flat. What a heavenly night it had been, being unbound for the first time in days. Heavenly, indeed. A quiet laugh rose to her lips and she indulged in the wonderful feeling of joy.

  Her laugh morphed into a sigh as she skimmed a hand up over one sleeve. It was the finest fabric she’d ever touched—fluid and silken beneath her fingers. Iñigo most assuredly had exquisite taste, as was evident in his wardrobe. His clothing was like his cabin décor—elegant, worthy of a man of gentleman’s status. Not what she expected to find in a buccaneer’s cabin. Not at all what she expected.

  He’d been so gentle as he wrapped her arm. His touch was beyond gentle, more a caress. Unlike any other touch she’d ever known. He seemed to harbor no anger at her deception, but he had to feel at least a hint of irritation at her disguise.

  Her smile faded. He did say they would discuss her deception, though. She did not know exactly what he had in mind, nor did she know what he would do now since he knew the truth. Thinking about it made her head ache.

  Utter restlessness stirred her insides, mingled with her unease at Iñigo's absence. Idleness had never been one of her strengths, it was utterly foreign to her. There had been precious little leisure time in her life and it was how she preferred things. Keeping busy was best, for it kept her mind occupied, prevented her from traveling into the past, where the blackest phantoms haunted her soul and tortured her mind.

  “At least I’ve yet to wake up screaming.” She gazed up at the dark, exposed timbers over her head. They quietly creaked as the María rose and fell with the gentle rolling of the ocean waves.

  The nightmares were the worst—terrifying images evoking utter horrors she assumed she’d long since forgotten. Thank the Lord she’d slept in Beauregard's cabin. The man got thoroughly drunk every night and in his passed out state, he’d never once heard her. A miracle, considering how loud her shrieks were at times.

  She’d yet to have a nightmare onboard the María, but it was only a matter of time. It was something she dreaded, waking Iñigo by screaming down the timbers. A shudder tickled her spine.

  The light from the lantern cast long, dancing shadows on the far wall. She tried hard not to watch them for too long, for it was far too easy for shapeless shadows to take on the form of the demons that plagued her dreams. Dawn couldn’t arrive quickly enough.

  “Nay,” she whispered, closing her eyes once more. “It’s over now. It’s in the past. A servant here is still far better than what lies in the past.”

  Her chant was interrupted by the scrape of the door handle turning. A moment later, the door swung open and Iñigo stepped over the threshold, closing the door and crossing over to where she swung. “Feeling better?”

  “A bit, yes.” She scratched the bandage on her arm as her wound itched again. “Although, I think I am up to more than making rope. Surely your last cabin boy did more than fetch meals and make rope?”

  “Is that so?” His voice was stern, but a smile made the corners of his mouth twitch.

  A smile tugged on her lips. “Aye. A more mind-numbing task does not exist. I am developing a healthy hatred for rope, I’ll have you know.”

  He chuckled, giving her hammock a gentle push. “Very well. I will take that under consideration. If you wish, I will make certain to work you to exhaustion on the morrow.”

  She wasn’t certain, but she swore there was a note of teasing in the captain’s deep, lightly accented voice. He certainly seemed to be in a fine mood, and she didn’t doubt that Honoria had something to do with that mood. Her smile and good humor faded, much to her chagrin. Fighting the urge to scowl, she set the hammock to swaying harder as Iñigo moved to his armoire. Crossing her arms over her chest, she muttered, “I thank you.”

  He pulled open the armoire, but paused to smile at her over one shoulder. “I am but teasing you, Finn.”

  She gave into her scowl. “You might be, Captain, but I am not.” With a creak of hemp, she shifted to slide to the floor. “I need something with which to occupy myself. Something other than sitting on my backside and splicing rope all day long.”

  Iñigo turned away to unlace his shirt. She held her breath waiting for his reply, and her spirits sank as he said, “Very well. Honoria will be your responsibility. That way I need not worry about her safety.”

  “She is to be my responsibility?” Finn couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice.

  He nodded, easing wrinkled silk from his back. Ignoring the strange, sudden flash of heat slicing through her, Finn grimaced and bit down on her bottom lip, concentrating on his words as he said, “Your responsibility. I trust my men, but temptation may strain even the purest of souls. That you are a woman removes such temptation.” He crumpled the discarded shirt, tossing it into the basket. When she remained silent, he turned, his forehead creased. “Is there a problem, Finn?”

  “A problem?” For a moment, she wanted to refuse this newest duty, as the last thing she wanted was to be at Honoria’s beck and call as well. Being averse to the idea made no sense, but averse she was. Having no choice in the matter made it even worse. Shaking her head, she swallowed her sigh. “Nay. I’ve no problem.”

  “Good.” He drew a white linen tunic over his head and laced up the front. “Now, you will go and see if Juan Pedro needs any assistance. Afterward, you may join the others in the forecastle.”

  Finn was reaching for her boots when he said this. Pausing, she asked, “You mean, you are not eating this morning?”

  Iñigo shook his head, turning away. “Nay. I have eaten already. Now, go.”

  It was a risk, but that didn’t halt her from asking, “You’ve eaten?”

  “Aye. With Farruco. I wished to see how Miss Honoria fared.”

  It was jarring to hear him refer to the tiny blonde as Miss when she, Finn, was not treated with such respect. Of course, that was because Iñigo saw her as one of his crew, but it still stuck in her craw.

  She yanked on her left boot with more force than was necessary. Miss Honoria. Gritting her teeth against the irritation bubbling in her belly, she stomped her left foot to vent some of it. It didn’t help. “And how does she fare?” she asked, unable to keep the bitter edge from her words.

  “As well as can be expected.” He closed the armoire and moved over to his desk. “Now, no more questions. You’ve work to do, Finn. I trust you will go to Farruco if your arm troubles you?”

  “Of course,” she muttered, stomping her right foot and standing. “Is there anything else?”

  “Nay.” He didn’t turn to face her, but waved her off. “You may go.”

  She didn’t answer, but slammed the door on his arrogance, marching down the corridor toward the stairs. Her arm was stiff, and sore did not even begin to describe how it pained her. However, she set her teeth and vowed she not seek out Farruco, even if the limb suddenly dropped right off.

  “I suppose I am to be Miss Honoria’s cabin boy as well,” she muttered, taking childish delight in stamping as hard as she could on each step, smiling at the shifting dust falling from beneath the stairs. “There will be icicles in hell before I obey an order from an Englishman’s whore.”

  The more she dwelled upon it, the tighter the knot in her belly twisted. It was as frustrating as it was confusing as to why she eve
n cared. She’d be with the others. She’d be with Ennis again.

  That offered little comfort, though, as it was clear why she’d be reunited with Ennis. She frowned. Why the devil did that trouble her? Why should she care who the good captain chose to warm his bed. It wouldn’t be long before she, Finn, took her leave of the María for good.

  Of course, what she would do once she left the Spaniard's ship, she had no inkling. But it mattered not, for she would be free and it wouldn’t concern her which woman Iñigo Sebastiano brought to his bed.

  She froze as the bright sunbeam hit her in the face. Why did she care about such things? Iñigo was nothing to her except for a master from whom she wished to be free.

  “As if I did care.” She sniffed, resuming her pace. Juan Pedro was up on the quarterdeck and he looked none too happy. “I’d much rather brain the man than kis—” She cut herself off with a snort, shaking her head.

  “You’re late,” Juan Pedro growled by way of greeting. “You will assist Jorge in repairing the mainsail.”

  She glanced around, wondering what chore Ennis had been given. “And where is Ennis this morning?”

  Juan Pedro shook his head, pointing to where Jorge awaited her on the main deck. “Never you mind, Finn. You’ve work to do.”

  Swallowing her sour retort, she turned away from Juan Pedro to stomp back down to the main deck. It was not shaping up to be one of her better days and her mood grew only fouler with each step. By the time she reached Jorge, she offered up no greeting, doing nothing more than grunting at him.

  He paid no heed to her bitter mood, but shoved a bone needle at her. She grabbed it, still fuming as she set to work pushing the needle through the thick canvas. A dull ache settled into her fingers after only a few minutes, but she was grateful for the pain. It took her mind off her troubling thoughts, but left her with reason enough to brood.

  By noon, her back and shoulders ached as well, and her fingers were bruised to the point of her wincing just thinking about passing the needle through the canvas.

  Jorge sighed, setting down his needle, and reached up to rub his neck. “That is all for now. You go and check if Farruco needs any assistance.”