Eden's Pass

by Kimberly Nee

  “Do your worst, boy.”

  Without thinking, she picked up the bucket and heaved it at him. It slammed him upside the head, splitting the skin over his left eye before clattering down onto the main deck.

  Mateo let out a howl, dropping to his knees, and pressed a grimy hand against the jagged slash on his head. “You cur!” he hollered, pushing upright and reaching inside his filthy white tunic.

  The fire turned to ice as her eyes fell upon the lethal-looking dagger clutched in his fist. She backed up, cursing Iñigo for confiscating her dagger. Fighting to keep her breathing even, she glanced around in hopes of finding something, anything else she might use as a weapon.

  The men gathered below began jeering, urging Mateo on. She was the newcomer, the outsider, even though they’d accepted her. Not a one would come to her aid.

  “Come, boy. Make me regretful, won’t you?” he taunted.

  “Take not another step.”

  He lunged, swiping at her in one motion. She ducked the blade, springing forward and bouncing upright almost at once. Mateo let out another howl, spinning about to see the crowd was quieter now. “Come, coward. Do not duck and hide. Face me as a man.”

  Finn’s eyes remained trained on the dagger’s blade, glinting brilliantly in the sun. “You attack an unarmed boy, and yet I am the coward? I think not, amigo.”

  Her taunt drew forth a roar of mocking laughter from the spectators. Mateo’s swarthy skin reddened at the jeers now aimed at him. Blood trickled down his cheek in a narrow rivulet, running into his unkempt black beard. He made no move to wipe it up, snarling, “I’ll spill your blood, whelp.”

  “Yet another threat?” she taunted, shaking her head. “Enough boasting, my friend. Do what you will.”

  Mateo flew at her, arm upraised, dagger ready to strike. She remained calm, her eyes trained upon him. At the last moment, she dove to her right, extending her left leg at the same time. He lunged at empty air, tripping over her foot, before crashing down the very flight of stairs he’d blocked her from using.

  Finn whirled about, hands on her hips, unable to stop the smug grin pulling at her lips. “I tried to warn you.”

  A low murmur went through the crowd as Mateo lay sprawled on the deck for a long moment. All heads whipped toward the quarterdeck and just as quickly, they dispersed, each man returning to what he’d been doing.

  Her satisfaction drained away as she spied Iñigo on the quarterdeck, arms folded across his chest. She could not make out his expression, but by the way the men hurried back to work, she surmised it wasn’t one of amusement.

  Heat stinging her cheeks, she held her head up as she moved down the stairs. She stepped around Mateo, who still fought to draw air into his lungs, to retrieve her bucket and brush, feeling Iñigo’s gaze upon her the entire time.

  She tried to ignore his heated stare, which grew colder as she drew nearer, and went about refilling the bucket to lug it back to the foredeck. As she resumed scrubbing, she fought to put the incident from her mind.

  It wasn’t meant to be.

  Another shadow fell over her. This time, when she looked up, her gut roiled furiously as Iñigo stood over her, none too happy.

  “What goes on here?” he asked, his voice mild, hands in fists, resting upon his hips.

  “I was up here, minding my chore, when Mateo decided it would be great amusement to come up here and taunt me.”

  “Taunt you, you say? What, pray tell, did he do?”

  She hedged. She had no allegiance to Mateo, no reason to protect him, but she was unsure if she should tell Iñigo. She had no way of knowing how he would react. She straightened her shoulders. “Mayhap you ought but ask him. He is the one who started it all.”

  Iñigo swore softly under his breath. “You know I cannot ignore this, Finn. It would have serious—”

  She cut him off. “Then you ought ask him.”

  He folded his arms over his broad chest, his shirtsleeves drawing tight around his thick arms. “What happened, Finn?”

  She sighed, splunking the brush back into the bucket, and drew her sleeve across her forehead. “I was up here, scrubbing, as I was told to do, when your man came up and began taunting me.”

  “Taunting you? Taunting you how?”

  It was difficult, trying not to shrink down before those penetrating amber eyes. He never raised his voice, never let any heat creep into his words, yet she was upbraided just the same. “He had—questions—about the nature of our relationship. Yours and mine, that is to say.”

  “Questions, you say?”

  Now heat inched its way into his voice. Still, she aped him, booted feet slightly apart, arms folded over her chest, chin set at an arrogant angle. “He wanted to know the true reason you keep me as your cabin boy.”

  Iñigo's lips pressed together tightly, disappearing into a thin white line. “I see. And what did you tell him?”

  “What did I tell him? I told him the truth, of course.”

  “The truth?”

  She couldn’t help another smug smile. “I fetch you breakfast and help you with your boots. Things of that nature.”

  Iñigo sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. “I will deal with him.” He gestured toward the bucket with one hand. “You may resume what you were doing.”

  As he turned to make his way to the main deck, Finn stared, slack-jawed, at his back. That was all he had to say on the subject? Not even a thank you? After all, she could have very easily ruined his reputation, could have undermined every ounce of his authority, had she allowed Mateo to know what had happened the previous evening between her and Iñigo.

  “Well,” she sniffed, sinking back to her knees and picking the brush from the bucket. “Arrogant jackass. It would serve him right if I had allowed everyone to believe such nonsense.”

  She resumed scrubbing the deck with renewed vigor, finding it a much more pleasant task if she imagined herself scrubbing the skin from Iñigo's back instead of salt from the wood. Much more pleasant, indeed.

  Iñigo muttered to himself as he crossed the deck to where Mateo sat, his back against the railing, still breathing heavily. His long legs splayed across the deck as he leaned his head back, dirty arm pressing his sweat-stained, dirty sleeve to the gash in his forehead. The only thing different about him was the gash, for Mateo was one of the lazier men onboard.

  “Attacking mere boys these days, Mateo?” Iñigo asked mildly, leaning up against the railing alongside him, lifting one foot to brace against it.

  “Attacking him?” Mateo sniffed, lowering his arm to shake his head. “Is that what the whelp told you? A joke, that.”

  An inward sigh. “How so? From what I understand, Finn was scrubbing the deck, minding his own business.”

  “I think not. The boy seems to forget his place onboard this ship. He seems to think he is more than a lowly cabin boy. That he is a man instead of a mere boy.”

  “And think you it’s your place to remind him?” Iñigo asked coldly, straightening up and facing Mateo, crossing his arms over his chest and aiming a level look at him.

  Mateo swiped at his forehead again. “When I see a man loafing about? Sí, Capitán. I think it my business.”

  “Think again, my friend. This is my ship, which makes it my business and mine alone.”

  “The whelp bloodied my head! And yet naught happens when it was his provocation at the first.”

  “Need I speak to every man present?” Iñigo growled, still holding Mateo’s gaze, narrowing his own. “Think you they will concur with your version of the events?”

  Mateo swore in Spanish, adding, “The whelp ought to taste a hint of the lash.”

  “Think you so? And what of you? It wasn’t the boy tussling about alone up there. What punishment would befit your actions?”

  “Capitán, I was but protecting myself.”

  Iñigo snorted. “Protecting yourself? From a mere wisp of a boy? Think you I am daft? Think you I am so great a fool as to believe such nonsense?”
/>
  “But—”

  “But nothing.” Iñigo shook his head, gesturing over his shoulder with one hand. “Take yourself up to the foredeck at once. You will assist Finn in his scrubbing and you will do it without incident. Should another scuffle break out, both parties will feel the sting of the lash. Is that understood?”

  Mateo's jaw tensed, but he nodded and spat out, “Sí, Capitán.”

  Iñigo’s jaw tightened as he watched Mateo slink across the deck, toward the foredeck. He had to tread carefully where Finn was concerned. If he was too lenient, the others were bound to mutiny. If he was too severe, he would lose all chances of ever wooing her into his bed.

  A smile teased at his lips. Finn was jealous of Honoria. She didn’t seem to realize how easily he read her. How, at the mere mention of the English girl, Finn's jaw tightened, how the corners of her lips tightened. It was in the derision that laced Finn's voice every time she was forced to speak Honoria's name. The tension was almost visible and made him want to chuckle in amazement. As his body had reacted to Finn on a base level, she let him know she desired him almost the same. She wanted him almost as much as he did her.

  He did want her, and the yearning seemed to grow by the hour. Though Honoria had made it abundantly clear she was willing to offer her company, Iñigo wasn’t at all tempted. But when he caught sight of something as innocent as Finn's bared arm or foot, heat swelled within him. Somehow, he need find a way to get her to lower her defenses long enough for him to woo her into his bed. Then, and only then, might he rid himself of the maddening lust.

  He put those thoughts from his mind as he stood there for a long moment, waiting for Finn's reaction as Mateo stomped up to the foredeck. She lifted her head, exchanged a few words with Mateo, and turned her back on him. It brought a genuine smile to Iñigo’s lips and lifted some of the worry from his mind as he went back to attending his own duties.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Boy!”

  Finn gritted her teeth, doing her best to ignore Mateo's elbow gouging her in the side as she moved to the foremost portion of the deck. She’d been able to ignore him for most of the afternoon, which was no easy feat as Mateo attempted to get a rise out of her at every turn. Instead of taking the bait, she simply scrubbed harder. Indeed, the deck had never been as clean as it was when she finished a section.

  “Boy! I’m speaking to you!”

  She glowered at the brush, pressing harder into the planks. It was more than a mite irritating, but she certainly didn’t want another scuffle to break out between her and Mateo once more.

  “Boy!”

  “Leave me be!” she finally snapped, jerking her head up to turn her scowl in his direction.

  “Answer me when I speak to you, boy,” Mateo growled, nudging her again, this time catching her in the arm.

  He caught her squarely in the healing wound, sending a blazing explosion of pain blasting through her. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she managed to swallow the fiery pain, her red-hot frustration, and forced a whistle to her lips and turned her attention back to the scrub brush.

  “Such a pretty lad you are,” he taunted, thrusting his brush into the bucket with enough force to send a small spray of droplets over her.

  Her whistle wobbled for a moment, but she recovered without any hesitation in her scrubbing. It was almost amusing, as the water was cool and she was boiling, as usual. Of course, the water was dirty, but so was she. Where was the harm?

  “So pretty, with that angel’s face of yours. I’ll wager more people mistake you for a lady than a lad, Angel Face.”

  Finn's blood bubbled in her veins. It became more difficult to ignore her rising anger, to ignore Mateo's sneers. Her belly tightened with each successive barb, her hand gripped the brush harder with each slur. Swallowing hard against her sparking temper, she fought to concentrate on the remaining deck needing to be scrubbed.

  “Tell me, muchacho, do many men try to steal a kiss when they see your pretty little face?”

  She rocked back on her knees, hands and scrub brush resting on one thigh as she snapped, “Why can you not simply leave me be? Why is it you are so concerned with my face? Mayhap because you wish to steal a kiss?”

  She struck a nerve. A dull flush swept up into Mateo's swarthy face. His beard twitched, his eyes narrowing to cold slits, and his fingers went white as he clutched his brush.

  “What did you say, boy?” he growled, slowly setting down the brush and placing both meaty hands on his hips.

  “I do believe you heard me, man. I’ll not repeat myself.”

  He got to his feet. “I’ll wring your scrawny little neck for that.”

  “Try it.”

  “Think you I won’t? Think you that pretty little woman’s face’ll protect you?”

  A slight flutter unfurled in her belly at the menacing gleam in Mateo's eyes as he took a step toward her. She didn’t doubt whatsoever he intended to make good on his threat.

  “Leave me be.” She rose to her feet, facing him head on, determined to prove to him she was not afraid, to prove she didn’t see him as any sort of threat.

  “I think not, boy. Time you learned where you fall onboard this ship.”

  “Eurk!” It was the only sound she managed as he lunged suddenly, hand outstretched and wrapping about her throat in one fluid motion. He squeezed, cutting off her air as she struggled to peel his fingers from her neck.

  “I’ll crush you, boy,” he snarled, lifting her up and tightening his fist further, smiling as she fought to breathe. “Crush every last bit of breath from your scrawny little lungs.”

  Dots danced before her eyes, her blood pounded in her temples, and her feet dangled uselessly in the air as she clawed at the back of the huge fist holding her several inches off the deck. She gouged chunks of his flesh from the backs of his hands as her head throbbed, every fiber in her body screaming for air. Another squeeze, and she no longer even managed a gurgle. Her ears rang as the dots spread out into a growing blackness. All sound died away, leaving behind only a sickening pounding pulse in her head.

  Through the thickening darkness, a darker shadow fell over them. The fist crushing her windpipe was torn away and she dropped to the deck. She went sprawling across it, coughing and choking as she was able to breathe once more. The air filling her lungs was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted, and she savored each deep, if painful, breath.

  She lifted her head, forcing her eyes into focus. Diego had pinned Mateo to the deck, his knee lodged firmly in the man’s throat. Finn groaned, rubbing her neck, as another shadow fell over them.

  Every line, every muscle in Iñigo’s body strung taut with fury, his eyes cold and flat as he stepped up, growling, “Stand back, Diego.” as he eased his sword from the scabbard at his hip.

  Diego did as he was told and Iñigo moved closer to Mateo, pressing the tip of his sword blade into the man’s throat. “You son of a bitch. You attack the boy, after you’ve been warned once already?”

  “Capitán, por favor—”

  “¡Silencio!” Iñigo thundered, exerting more pressure on the blade until Mateo squeaked and fell silent. Iñigo turned to Diego. “Check on the boy.”

  Finn still lay face down, coughing as she dragged air into her lungs. Diego crouched beside her to gently roll her onto her back. “Finn?”

  “Aye?” The word emerged as a dry, dusty croak. She winced at the scratchiness in her throat.

  His face remained passive as he nodded. “Good. Rest now. You are out of danger.”

  She nodded, wincing again as a pounding headache took root behind her eyes. Reaching up to rub her throat, she sat up slowly as her eyes fell on Iñigo standing over Mateo.

  “I’ve warned you for the last time, amigo,” he said, lifting his blade from Mateo's throat to sheath it with fluid grace. “I tolerate much, but I will not tolerate an attempt on another man’s life.”

  “Capitán, please—”

  “Quiet!” Iñigo glanced at Finn over one shoulder.
“Diego!”

  Diego stepped up. “Aye, Captain Sebastiano?”

  Finn's head pounded harder as Iñigo launched into his native tongue. She sunk back against the rail, still rubbing her sore neck, and hoping it wasn’t bruised. Still, it was most wonderful to be able to breathe again, and it wasn’t something she’d ever take for granted again.

  Iñigo switched to English. “And now, for those men who speak no Spanish, I have ordered a punishment of fifty lashes. Should anyone be fool enough to attempt the same thing, it will rise up to one hundred. Is this clear?”

  Finn nodded, though she doubted his words were meant for her. She let her eyelids droop, her head falling back against the sleek wood. Mateo whimpered pathetically, tears in his voice as he begged his captain for mercy. His sniveling made her want to retch. He sounded pathetic, not at all the braggart he’d been only a short time ago.

  “Finn?”

  Iñigo’s voice was low in her ear. Forcing her eyes to open to find him crouched beside her, she replied with, “Aye?”

  “Are you all right?”

  A slow nod. “I’ll be fine.” The tips of his fingers brushed her throat and she was quick to add, “I am certain it looks far worse than it feels.”

  “Let Farruco tend to the bruises.”

  She shook her head. The last thing she wished was to share space with Honoria. “It’s not necessary.”

  “Mayhap not, but it is still my order.”

  “Captain—”

  He didn’t let her finish, but leaned back and shouted, “Farruco!” over the buzzing din of men.

  Farruco was tall and slender, clean shaven but no less menacing. Still, Finn stared up at him as he knelt beside her and said, “You will come with me. I will tend to your bruises.”

  Her heart fluttered against her ribs as he took her arm and tugged her to her feet. She glanced back at Iñigo, who had already turned his attention back to Mateo.

  Farruco steered her toward the forecastle, guiding her down to his cabin. Honoria was already there, of course, tidying up as they entered.

  Farruco greeted her warmly and she returned his smile, asking, “What happened?”