by Kimberly Nee
She snorted. “That’s silly.”
“I should think you, of all people, would be interested in these mythological women warriors. And who’s to say this race of warring females never existed?”
Finn glanced up at him. “Are you suggesting they did?”
He shook his head. “Nay, but I suggest it’s possible.”
“And these women would be found with the fairies as well?”
He smiled at the derision in her voice. “Ah, yes. You are far too pragmatic to believe in something such as fairies.”
“I believe only in what I might touch and see. I have never been one given to fancifulness,” she informed him with a sniff. “Leisurely thought and imagination were not considered necessary on Barbados. In fact, they could be quite dangerous, if one was working in the boiling house. Many a man was killed because of burns suffered due to distractions.”
“Now that those days are gone, mayhap you will learn to open your mind a bit.”
She shrugged. “That I cannot answer.” Turning her attention back to the book, she tapped the page. “But I do not understand this story at all.”
He sighed, running his fingers through his hair to lift it away from his face. “It’s about the mystery of how and why we fall in love with the people we do.”
She twisted back to meet his gaze and neither missed the sudden crackle of electricity in the air. She cocked her head. “The mystery?”
“Aye. That man has no choice in the matter. When it is meant to be, it happens and we are powerless to halt its machinations.”
It sounded like absolute madness to her and she sniffed again. “And believe you this?”
It was his turn to shrug. “I neither believe nor disbelieve, Finn.”
Finn wrinkled her nose. “You have never fancied yourself in love, then?”
“There is precious little room in my life for such a foolish notion. The idea of love is for poets and dreamers, neither of which I am.”
“Mayhap it’s simply that you’ve not yet encountered it yet. Mayhap Puck is toying with you.”
He smiled. “Ah, but you are not given to fanciful thoughts, are you?”
“Nay. I have paid no mind to it either way.” Another shrug and she turned back to the play. “And this Amazon, she is betrothed to a duke?”
Iñigo skirted the table, settling across from her. “Aye. He bested her in battle and, in the end, wins her hand.”
Her head snapped up. “What was that?”
A devilish grin played at his lips. “Sound a mite familiar?”
“Ah, an analogy?”
He made no attempt to hide his surprise. “You read very little, and yet you know what an analogy is?”
“I am not stupid, you know.”
Iñigo shook his head, tapping a forefinger against the tabletop. “I think no such thing, Finn. You are an enigma.”
Her brow furrowed. “An enigma?”
“A mystery.”
“How is it you know all of this?”
He reached down to flip the book shut. “I am no stranger to schooling.”
“Is that so?”
Iñigo didn’t answer at once, but sunk back into his chair to stare up at the ceiling. “Aye. Mine was a fortunate family. My father was not an educated man, but he had a thirst for knowledge, a love of learning. He passed both on to me.” He swept a hand toward the shelf of books over his desk. “And I’ve not lost it either, as you can see.”
She let her gaze meander over the collection of leather-bound tomes evenly aligned on their shelf. It was a most impressive collection, to say the least. “You know things,” she murmured absently. “I envy that.
“Ah, but you know things as well, Finn. You’ve accomplished much, despite disadvantages.”
Heat stung her cheeks and she quickly changed the subject. “Yet, you chose a much different path, despite all your learning. Why, you could have been a gentleman.” She bit her lip at his knowing look and slight smile. “No offense, you understand.”
“And none taken.” He sat forward, clasping his hands together. “I preferred the adventures found on the oceans over the dusty history I read in books. Action over being a—ahem—gentleman.”
She mimicked his position, fingers entwined, resting on the open book. Taking a deep breath, she said, “Diego has told me something which lies heavily on my mind.”
“And what might that be?”
His voice was mild, but still she hesitated before saying, “You have an aversion to the lash. Why is that?”
His body stiffened slightly, his eyes darkening as he said, “That is something you need not concern yourself with, Finn.”
“Yet you threatened me with such punishment.” She pressed on despite the muscle bulging along his jawline. “Do I still need fear that? After Mateo and all, I mean.”
He held her stare and she almost saw the ire rising within him. “Again, Finn, it is not something I will discuss. Now—” he reached across to tap the book, “—read. You are very close.”
Something in his eyes told her anger was not the primary emotion running through him. She sighed, “I apologize, Captain. I meant no harm.”
“I accept. Now, continue.”
“One more question?”
His sigh was heavy with impatience. “What?”
“Why did you choose to become the dreaded pirate Iñigo Sebastiano?”
Iñigo held her stare easily. “This is what has weighed upon your mind?”
“Aye. I am most curious.”
He sighed, sinking back in his chair once more. “It’s not quite as interesting as you think. In fact, it’s quite simple. Greed, mingled with an insatiable lust for adventure. I wished not to waste my life as my father did, toiling in a fruit stand from sunup to sundown, praying every season there would be enough rain, that no insects destroyed crops. It wasn’t a life for me.
“Thanks to my father’s insistence, I learned to love reading and lost myself in books filled with the adventures I sought for myself. Diego was as much the adventurer as I and together we held grand notions of the riches to be found by preying upon the ships traveling between Spain and West Indies.
“I was but a score and three when I made my first capture. It was a treasure ship I bested and afterward, I felt invincible. To this day, nothing has yet to compete with the thrill accompanying such a capture. I have sunk some of the largest ships in Spain’s fleet, have bested the finest the British could set afloat, and none compares to what I felt when I blasted the Oceania to hell. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. Better than gold, better than jewels or riches. Better than any sexual experience I’ve ever had.”
Her cheeks burned, but she smiled. “I am impressed.”
“Oh, come now, Finn. I told you not to impress you. I told you simply because you asked.” His expression softened, his gaze almost heavy.
“I am impressed all the same.”
“As I said, I was fortunate. But, I was a boy. I wanted adventure and excitement, not serious discussion and theory.” He shrugged, the muscles in his shoulders bunching in a thick ripple. “I far prefer my life this way.”
“A battle on the sea and a woman in every port?” she murmured.
A devilish grin. “Exactly.”
“Captain Sebastiano?”
Her pleasant mood evaporated as Honoria's lilting voice floated into the room. Iñigo smiled as he rose to his feet. “That is all for now, Finn. Off you get. I do believe Juan Pedro will find a chore or two for you.”
She flipped the book shut, struggling to keep from scowling. “Of course, Captain.”
His smile was all-knowing and she wanted to knock it from his lips. It was quite obvious, why he smiled, as Honoria knocked again and called, “Captain, are you in there?”
“I’ll be there in but a moment, Miss Honoria,” he called back. Turning to Finn, his smile faded. “Does something trouble you, Finn?”
Knowing full well she couldn’t admit to the truth, she
shrugged, pushing her chair in. “I’ve a bit of a headache from trying to make sense of that babble you force me to read.”
His expression suggested he believed not a word leaving her mouth. “Finn, what troubles you?”
“You’ve yet to tell me where we are going. Nor have you told me what will happen whence we arrive.”
“We are sailing home. My home.”
“St. Philippe?” At his surprised look, she added, “I asked Ennis.”
His expression darkened and when Honoria knocked a third time, he muttered something in Spanish. Something she would swear was an oath. He scowled, and Finn's spirits rose. At least he was annoyed with the perfect Miss Honoria. It was a small something, but made her smile nonetheless.
She opened the door, taking a childish delight in startling Honoria, who gasped and jumped back. Still, Honoria recovered her wits quickly and thoroughly ruined Finn's good mood by giving her a flirty smile and a girlish giggle. “Good afternoon, Finn. A pleasure.”
Ignoring her revulsion at Honoria’s attempt to charm her, Finn simply snorted, brushing past her as Iñigo bade her entry. Finn tried to blot out the girl’s laughter as Honoria stepped into the cabin and slammed the door shut in Finn's face.
Finn's mood hardly improved as she went topside to find Juan Pedro. It threatened to drive her mad, wondering what Iñigo and Honoria were up to behind that blasted closed door. It also drove her mad that it should drive her mad in the first place.
“Oh, leave off,” she muttered, stepping out into the clean gold sunlight. “It matters not what they do. I care not. In fact, they are made for one another.”
Of course, saying it aloud did no more to make it true. It did nothing to improve her mood, and Juan Pedro scolded her soundly when he had to repeat his orders three times before they permeated her brain.
She set to work gathering the crew’s togs for laundering, fighting down her rising gag at the reek of unwashed and very well worn tunics, breeches, and stockings, grumbling about filthy animals the entire time.
“I should hope Miss Honoria is given the chore of washing these. After all, that is woman’s work.” She chuckled at the image springing to mind. “Ah, that would almost make this chore worthwhile. I would offer my most treasured possession to be given the opportunity to watch.”
When she finished gathering, she carted the overflowing baskets, nearly half a dozen, down to the small, dingy room where they’d be laundered in rainwater. The cabin itself stunk to the rafters, and her spirits rose as she reached beneath her tunic to withdraw the heavy cross dangling from a delicate gold chain. It was her most treasured possession, but she’d changed her mind about parting with it simply to see Honoria suffer. Based on the cabin’s stink, there was no way she’d remain there a moment longer than absolutely necessary, and it mattered not how she might enjoy Honoria’s discomfort.
A smile lifted her lips as she hurried back up into the fresh air. How fitting it would be, for Honoria to be forced down there? Why, it would almost make up for everything Finn had been through.
Almost.
Her smile and her hope faded when Juan Pedro approached her. “Why are you here?” he demanded, waving his arms at her. “Did you not fetch the washing?”
Her good cheer slowly sunk. “I did.”
It plummeted to the soles of her feet when Juan Pedro frowned. “Then why are you not washing it?”
Crossing her arms, she mirrored his expression. “I assumed Honoria would be doing that chore. Surely you have noticed she is a woman and washing is a woman’s chore.”
“She is the captain’s woman,” he answered, speaking slowly, as if she were too dense to understand the significance of such a position. “And as the captain’s woman, she would never be assigned so menial a task. Now, get below, boy, and do not come up until you have finished.”
She bit her bottom lip as the hot rush of anger filled her with his scolding. Despite her rising temper, she offered up no protest even as she glowered at Juan Pedro. Captain’s woman. She wanted to scream as she stomped back below. Her belly frothed, fury churning through her veins as she set about laundering the fetid clothing, cursing out each and every man for his foul habits as she took her aggravation out on the garments themselves.
The musty, salty odor in the washroom faded as she grew acclimated, but her ire had yet to fade alongside it. Her hands were almost raw from scrubbing rough tunics and stained breeches, and by the time she finished, her back and shoulders burned as if they were on fire. Her fury increased with each new ache, each new blister, multiplying like the soap bubbles foaming in the washtub. She wanted to pummel Honoria and Iñigo both, wanted to scream and yell. But she managed to restrain herself as she hung the last of the wet articles and sunk down onto the warped floor, thoroughly exhausted.
When she finally mustered the strength to go topside, she squinted at the dazzling sunlight. She didn’t go looking for Juan Pedro, didn’t care overmuch if he had another chore for her. She no longer cared where Honoria was, or if she was still with Iñigo. She cared naught about anything but climbing into her hammock and taking a nap.
Chapter Twenty-One
Iñigo's cabin was empty. Finn's relief faded as her gaze fell on the rumpled, disheveled bed. He obviously expected her to remake it, which only infuriated her further, since there was only one reason why the covers hung almost to the floor and the sheets were mangled. Whipping about, she put the blasted bed behind her, forgetting about her various aches and pains as her foul mood boiled like water, bubbling dangerously close to rage.
Her anger rose as she moved to the window to stare out balefully at the water. It swelled until it burned red with all of the fury she possessed. “If I could find my steel,” she muttered darkly, frowning at the black and silver water trailing behind them, “Captain Iñigo Sebastiano would rue the day he ever decided to make a servant of me.”
Finally, she could stand still no longer. She turned from the window and proceeded to toss his cabin from end to end in her first true search for her cutlass. Her half-shrieked oaths bounced off the walls as she sunk down to her knees before the armoire after tugging with all of her might on the drawer in the bottom.
“Damn it!” she snarled, grabbing the brass handle in both hands and yanking as hard as she could. It was the only locked drawer in the armoire. She’d found her weapon.
“It’s unlikely you possess the strength to dismantle oak, my lady.”
“Oh!” She slapped her hand against the sleek wood before whirling around to face Iñigo. He stood in the doorway, leaning up against the jamb, arms folded over his chest and a hint of laughter playing in his eyes.
He pushed away from the jamb and stepped into the room. “Looking for something, in particular?”
“You beast!” Finn clambered to her feet, facing him head on, each fiber in her body tense as she did.
Seemingly unperturbed, he shook his head. “Do you care to share why you are angry now?”
His smug tone served only to infuriate her further. He knew damn well why she was angry, and she’d not give him the satisfaction of admitting to such nonsense. Instead, she glared at him, snapping, “You have stolen something that belongs to me, mind you. I’ve every right to have it returned. I’ve seen the others, and they are armed, yet I am not. I will rectify that now.”
“Will you, now? So you might run me through?”
“That would be too good for the likes of you!”
Arching one brow, he asked, “Shall I put that delicate instrument in your hands and find out whether or not I am in true danger?”
“Trust me, Captain,” she sneered, stomping up to poke him solidly in the chest, “you do not want to know the answer to that.”
Glaring down at her, he shoved by, extracting a small brass key from the small, gray oilskin dangling at his hip. Crouching before the drawer, he inserted the key and gave a flick of his wrist. A moment later, the drawer slid open and her eyes fell upon her prized cutlass once more.
Her eyes fell to the gleaming steel of her cutlass, glinting in the lamplight, resting easily in his palms. She looked up to see his eyes had darkened to fiery amber, almost menacing as they held hers.
He nodded at her hesitation. “Go on, Finn. Take your steel. End my life. It’s what you wish, is it not?”
Without breaking eye contact, she stepped up and curled her fingers about the cutlass’s hilt, lifting it from his hands and stepped back once more. The pain in her arms forgotten, she looked from the blade back up at him. Hoping her glare was as menacing as his, she stared harder still, ready to issue a challenge.
He stepped back, unsheathing his own weapon, but did not raise it. Rather, he held it blade down, resting along his outer thigh. He meant to intimidate her, but she lowered neither her blade nor her eyes as he said, “I await the first move, my lady.”
“You bastard.”
“Enough with the talk, Finn. You want revenge? Take it. I offer it to you, on a platter, if you will. And yet you’ve made no move. Why, I might think you were afraid to approach me.”
She snorted. “Why would I be afraid?”
“You know you cannot best me, my lady. You could not before now, and I highly doubt your rope-making or laundering have lent any aid in bettering your skills.”
His sneered taunt stung—mostly because he was right. She could not best him. Tears of frustration blurred her eyes even as she scoffed, “I think not.”
“Then prove yourself, Finn. Take what you seek. Unless, of course, you no longer feel the need.”
“I curse the day I ever allowed you to best me, Spaniard,” she spat, glaring at him through smoky silver eyes.
“I know you do, my lady. But I’ve done naught to deserve such vitriol. I’ve not mistreated you. Why, I’ve not even punished you for your deception.”