Eden's Pass (18 page)

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.

Iñigo withdrew it from the drawer, turning to hold it out to her. “Take it then, my lady, and may the best man win.” His eyes narrowed as they met hers. “So to speak.”

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.”

“
Punish
me?” she gasped, pressing her free hand against her belly as she gaped at him. “How did I offend you by pretending to be a lad? How did I do you harm? I did it to protect myself. And it worked, as I managed to keep myself from becoming a plaything to you and your entire blasted crew!”

His eyes narrowed. “Are you certain that is what would have happened? Know me so well, do you?”

“I do,” she spat.

“Think again, my lady.” His voice was tight, almost sparking with anger. “No man aboard my ship commits rape, myself included. Any man fool enough to try is sentenced to death. Had your gender been discovered by anyone other than myself, you’d see for yourself.”

She snorted at his words. “And you expect me to believe this?”

“Ask any man aboard this ship, Finn. Rape is an unforgivable sin on this vessel. No woman will be abused as long as I am at the helm. And that would have included you. It still does. Any man who thinks to lay a hand upon you will pay with his life. Why do you think Honoria is allowed to freely move about?”

She snapped, “As if I cared about Honoria.”

“Is that so?” His grin was infuriatingly smug. “Jealousy does not become you, Finn. Not a whit.”

“I am
not
jealous.” She shrugged as if it was the maddest notion ever uttered. Besides, it
was
the maddest notion. It had to be. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Still, she answered too quickly, and she winced as Iñigo laughed. “Of course not.”

His silky laughter ignited her temper once more and icy fury poured into her. “You are a beast, Iñigo Sebastiano! I wish more than anything I had not surrendered to you. I wish I had taken the chance of running you through!”

“I’ll wager you do, Finn. But the past cannot be undone now, can it? Yet another defeat at my hands. You must be acclimating yourself well to the notion.”

“Bastard!” She wanted to strike, wanted to cut him down, but couldn’t make her arm move. “I
despise
you, you cowardly Spaniard, and I promise you, I
will
dispatch you but good. If it is the last thing I do on this earth, I will see it done! I cannot be rid of you fast enough.”

He shook his head as he moved to the door, not at all threatened by her. “And believe me, lady, the feeling is more than mutual, as I rue the day I ever decided to take on the
Smiling Jack
and take revenge on that fool Beauregard!”

He yanked open the door, turning to throw over his shoulder, “As to dispatching me, Finn, I will gladly face you any time, any place. Should you ever have the courage needed to challenge me, that is.”

He didn’t wait for her response, but slammed out of the cabin, leaving her to puzzle over his cryptic remark about revenge and Beauregard. She shoved it from her mind as her temper erupted over at his insult, sending the rage burning through her. “Challenge you, you say?” she sputtered, slicing at the air, able to move once more as she glared at the closed door. “I will show you challenge, pirate. And I care not if my blood spills.”

Lifting the leather baldric from the open drawer, she dropped it over her head and slid her steel into it. “It was my mistake, not doing this sooner, but that will be rectified at once.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Her heart beat wildly against her ribs as she eased around the door to step into the shadowy corridor. Flames flickered in small glass orbs mounted along the walls, casting long shadows dancing along the polished wood. Wood and sea air mingled in a tangy perfume, which normally she found comforting, but one she took no notice of now. Beneath her feet, the ship rose and fell with a gentle motion. The sea was calm and she was grateful for it. Confronting Iñigo would prove to be much easier, not having to battle an unruly ship as well.

Her mouth went dry as she neared the stairs leading topside. It was madness, what she was doing. Most of the crew would still be topside, no doubt. She chanced her life with this show of bravado, but she cared not. Her need to lash out at Iñigo was more than she could bear.

“Steady, Finn,” she muttered, clutching the cutlass’s hilt in a now-sweaty fist. Perspiration dampened her from head to toe, clammy and uncomfortable. Breathing was more difficult as well, what with her heart now beating at three times its normal pace.

Emerging into the brilliant sun, she had to squint to make out anything. The Spaniards’ voices were lyrical as they went about their daily tasks. Some were singing, some laughing, and some merely chatting to pass the time as they made rope, mopped decks, cleaned weapons, repaired damaged sails, and tackled whatever else needed doing. No one seemed to notice Finn as she stood beyond the stairway, free hand shading her eyes as she gazed about for Captain Sebastiano.

She spotted him up near the forecastle, deep in discussion with a man she did not recognize. Taking a deep breath to calm her out-of-control heartbeat, Finn gripped her cutlass tighter and marched purposefully toward the captain.

As she stormed by, dark heads lifted, eyes narrowing as each man rose to his feet and reached for his own weapon. No move was made to challenge her, as they were obviously more curious than afraid, and each man followed as she took the steps to the forecastle two at a time and growled, “Spaniard!”

Both Iñigo and the man with whom he’d been conversing turned. The man swore, reaching at once for his saber, but Iñigo was calm. Reaching out to press a hand against the man’s chest, he said, “
No, Manuel. No lo toques.
”

Manuel lowered his steel, but his eyes remained locked on Finn as he nodded and rumbled, “
Sí, Capitán.
”

Iñigo removed his hand to face Finn. “What, pray tell, is this?”

She gripped her cutlass tighter still. “It’s no less than you deserve, Spaniard.”

His eyes hardened as they moved slowly from hers to the weapon in her hand. “Is that a fact? Feeling a bit of courage, Finn?”

She sniffed, boasting, “Do not question my courage. Until now, I’ve had little reason to confront you. But you push too far. Now, you shall get what you deserve.”

“Think to challenge me, do you?”

“Aye. Though I doubt it’ll be a challenge now.”

“Think so, do you?”

She tried not to shiver at the icy chill behind his words. His eyes went flat, darkened until no hint of amber remained. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed hard at the fear rising in her throat. Still, she kept her voice steady as she retorted, “That’s not what I think, Captain. Rather, it’s what I know.”

His men gathering behind her, Iñigo raised his hand and his voice. “
¡Sólo me encargo de él!
” Her blood ran frigid as he growled, “I alone shall deal with him.”

The others fell back, shuffling about to find the perfect viewing spot to watch their captain and the boy who dared challenge him. Though they were also her friends, their ultimate loyalties would lie with Iñigo, and that hung about her as he unsheathed his sword with fluid grace. As the moment had come, she was uncertain how to proceed. Echoing in her head were Iñigo’s earlier words about how his men would cut her down if she should put as much as a mark on him. Would they? Or would they heed their captain and allow him to deal with her as he saw fit?

He held her stare as he brought his sword up, the blade parallel to his body. She mimicked his stance, trying to ignore how clammy her palm had become. It was almost amusing, how her hand was damp and her mouth dry at the same time. Her stomach clenched as she let her feet become accustomed to the pitch of the deck beneath her.

“Come then, lad,” Iñigo taunted, gesturing with his free hand. “I will even allow you the first move.”

“Think you that you will goad me into a mistake?” she asked, making no move toward him.

“Of course not. I have a mite more respect for your abilities, limited though they are.”

She swung, her blow deftly deflected with a resounding clang. The jolt tore up her arm to give her a hint of the power behind the man before her. A power she knew existed, but one she’d never faced before.

Behind her, the others cheered as he deflected the second attack as well. The battle was on. Back and forth, he toyed with her, allowing her to gain the upper hand before beating her back. Steel glinted in the sun, clanged upon contact, and the crowd shifted as he forced her back along the forecastle, toward the railing.

Her arms ached, becoming harder to lift, to defend herself as Iñigo increased the power behind his attack. Each time their blades crossed, pain coursed up to her shoulder, and raising her arm was increasingly difficult. Her wounds throbbed, threatening to open up and spill her blood anew.

Reluctantly, she wrapped her free hand about the hilt as well, hating to give in to this sign of weakness, but without any other choice. Her skills were too raw, too undeveloped, and she was far too tired to rely on a one-handed approach. Sweat beaded her forehead, dampened her back beneath her shirt, but she refused to relent. By stubborn, sheer will she was able to show some semblance of a fight.

“Tired, Finn?” Iñigo jeered, backing her up against the railing as she blocked yet another advance, though much slower this time. “You seem to be slowing.”

“Hardly.” The word was difficult to force through her lips, as most of her energy was focused on keeping her blade raised to prevent being pierced. “I am merely biding my time.”

He grinned triumphantly, pressing into her, flattening himself against her to bend her back over the rail. “I think you most valiant, Finn,” he murmured, pressing hard against her, as if trying to crush her against the wood. “But, you needs accept the truth. You cannot best me and we both know this. Do not force me to kill you.”

“Do what you must, Spaniard.”

He pressed harder still, as if trying to break her in half. His sword-arm pushed down to pin hers against her body, the hand clutching her sword digging into her belly. The hilt, wedged uncomfortably beneath her ribs, made breathing difficult, and his weight crushing her didn’t help matters. That was the only part of him that touched her, but it was enough to wreak havoc on her senses. She wanted to fling her weapon overboard and melt against him. The amber fire was back, his eyes glowing with desire. Evidently, their battle aroused him as well.

He leaned closer still, growling, “I would much rather not battle you, Finn.”

“Well, it’s sorry that I am to say I wish only to see your blood spill, Spaniard.”

“Do not make me destroy you,” he murmured, shaking his head regretfully. “We both know that’s the only way this might end.”

As if to prove his point, he stiffened against her, giving her ample exposure to the iron-like muscles layering his body. He was right and that did nothing to ease her fury. Rather, her belly clenched as her insides did a slow melt. All of the desire she could no longer deny rose up to liquefy her innards despite her determination
not
to feel it. She didn’t want to feel it, didn’t want to want him with such overwhelming desire, and angry tears stung her eyes, which also did nothing but incense her further. “Nay… I would rather die.”

“I hope you do not expect me to shame myself before my men and surrender to
you
.”

“Of course not.”

He frowned, swearing beneath his breath. “
¡Dios mío
!
Why are you so stubborn?”

“I give what I get.”

“Very well.” Iñigo pushed back, allowing her to stand upright. He swung without warning, catching the hilt of her cutlass above her hand.

“No!” Finn couldn’t hold back her scream as her hand opened and her prized steel sailed free. It flew out over the rail, a black line against the azure blue West Indies sky. For one brief moment, the finely honed blade glinted in the sunlight. It hit the water with a
plop
and sank from sight.

She stared in horror at the bubbles frothing the ocean’s surface where it had vanished, ignoring the throb in her arm from the vibration caused by the force of his blow. Her cutlass—the weapon she’d been grateful to find and had taken such care of—gone in a flash of sunlight on steel.

Tears flooded her eyes once more and she fought to blink them back, not wanting the men to see her further humiliation.
No tears, you ninny. A lad. A lad would
not
cry.
Still, the lump rose in her throat, clogged it fast to make speaking impossible. Her fingernails tore at the fine oak railing as she dug into the wood to alleviate some of her rage.

Iñigo stepped up behind her, his voice low at her ear as he whispered, “I am sorry it came to that, Finn. You left me no choice.”

“Go to the devil!” she choked, spinning around and swinging at the same time. Her fist slammed into his jaw, the blow knocking him back several steps. Pain exploded through her hand, but she had little time to notice, nor did she have time to savor the absolute shock on Iñigo’s face. No sooner had she landed the blow when Manuel lunged, knocking her off her feet to slam her onto the deck.

“
Ooof!
” The air hissed from her body as he pinned her to the deck and she stared up in horror as his upraised fist began its descent.

“
¡No!
” Iñigo’s shout boomed across the deck like a thunderclap. “
¡Alto! ¡No lo toques! ¡Alto!
” he hollered, grabbing Manuel around the middle to haul him off her.

She lay there for a long moment, sucking in air and fighting off tears of frustration and anger. She almost welcomed being pummeled by Manuel. At least it would dull some of the pain of losing her cutlass. It was impossible to believe. Iñigo actually sent her steel plummeting to the bottom of the ocean.

“Finn.” Iñigo crouched down beside her, reaching for her arm.

She jerked away, swinging wildly this time, missing him by inches. “Nay! Do not touch me, Spaniard!”

“You will come with me,” he growled, gripping her uninjured arm in a tight fist and lifted her to her feet.

All around them, men watched with great interest, waiting to see how their captain chose to punish the boy with gall enough to strike him. He had to do something to keep tongues from wagging, but she still winced as Iñigo squeezed her arm tighter, growling, “You will come with me, boy. It’s to the hold with you until I decide your punishment.”

His voice was icy with fury and Finn's eyes dried almost immediately. A quick glance told her his eyes almost bubbled gold with anger and her belly clenched, her lost steel forgotten as she realized what she’d done. It was unthinkable, attacking him before his men. She left him with no choice but to mete out some sort of punishment and the heat of dread scorched her innards even as her hand began to tingle from lack of blood.

Offering no resistance, Finn allowed him to drag her across the deck, toward the stairs, where he shoved her down into the darkness. He spoke not a word, but remained silent as he marched her along the corridor.

Once they crossed the threshold to his cabin, he gave her a mighty shove, sending her reeling across the room. “You little fool!” he thundered, slamming the door with enough force to rattle the walls. “How
dare
you think to challenge me before my men!”

She skidded to a halt before slamming into the bed, whirling about to meet his angry, fiery stare. Now she was ready to fight and determined to do that. “Me?
You
drove me to it! You arrogant, braying jackass—”

“Drove you, did I?” he interrupted with a sneer. “You are angry only because you know I was right.” His eyes narrowed. “Or did you think I’d let you best me simply because you are a woman?”

“You bas—”

He jerked sideways to avoid the blow, catching her wrist easily. “Ah-ah, love. What happened to the fist with which you planned to do such great harm? A flimsy slap is far less than what I would expect of you.”

Finn resisted the urge to kick him in the shin. Heat from his hand seeped into her, amber fire slowly filled his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat. If their battle above deck aroused him, this battle only added fuel to the fire.

“And now I, once again, will be forced to carry out punishment to one of my own,” he bit off.

She sniffed. “Punishment? Why? I was warned. Should I so much as make a mark upon you…”

Iñigo shook his head, unable to hold back the heat from his voice. “You provoked me, not him. And I gave the order that not one was to touch you. He attacked a mere boy—disobeyed an order… That is grounds enough.”

She stared hard at him. “A
boy
, Spaniard?” she sneered. “Or do you defend the honor of a woman?”