Eden's Pass

by Kimberly Nee

  Her heart jumped. “Think you that you’ll not feel the pangs?”

  He glanced down at her. “Are you concerned, that I may leave?”

  Heat crept back into her cheeks, and Finn cast her gaze down toward his chest. “I did not say that.”

  “Ah, but you need no words when your cheeks glow a very adorable pink.” His voice held more than a hint of teasing. It was normal these days, as he seemed to always be quite jovial.

  The breeze picked up, blowing her hair into her eyes. Brushing it back, she looked to see Iñigo close his eyes and lifted his chin, as if savoring the warm air lifting and tossing his dark hair. She fought the urge to sigh, as it seemed he grew more handsome with each day.

  It was a feeling she’d had since her return to St. Philippe, since he’d taken her completely by surprise by marrying her. Night after night, she lay beside him, listened to him breathe, sometimes snuggled into his arms, and it was perfect enough for her to know she should tell him how deeply her feelings for him ran. But she simply couldn’t make herself utter the words.

  He offered no protest as she pulled away to sit up, but did the same. Another gust of wind blew in from the water, and he sighed, “I’ve yet to decide when I’ll leave, or even if I will. I do intend to set a course for the Orient, but I’ve not yet decided when I wish to leave.” He shifted to look down at her. “But trust me, when and if the urge strikes, I’ll not simply up and vanish. You will be made well aware of my plans.”

  She didn’t miss the bitter bite to his words. “Of course. I am the devious one,” she remarked, staring out at the sapphire water surrounding them. “Despite the fact I’ve yet to break my word in nearly eight months.”

  The corners of his mouth pulled taut, his shoulders tensed. “Ah, but my lady, the difference is I’ve yet to break any word. You may think me without honor, as I am certain many others do, but the truth is, honor is one of the only principles in which I believe. I may be many things, but a man without honor has no right to call himself a man.”

  He got to his feet, brushing the sand from his breeches. “And I will allow you to chew on that a while, Finn. I bid you a good day.”

  She sighed, fighting back a sudden invasion of tears as he strode off down the beach. Her emotions ran the gamut these days and she, who never cried before, seemed to well up at the slightest insult. Her ability to retort in kind seemed to have been snuffed out, leaving her to stare at his receding figure as she fought to think of something to burn him with as well.

  “Of course I cannot, not that I ought to. He is right, of course,” she muttered, sniffing and blinking back those damned tears. She hated crying, but couldn’t help herself. She wanted to feel anger, but could not. Instead, she wanted to go after him, to throw herself into his arms and promise him she would never leave. Not because she’d given her word, but because she’d found the freedom she desperately sought, and found it with him.

  As Iñigo had disappeared into the foliage, she let out a shaky sigh and also stood. Her burden shifted and she winced at the sharp stab through her middle. “Please, I beg you, little one. Take care not to bruise me too badly.”

  The sun began its descent into the western horizon, hovering above the waterline like a brilliant yellow ball of fire. The breeze kept the air from feeling too hot, too still, and she sighed again as she started off toward the villa. The sand shifting beneath her bare feet squeaked, bringing a grin to her lips. She loved walking barefoot on the sand, loved how soft it was, the way it shifted beneath each step. In the short time she’d been on St. Philippe, she’d come to love the island paradise. It was the only place she even considered to truly be her home. The island offered peace, serenity, and she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to leave, even for a short while.

  “I would be more than content to remain here, raising children, walking on the beach. It would bring me even greater happiness than anything else ever could.”

  As she neared the jungle, the creak and snap of underbrush gave her pause. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “He will never change,” she murmured, shaking her head as she envisioned Iñigo still spying on her from the cover of the dense, lush foliage. Instead of drawing her ire, this time it lifted her sagging spirits. To know he was there, carefully watching over her, gave her the warm sense of being cared for. He might not be able to admit it, but he must care, at least a little. It had to be more than simply forcing her to keep her word. She couldn’t imagine the fierce Captain Sebastiano being greatly concerned otherwise.

  Her heart lightened considerably as the time had come to swallow her fear and confess her true feelings for him. Besides, what did she have to lose at this point? She should have said something long ere now.

  “Enough of this silly fear. There will never be progress as long as I continue to be such a coward. Besides, there is very little he could say at this point that would hurt much. I already expect he’ll tell me I am wasting my time and emotion, and I already know that, as he’s already said as much. But I am most tired of swallowing the truth and trying to pretend. No more.”

  The crackling and snapping grew louder and she couldn’t keep the laughter from her voice as she called out, “Spaniard, you need not sneak about any longer. I know it’s you.”

  “Do you now?”

  The shadow fell over her too quickly for her to make heads or tails of it. But Iñigo wasn’t lurking about, waiting for her. Before her mind registered the truth of the situation, a bright light flashed before her eyes, the inside of her skull lit up like the ocean during a storm, and a thick blackness rushed up to swallow her whole.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  As darkness crept in over the sand, Iñigo couldn’t ignore the tightness twisting in his chest as he paced about the small room serving as his office. He’d expected Finn to return long before nightfall. That she had yet to return created an uncomfortable combination of worry and ire. Worry that harm might have befallen her, and ire because in the farthest corner of his mind, a nagging voice taunted him that Finn had run away again. It was silly, as she often walked on the beach, and had yet to fail to return.

  Until now.

  Of course, it didn’t mean she couldn’t flee. Still, he hadn’t sensed any restlessness, any unhappiness, in his bride, but it did little to ease his mind.

  He sighed as he reached for the decanter of rum on his desk and pouted himself a glass. “My wife,” he growled, shaking his head as he swirled the dark gold liquid slowly. “My wife.”

  He didn’t know why he’d been adamant about Finn marrying him, especially when she hadn’t given the slightest inkling of demanding he do any such thing. But after he spoke the words aloud, he had not a whit of regret. Rather, a feeling of peace settled over him. A feeling of—

  “Captain Sebastiano?” Flora’s melodic voice was timid as she addressed him from the safe distance of the doorway.

  “What is it?” He couldn’t bite back his snarl, but regretted it as Flora recoiled, liquid black-opal eyes wide with fear. Clearing his throat, he tried again, this time with exaggerated courtesy. “That is, what can I do for you?”

  “Señor Santa Cruz to see you.”

  “Show him in.”

  She bobbed her head and hurried away. A few minutes later, Diego strode across the room. “Why the look of murder?”

  Iñigo muttered a low oath. “I fear I have been taken for the fool again, Diego. Deceived by that wench for the last time.”

  Diego's brow furrowed, his eyes cloudy. “I am afraid I am lost, Iñigo. What mean you?”

  “I mean the wench has done it again. ¡Dios mío! When will I learn that woman cannot be trusted?”

  “Finn?”

  “Aye, Finn! She is gone.”

  “Gone? But where?”

  Iñigo finished his glass of rum and reached for the decanter again, pouring a third of the contents into his tankard. “I know not, nor do I care. The wench wishes her freedom so badly, her freedom she shall have. It is only because of the chil
d that I’ve yet to put her on the first ship out of port.”

  “That wench, as you so delicately phrase it, is your wife, Iñigo. Are you truly going to stand there and tell me you are not going to go after what is rightly yours?”

  “To hell with my wife!” The tankard slammed into the far wall, splashing dark rum against the whitewash in streaming rivulets. It slowly puddled on the floor. “I’ll be damned if I go chasing after her again like a trained dog. She has been a weight about my neck long enough and now I am rid of that strangling weight.”

  Diego shook his head. “I cannot recall the last time I saw you this upset over the loss of a woman. A ship? Yes. A treasure? Certainly. A woman? Never.” He grabbed Iñigo to steady him before he went crashing to the floor. “Calm yourself, Iñigo. Anger will solve nothing.”

  Iñigo shook his head as two Diegos loomed before him. “There is nothing to solve. Know you this? Nothing! She is nothing!”

  “Nothing?” Diego stopped the decanter before turning to place both hands on Iñigo's shoulders. “She is the mother of your child. That is something, is it not?”

  Iñigo snorted, blowing a cloud of rum-soaked breath in Diego's direction. “Aye, it’s something, all right. At least, I thought it was. I even did what I vowed I would never do, damn it. I married the wench. She is mine forever, much to my great fortune. My wife, and she could not flee quickly enough.”

  Diego shook his head. “Now I know you are well into your cups, my friend. The wedding took place nearly eight months ago and this is quick to you?” He gave Iñigo a gentle push, guiding him toward the sofa. “You are mad. She strolls the beaches almost every day and yet she returns every evening. And think of what you suggest. Flee? She would not wait until now to flee. She either would have fled months earlier or she would wait until she’s recovered from childbirth, you lackwit. She certainly would not flee eight months into her pregnancy. She would have to be daft to even consider it.”

  Iñigo dropped down onto the sofa, reaching up to press his fingertips to his forehead as he tried to keep the room from spinning. “I am mad, to think she might wish to remain here. With me.”

  “Is that what you wish? For her to remain?”

  “Aye.” Iñigo's voice softened. “It’s all I want now, that woman by my side.”

  Diego grinned. “Is this so? Forgive me for my chuckles, but it’s something I never thought I would hear you say. Would I be remiss if I didn’t say I told you so?”

  Iñigo groaned as he sunk back into the sofa. He closed his eyes as the spinning worsened. “She is much more to me than I ever thought possible. And yet she still fled.”

  “You know this for a fact?”

  “Is there any other possible explanation?” Iñigo lifted his head to try to glare at Diego. Now three men sat before him, and his stomach gave a mighty lurch. Closing his eyes again, he let his head drop back once more.

  “There is only one, Iñigo. She was snatched once before. Who’s to say it’s not happened again? It’s all that makes sense, Iñigo. She is happy. She’d not run.”

  Diego's words slowly seeped through the thick fog wrapping itself about Iñigo's brain. His stomach gave a painful, nauseating twist at the possibility. Could it be possible? Was someone brazen enough, not to mention fool enough, to attempt such a thing on his territory? There were two people he could think of who’d be brazen enough. One was Jeremiah Stamper. But the other…

  Forcing his eyes open and his tongue from the roof of his mouth, he muttered, “I will wipe the bastard from the face of the earth.”

  Diego shook his head. “This will be most interesting, I think. Exactly how many times did you order Flora refresh that decanter?”

  “Bother the decanter. Need I remind you, I am a master with steel?”

  “Of course not, Iñigo. But that is when you are sober. That is not the case now, I am afraid.”

  Iñigo took a deep breath, forcing himself to his feet and struggling to keep from swaying. “I am able to best a man no matter what my condition. Come and gather the others. We needs find my wife.”

  Diego rolled his eyes. “That might be difficult, as we haven’t any inkling as to where to look.”

  “This is a bloody island and one that is not large enough we cannot search it!” Iñigo roared, striding to the doorway. His head was already clearing, though his gut was still more than a mite unsettled. He would will that away as well. He had to.

  Someone was about to meet his maker and Iñigo wanted to make damn certain nothing went wrong.

  The small room was dank and cool, the blackened gray stone walls offering no warmth and allowing very little sunlight to spill in. Finn winced at the pain bouncing about inside her skull. She groaned, reaching up to rub the back of her head. Surprisingly her wrists were not bound.

  She was alone, sitting on the floor of a dank, earthen room. Velvety-looking dark green moss clung to the walls, tapering toward the floor like fingers of a giant hand reaching down. She shivered at the imagery as she shifted about to get a good look at her surroundings. She smelled damp earth, but neither heard nor smelled the ocean. The air was heavy and thick, almost choking her. She groaned again, wincing at the dull cramping in her lower belly.

  The back of her head ached, a sharp pounding reverberated through her skull. She never saw what hit her, but was almost positive she was bleeding as a result. A sticky warm ooze seemed to be trickling down her neck and her back was damp. Pressing her fingers against the ooze, she winced, sucking in a sharp hiss of pain. Drawing her hand away, she shuddered at the red smear.

  She didn’t see who’d hit her, but a feeling of dread filled her. Iñigo would never think she’d been set upon. Especially after what had happened when they first arrived, when she’d run away. He would think she’d simply fled again. He had no way of knowing she’d been snatched, and even if he did assume it, he would have no inkling of where to begin searching.

  Her belly cramped again and she couldn’t hold back her sharp gasp of pain as a stab of fire shot through her. She hunched over, pressing one hand against her swollen belly, gritting “bloody hell” through clenched teeth as the pain slowly ebbed away. The baby shifted, jamming a foot or elbow between her ribs with such force, it made her gasp.

  “Ah, you are awake.”

  Jerking her head up, Finn fought the rising panic as she met the cold, dark-eyed stare of a man she’d never seen before. “Leave me be.”

  He stepped into the room and her mouth went dry when she spotted the evil-looking black whip coiled about his left shoulder. “I must admit,” he said, his voice tinged with the slightest of accents. “The bastard has spectacular taste in women. You are quite lovely.”

  She tore her gaze from the terrifying whip to glare at him. “Who are you and why did you attack me?”

  He smiled again, closing the splintering wooden door behind him. Sweeping a long-plumed hat from his head, he finger combed his thick, wavy black hair away from his face and bowed low. “I am Eduardo Ramírez, my lovely wench. I take it Sebastiano's not mentioned me?”

  Ramírez? The same one Iñigo had spoken of in dribs and drabs? He certainly looked much like a man with whom Iñigo would associate. Handsome and dark-haired, Ramírez looked very much like a gentleman, as Iñigo did. But Ramírez’s was a cold, soulless handsomeness, and his leer made her skin crawl.

  She shook her head, unwilling to let on she had any inkling of his identity. “No. He’s not.”

  Ramírez’s grin never faded, though it did grow icier. “It surprises me not. He always was a coward.”

  Though she’d called Iñigo many different things over the last year, coward was never one she’d used seriously. Oh, she taunted him, but never truly meant it, and to hear Ramírez use it was enough to fire her blood. The need to defend Iñigo, despite the fact it was completely unnecessary, rose swiftly, and she forgot her own discomfort as she shifted to glare at him.

  “A coward? I think not,” she replied, slowly rising to her feet and faced
him, refusing to show him any hint of fear. “You snuck up on, and attacked, a lone woman. What would that make you, pray tell? If that is not a coward, I am at a great loss as to what is.”

  His oily chuckle sent a shiver down her spine. It was by far more frightening than if he’d snapped his horrible whip in her direction. Still fingering the thick coil of black leather, he said, “You are a spirited wench. I can see why he brought you into his bed. He always did prefer women with a hint of fire in them.”

  As he spoke, Ramírez stepped closer. Reaching out a long-fingered hand, he caressed her cheek with his fingertip. A shiver rattled through her and she fought it down, sniffing, “And know him so well, do you?”

  “Aye, but I do, mi señorita bonita. And I know you must mean something to him, for him to bring you here. I have never known him to bring a woman…home… It is most interesting he did just that.” He shrugged frighteningly broad shoulders, letting the whip slip down into the crook of his elbow. “And now, we shall simply await his arrival.”

  She snorted, shaking her head and stepping back. It was a relief to put some distance between them, served to infuse her with fresh bravado. “You have high hope, Ramírez. He will not come for me. This is not the first time I’ve gone missing and he will not trouble to search for me. Rather, he is most likely quite thankful I’ve gone, as I am quite the burden to him.”

  Ramírez closed the gap between them and she froze as his hand skimmed over the roundness of her belly. “Oh, but this child tells me otherwise. It’s Sebastiano's child you carry, is it not?”

  His touch made her skin crawl, but she refused to pull away. Instead, she sniffed, “As if one more child would matter to a man who most likely has many bastards scattered to the four corners of the earth.”

  Though she’d expected it, it still stung when he nodded. “Aye. You are most likely right. That fool always did think with parts other than his head. In that way, he is most common and unremarkable.”