by Kimberly Nee
“Patience, my lady, patience. I will first apologize for destroying your delusion of me, but I am not a pirate.”
“You aren’t?” Finn couldn’t keep the disbelief from her voice as she stared hard at him. Did he truly think he fooled her? How could he claim the opposite when he could not hide the truth. “You will forgive me if I snicker, then, won’t you?”
“Certainly. But while you do, allow me to explain. As I said, I allowed you to think of me as a pirate. But that is not what I am. I sail under the protection and blessing of the French king. That would make me not a pirate, but a privateer. Perfectly legal, albeit a bit questionable.”
Finn stared dumbly at him, almost feeling her jaw hang slack. “A privateer?”
His smug smile grew wider and more smug. “A privateer, my lady. Oh, there was a bounty on Beauregard's head, but it was a paltry sum. One hardly worth my time and effort. No, my attack on the Smiling Jack was strictly personal and entirely sanctioned by His Majesty, King Louis. I had no clue of the real treasure she carried.”
Leaning back against the rail to hide her growing surprise, she gingerly flexed her sore arm. “How can that be? Besides, you burned Beauregard's ship. Even I know you cannot collect a bounty on a nonexistent ship.”
“This is true, but compared to the damage done to my own crew, it was far greater to raid the Smiling Jack’s hold and relieve her of her gold and jewels.”
Finn froze, stunned by this revelation. “Gold? Jewels? You mean to say the fool actually did carry something of value?” She didn’t know if she believed him. Judging by the ragtag group of men and the rundown ship they sailed, she never would have guessed the Smiling Jack carried anything of value.
But Iñigo nodded. “Oh, yes, my dear Finn. She carried a fortune in gold doubloons and pieces of eight, not to mention a cache of rare jewels. It was Beauregard's habit to maroon his crews after raids, to bring on fresh men with each new voyage. Had you and the others known, you might have defended your ship a bit better. Of course, you would have suffered the same fate, most likely. Probably before reaching Port Royal. You would never have taken command, Finn. You would have died a slow, miserable death with men you most likely despised.”
Knowing Beauregard's selfish streak, Finn accepted that Iñigo most likely spoke true. Yet, it didn’t anger her. Instead, she groaned, rolling her eyes and slapping her forehead with one hand. “And the greedy fool never mentioned one whit about what those moldy crates held. A greater fool never lived.”
“Oh, I doubt it would have mattered, Finn. He was as greedy as he was foolish. As I said, you never would have seen your share.”
Perhaps, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t curse Beauregard still. If they had but known, those who fought halfheartedly would have stepped up their efforts. If they had, upon reaching Port Royal, she would have claimed captaincy of the ship. Or would she? It was more likely than not Iñigo was right and Beauregard would have left her and the others to die on some godforsaken rock in the middle of the Caribbean.
Drawing in a slow breath, she let her eyes close as she folded her arms over her chest. “I lost my freedom due to his selfishness.”
“I beg your pardon?”
She opened her eyes, unable to hold back her outrage as she burst out, “I lost my freedom due to his selfishness! He cared naught about us. Cared naught about saving his ship. He would choose it to sink to the bottom of the sea than take the chance one of us lowly servants would steal it. And this after he swore he wished to retire, that he would make the ship mine.” Her voice grew colder and angrier with each word and still it didn’t come anywhere near to her true feeling. Her fury was unlike any that had ever raged through her, and having no outlet for it made her angrier still. “And instead, I am here.”
“You have been given the choice, Finn. You may leave, if you desire. But, I hope you will chose otherwise. That you will join me, and of your own free will.”
Finn couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Did he honestly think she would join him? That she would willingly continue to serve him? That she would warm his bed one night and while Honoria did the next? He had to be mad. She held his stare easily, wondering why butterflies pounded her ribs. “And why would I do this? What purpose would it serve?”
He sighed, shaking his head. “It would serve no purpose, I’m afraid. I thought, perhaps, you might stay because you wish to.”
His words were a murmured surprise and the last thing she ever expected him to say. Still, she couldn’t help but be suspicious. “And that is all?”
“I play no games, Finn. Nor do I have a wicked surprise in store for you. It’s quite simple.” He shrugged. “I’ve had but a taste of you and I find I want more.”
“Oh, do you now?” Turning to face him, she stared hard, wondering if she should be flattered, or insulted.
Another sigh. “I see I have yet again offended. Very well, I offer you a compromise.”
“What sort of compromise?”
“You will remain with me as long as I am here. In my home. You will be given as much freedom as possible, but you must give your word you’ll not leave. In return, I will treat you as my guest. I will expect nothing in return.”
“For how long must I agree to this?”
“As long as I remain on St. Philippe. I plan to supply the ship, give my men some leisure time before I leave for the Orient. If you wish, you are welcome to join us.”
She sniffed. “As a cabin boy, you mean? And what of Honoria?”
His smile was equal parts knowing and smug. “What of Honoria?”
“Am I to serve her as well? And you did not answer my first question.”
“Finn, you need not concern yourself with Honoria. Be assured, I’d not ask her to sail with us.”
His words offered no comfort. “And would I be your cabin boy?”
“Finn, you know I’d have no choice. You would have no choice.”
That might be, but it didn’t mean she had to like it. “I would be your cabin boy.”
“Only during daylight hours.”
His sensual smile sent a flaming arrow slicing through her, but she swallowed against it. After a long silence, she cleared her throat. “Very well.”
“Very well, what?”
Forcing a smile to her lips, she replied, “I will sign on. I should like to see the Orient.”
He couldn’t hold back his look of surprise, even as he nodded sharply. “Of course, Finn. Now, shall we?”
Finn glanced over her shoulder at the jeweled land before her. What had she done? How could she agree to the madness of binding herself and hoping she’d not be discovered all the way to the other side of the world? I must be mad. She took a deep breath and said, “I suppose.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The villa Iñigo called home was nestled amongst the lush foliage in the hills beyond the harbor. Located on a hilltop alive with a riot of blooming flowers and towering coconut palm trees, the house was spacious and airy. Large floor-to-ceiling windows broke up the walls, all open to their widest to allow the cool ocean winds to circulate through the rooms.
Finn sighed as she stood in what was to be her room. It was small and cozy, with a narrow bed and light, woven furniture. Long, gauzy draperies wafted in the warm breeze, and the air was heavy with the perfume of the orchids growing in abundance in the jungle behind the house. The flowers’ rich, spicy-sweet scent filled the air and she breathed deep as she stepped out onto the small terrace overlooking the vibrantly alive foliage.
She did not know where Iñigo had disappeared to, nor did she know where Diego had taken Honoria. Ennis remained onboard the ship, busy with the crew as they prepared to unload the hold. His decision couldn’t have been clearer, which left her with a sadness mingled with a hint of betrayal. They remained with her even after Iñigo handed her off to a lovely young girl with dusky skin and flowing black hair. He rattled off instructions in Spanish, and the girl took her by the arm, leading her to the small room o
n the second floor. There, the girl laid out fresh clothing and a bath was drawn.
When she finished, the girl left, and Finn noted the door remained unlocked. If she desired, she could simply open the door and be on her way. Giving her word to the opposite was what kept her standing there, staring. Or so she told herself. There could be no other reason. Certainly none having anything to do with the handsome Spaniard who seemed to constantly invade her mind these days.
A bath was far too inviting and she wasted no time in shedding the male attire she loathed, and stepped into the steaming, relaxing water. The tub was hammered gold, with several exotic blossoms floating on the water’s surface. As she sunk into the silken warmth, a heavy sigh rose to her lips at the simple luxury. Ducking beneath the surface, she let the rush of water fill her ears and block out everything around her. She wanted nothing more than to lose herself for a while, and she soaked until it was too cool to be comfortable.
The clothing laid out for her made her want to cry. The gown was unlike any she’d ever seen. It was a beautiful riot of vibrant color—red, orange, coral and turquoise blending in harmony with the lush colors surrounding her. She reached out to catch the skirt between her fingers. The lightweight linen was perfectly suited for the warm clime, and aside from the brilliance of the colors, the gown was simply designed and she could barely wait to slip into it.
It was almost scandalous, how the dress had no sleeves, but she reveled in the velvety caress of the cool island breeze as it kissed her bared shoulders and arms. The skirts, over a freshly laundered stiff, white petticoat, were a splash of jewel colors, rustling about her ankles as she spun around with a quiet laugh. She had never worn anything as lovely, as feminine, and it was a wonderful change from trousers and the rough togs Eden’s Pass slaves wore. Even Mistress Eden didn’t wear anything as beautiful and revealing. She suffered through the heat in heavy English petticoats and crisp, heavy linen gowns covering more than they revealed. Now, Finn actually laughed aloud at such foolishness.
“To the devil with fashion,” she said, smoothing a hand over the fluid skirt. “I find it is by far better to be comfortable.”
With a rustle of boned linen, she crossed the room to sit at the vanity, where a silver brush and comb had been laid out for her use. She cooed appreciatively, running her fingertips over the ornate design on the back of the brush, murmuring, “How lovely. I wonder which ship these were purloined from.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She couldn’t condemn him for something she would have done herself, had the Smiling Jack ever attacked anyone during her time onboard. Instead, she ignored it as she lifted the heavy brush to her hair and went to work with slow strokes.
Her hair fell almost to her shoulders. It would be wonderful when it grew back entirely—a fall of heavy ebony reaching her hips again—she didn’t want to think about having to shear it off again. How would Iñigo react to seeing her as woman entirely? What would he think, seeing her in a gown, with her hair soft and clean about her face? A feeling of delicious wickedness tickled her insides as she set the brush down, picturing how Iñigo's eyes would darken, the way they did when he swept her into his arms. She also knew, with a hint of smugness, Honoria's fair beauty paled terrifically beside Finn's. Even the bandage on her arm took nothing away.
Humming softly, she traced one finger along the slightly ruffled neckline. It was almost scandalous, as it was lower than any she’d ever worn. Apparently, island women were not bound by the same fashion dictates as those on Barbados were.
A delicate vase on the bedside table had been crammed full of the beautiful pink-hued orchids. Finn eyed it for a moment, then reached out to snap off one bloom, tucking it into her hair over her left ear, as she’d seen some of the girls below do. For the first time in her life, she was every bit the dama hermosa Iñigo proclaimed her to be. It was something she wished to savor for as long as possible, this feeling, for it wouldn’t last forever.
Finn descended the stairs toward the deep voices coming from the dining room. As she neared those voices, she took a deep breath and stepped into the room.
Iñigo and Diego sat at the long, elegant table, which had been set for three. Both men looked up at the same time as she entered and she couldn’t help but feel a hint of triumph as each one went slack-jawed. She didn’t know where Diego had left Honoria, and she didn’t care. It no longer mattered.
She smiled at them, pleasant warmth creeping into her cheeks. “Good evening,” she murmured, fighting the urge to fidget beneath both heavy, dark-eyed stares. No man had ever looked at her the way these two did. It was a mite discomforting at first, before a heady rush of power filled her.
Iñigo caught himself, rising from his chair to skirt the table and draw one back for her. “Good evening, my lady.”
Diego also rose. “Good evening, Finn.”
She gracefully sunk into her chair, smiling up at Iñigo as she said, “I thank you.”
Iñigo returned to his chair and reached for the bottle of wine set between him and Diego. “A bit of refreshment, my lady?”
She held out her delicate crystal goblet. “I thank you again.”
As Iñigo poured the wine, Diego cleared his throat, saying, “I must admit, my lady, I am most surprised to see you instead of a ragtag cabin boy this evening.”
“I can imagine you are,” she replied, lifting the goblet to her lips to take a sip.
Iñigo set the bottle down. “I do hope you are hungry this evening, my lady. A veritable feast awaits us.”
Hunger was not her primary concern at the moment. Her stomach was a tangle of knots brought on by knowing she would take her leave of Iñigo once both men retired for the night. The leaping of her belly, followed by the leaden thud of her heart when she first saw Iñigo had decided this for her. The bitter sense of hopelessness was more than she could bear and it would only grow worse, the longer she remained in his company.
It did not sit well with her. She had given her word and the dishonor of breaking her promise troubled her to no end. Freedom, however, was far too strong to ignore despite having given her word.
Still, leaving brought a darkness to her heart as she gazed across the table at Iñigo now. He was still dressed in his finery and she’d never seen a man look as handsome, as overwhelmingly sensual, as the one seated at the opposite end of the table from her. Never seeing him again lay heavily on her mind and after an afternoon spent arguing with herself over the matter, she’d come to the most obvious conclusion.
She was coming to love him.
A foolish notion at best and a dangerous one at worst. He couldn’t change what he was, what he would always be. She’d be forced to share him with Honoria, and sharing him was something she was quite unwilling to do. The only solution was to put as much distance between herself and the handsome Spaniard as soon as possible. She had to find her way out from under Iñigo’s spell, to escape from him as soon as possible, before it was too late and she truly lost her heart.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The hold of the Santa Teresa was a cramped, fetid hellhole unlike any Finn had ever seen, and it was a terrific struggle to not give into tears each time she inhaled the stench of unwashed flesh and bodily fluids mucking up the small space. Her wrists ached furiously, the skin worn raw from the tight manacles binding them. The pain was a constant reminder how she would not be in this situation if she had but kept her word to Iñigo Sebastiano.
Her escape from the hillside villa had been perfect. She’d quickly rinsed her boys’ togs after her bath that first afternoon, laying them out to dry beneath the narrow bed. The breeches were still damp, but it didn’t deter her. After dressing in silence, and without the hated bandages, she slipped out onto the terrace and scaled her way to the ground. Without even a peek over one shoulder, she disappeared into the foliage, using the sound of the ocean as her guide.
It was dawn when she reached the harbor and shortly after, her luck soured. A merchant had been willing to buy her only
possession—her mother’s gold cross—for the pittance of twenty francs. She was tucking the money into her boot when a shadow fell over her and a meaty fist gripped her arm.
“Well, well, what do we got here?”
The voice was sickeningly familiar and when Finn lifted her eyes, she was afraid she would retch.
Jeremiah Stamper was Eden’s Pass’s overseer, a man who lived to punish the slaves toiling beneath him. Finn’s stomach cramped at once as she stammered, “I…that is…you…”
“Little Fiona? Damn near didn’t recognize you dressed a fine lady.” He sneered, squeezing her arm tighter and ignoring her squeak of pain. “Puttin’ on airs, are ye? Ye always did think right high of yerself.”
“How did you…?”
“The cross, ye stupid wench. I saw ye barterin’ it to the fool fruit merchant. Mist’ Tobias gonna be happy to see ye, wench. He’s been about mad with rage how ye managed to get away. Put ideas into the others’ heads. Eden’s Pass’s lost fifteen slaves since ye lit out.”
Her stomach roiled harder, its contents bubbling up almost to her mouth. “Please… Let—”
Jeremiah slapped her hard across the face, the taste of blood filling her mouth as her teeth sliced open the inside of her cheek. “Hush up, wench! Think ye I’ll not take ye back? Mist’ Tobias put a price on ye, wench, and I’m goin’ to collect on it.”
He dragged her down an alley and away from the streets, away from any aid whatsoever.
Four days passed and she was chained in the hold of the Santa Teresa with four men. Fortunately, all were chained, for not one of those men was shy about their gratitude at having a female in such close quarters with them. Twice a day, Jeremiah passed through with stale bread and water, and each time, he threatened to unlock the four men and let them take their pleasure of her. Though he had yet to actually make good on his threat, it was enough for her to live in constant terror that he might still do it.