Eden's Pass Read online

  Iñigo’s full lips pressed together until they disappeared into a white line. He was none too gentle as he wrapped his hand about her upper arm, practically lifting her from her feet as he dragged her the rest of the way down the narrow stairs and down the corridor, growling, “Tell me, eres tú un catamite, muchacho?”

  She struggled to keep up with him, but Iñigo was very near half a foot taller than her six inches over five feet, and her toes were the only part of her body touching the floor.

  “I know not what you say, Captain,” she panted as they neared the door, out of breath. “I speak not your tongue.”

  “I asked if you were a catamite, lad?”

  She took immediate offense. “I am no such thing! I am every bit a man as you, sir.”

  His long look suggested otherwise. “No, boy. You are nowhere even close. A lad as pretty as you could serve more than one purpose on a ship of men, and I shudder to think of what one purpose it was.”

  “I can assure you, Captain, you are mistaken. I was but a cabin boy. No more and no less. I assume you expect the same of me—the same duties and responsibilities?”

  Captain Sebastiano nodded. “I would expect they are similar. Of course, you will have to swear your allegiance to me now. As I said, I was most impressed with the way you yielded your childish saber, and I fully expect the time will come where I might trust you with steel once again.”

  This was a surprise. Her spirits rose. “You mean, you will one day return my steel?”

  “One day, yes.”

  “And until then?”

  “You’ll have little time to worry about it, dear boy. I am a demanding man and expect much of those who serve me. Your days will be far too busy for you to even miss this child’s plaything.” He held up the cutlass clutched in his free hand.

  They stopped at a closed door. His cabin. He thrust open the door and gave her a shove, leaving her no choice but to lurch over the threshold and into the room. He followed, closing the door behind him before setting her cutlass on the small, round table in the middle of the spacious room. He turned to face her again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Raise your hands, lad.”

  “Why?”

  “Do as I say, boy. Trust me, you do not wish to try my temper.”

  Finn fought down a shudder at the tightness in his voice. Reluctantly, she did as she was told, holding her breath as he skimmed his hands over her. She fought to keep from going stiff as those hands smoothed across her chest. Biting the inside of her cheek made it possible to keep from flinching, even as he moved over the bandages. If he noticed them, he gave no indication, but patted down over her belly.

  A shockwave tore up her spine the moment his hands brushed her, followed by an unfamiliar heat. As he continued patting her down, the heat swelled. When he slid one hand down along her inner thigh, her first instinct was to suck in her breath. Though his touch was nothing but perfunctory, her skin rose into a tingle of gooseflesh. She struggled to keep from moving as he moved up her other thigh. When he dropped his hands and stepped back, she breathed an inward sigh of relief. She’d not been unmasked.

  He smiled coldly, withdrawing the small, but lethal-looking dagger tucked into her belt, beneath her tunic. “Very clever, boy. Unfortunately for you, I am not a fool.”

  She glared at the ivory-hilted weapon now in the Spaniard’s fist. Anger bit into her at his smug grin. “I only wish I’d drawn it sooner.”

  “Regret is a terrible thing, boy. Next time, mayhap you ought be a mite braver.”

  “Oh, you can be certain I will.”

  The Spaniard arched an eyebrow, but said nothing as he finished his search and tucked the dagger into his belt. “Your valiance is commendable, dear boy. You might wish to consider reeling in your tongue, though. It will only lead to trouble.” He retrieved her cutlass and moved to the door. “Search to your heart’s desire, boy. I guarantee you’ll find no weapons to arm yourself with.”

  She glared at him, but remained silent, willing her gaze not to dart about the cabin, as she was certain he was awaiting her to do. The Spaniard glowered at her a moment longer before pulling open the door to step out into the corridor beyond. As the door slammed shut behind him, she stared in disbelief as a key grated as it turned in the lock.

  Chapter Three

  Finn could do nothing but glare at the closed door. “At least he didn’t seem to notice all was not as it seemed. I can only pray that continues to remain so.”

  It might not be too awful, this sudden twist of fate. The captain was fierce in battle, no doubt, but he did not seem to be particularly sadistic otherwise. He even spoke of returning her weapon. Did it matter which man she served?

  “I suppose I could have fared worse,” she muttered, glancing around at the sumptuous cabin. “It seems this man is not quite the pig Beauregard was. No, the Spaniard does believe in spoiling himself.”

  She turned slowly, taking in both the captain’s desk and the wardrobe. Both were solid-looking, but that did not deter her as she moved to the desk and crouched before it. She tested each drawer, yanking on the brass pulls. Drawer after drawer refused to open and a hiss of frustration leaked out through her clenched teeth as she dropped to her knees to jerk at the bottom-most drawer.

  “Damnation!” Her fingers throbbed as she tightened them about the pulls and yanked with all her might. It refused to budge and now her arms ached from shoulder to wrist from her effort. She grew even more aggravated, thinking of the Spaniard's amusement, as she had no doubt he assumed she was doing this very thing.

  Turning, she sunk back against the desk, reaching up to swipe her grimy sleeve across her forehead. “There must be something I might make use of.”

  After nearly an hour, she was thoroughly exhausted and nearly soaked to the skin with fresh perspiration, and still had nothing to show for her aggravation. She slammed a fist into the solid oak wardrobe to alleviate her frustration.

  Pain exploded through her hand, throbbed up her arm, and she couldn’t swallow her cry of, “Oh!” as stinging tears burned her eyes.

  “And look at me,” she sniffed, swiping at the pesky tears with her good hand. “Crying. Me. Reduced to childish tears, just as a helpless infant. Well, I am not a helpless infant. Mayhap I’ll not find a weapon, but I have got brains. I need only think a mite harder. Something will come to me.” Another glance around the cabin, and she sighed. “It simply must.”

  Diego leaned up against the wall alongside the entrance to the hold. “We’ve a total of eight of Beauregard's men, Captain.” He folded his arms over his chest. “And all have taken the oath. Think your word will find its way back to Ramírez?”

  Iñigo nodded. “Absolutely. He is becoming quite crafty, using Beauregard. Most likely assumed most would believe the rumors about the man and ignore him.”

  “It’s fortunate for us, then, that you did not.”

  Iñigo couldn’t help but grin. “It was but our good fortune in Nassau to pick up Tejada. That he was so eager for revenge led us right to Beauregard.”

  Diego chuckled. “And has your new cabin boy settled in?”

  “So far, aye. But I fully expect it’s temporary. The boy seems to have a great deal of pride.”

  “Pride? In a veritable slave? You do not think Beauregard treated a boy as an equal, do you?”

  “Of course not. But, think, Diego. Beauregard was a drunkard and his laziness was the stuff of legend. I’d not be surprised if the boy ran that ship instead.”

  “That would explain any arrogance, but is most unlikely. A man such as Beauregard, allowing a lad to run his ship? Even if he was truly as lazy as the rumors would have one believe, I cannot accept a boy would wield any influence.”

  “I’d eat my boot if that boy didn’t work harder than his captain, for the purpose it would serve. You saw for yourself the condition of Beauregard's ship. It was deplorable, how filthy it was. The rats no doubt ate as well as any of the men. The ropes were frayed and worn, the sails were little m
ore than pieces of other sails stitched together. They tore with no trouble, almost with the wind alone. I’d wager those men were far too occupied with rum and wenches to tend to their ship’s routine maintenance. Ramírez was brilliant to use him. Absolutely brilliant.”

  Diego clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Could be difficult, expecting this boy to obey your orders, if he’s not had to answer to anyone before now. Should we break him in slowly?”

  “Absolutely not.” Iñigo shook his head as they strode toward the steps leading above deck. “I think just the opposite is necessary. The boy needs to learn who is in charge now and that I’ll not tolerate sloth.”

  He glanced over as Diego said, “Have you considered his might have been a life of leisure? He is a pretty boy and we’ve all heard the stories about Antoine Beauregard.”

  Iñigo chuckled, even as a feeling of revulsion flittered through him at both those rumors, and his own reaction to Finn earlier. “It’s something I wish not to think about, Diego. I beg you, never broach the subject again, lest you wish me to retch.”

  Their laughter bounced along the polished walls on either side of them as they mounted the steps leading up from the bowels of the María. Diego clicked his tongue again. “The boy was quite skillful with his steel. Awkward, mayhap, but I saw the raw talent myself. With the proper training, he will be most useful one day.”

  “Aye. He will. Unfortunately, I do not feel I might trust him. His role may not have changed, but his master has. I would have to be a fool to even consider placing his steel back in his hands yet.”

  Diego glanced down at the cutlass his captain held. “It’s the weapon of a child.”

  “At first glance, yes.” Iñigo nodded as they stepped out into the fading sunlight. He lifted the cutlass, sunlight bouncing off the blade as he turned it. “But do not let your eyes deceive you, my friend. It’s sharp enough to slice through bone as if it was butter.”

  “May I?” Diego reached for the sword.

  “Of course.”

  Diego lifted the weapon, his brow furrowing as he raised and lowered it several times. “Has the boy no muscle?”

  Iñigo shook his head as they crossed toward the foredeck. “Not a whit. His arm is mostly flesh and bone.”

  “Explains why it’s as light as it is.” Diego's fingers curled about the simple leather hilt as he raised it over his head to slice through the air. “It is most deceptive, this steel.”

  “Exactly. Now see you why I’ll not be placing it back in the boy’s hands any time soon.”

  “I can, indeed.” Diego lowered the cutlass to pass it back to his captain. “If I were you, my friend, I’d take great pains to watch my back at all times. You know not what he might have up his sleeve.”

  “I fully intend to do just that,” Iñigo replied, taking the weapon back, marveling at how he could barely tell he was even holding a blade. “I’d wager he has had no formal training, that his skill is natural. I shudder to think how great an adversary he’d be, were he to receive the proper training.”

  “He will make a most valuable asset when we finally cross paths with Ramírez.”

  “Aye. That he will, and it should not take him long to settle in. He may have to adjust to actually toiling, but I doubt he’ll be too resentful. It should not be long before he considers himself as much a member of this crew as he was a member of Beauregard's. And when we do meet up with Ramírez—” his voice grew cold and hard, “—the bastard will never know what hit him.”

  He left Diego, crossing toward the quarterdeck to return to his cabin. It was time for Finn to accept he no longer served the lazy Beauregard, but a captain who expected nothing less than a hard day’s toil from those who served him.

  The dull thud of approaching footsteps sounded and Finn abandoned her search. She heaved an exasperated sigh and moved to an empty chair as the door swung open. She glared at the giant Spaniard filling the doorway, his amber eyes glittering almost dangerously as they came to rest upon her.

  He stared hard, as if expecting her to shrink before him, to cower in fear. She did neither, but held his stare steadily. An odd flutter replaced the roiling in her belly, but it did little to ease her anger at her loss. It merely distracted her for an all too brief moment.

  Iñigo spoke not a word, but stepped into the cabin and closed the door behind him. His gaze never left hers, but it did seem to darken somewhat as he held her stare easily.

  She took a deep breath. “Shall we go over my duties now?”

  “Aye. Are you so eager to begin serving me?”

  “It’s what I prefer. Idleness has never suited me.”

  “Wonderful. Then you shall not be disappointed.”

  He stared her down until she was pinned beneath his gaze and more than a mite uncomfortable. Fighting to keep from fidgeting, she asked, “Is something the matter, Captain?”

  “Aye.”

  Had he guessed? Her belly fluttered slightly. “What is it?”

  “You show a decided lack of subservience, Finn. Did your Captain Beauregard not demand a whit of respect from those beneath him?”

  “Respect?” She couldn’t hold back her snort, almost choking on it. “For that drunken fool? Surely, you jest.”

  “No. I assure you, I am quite serious.” He stepped closer, authority fairly radiating from his massive body. “I will not tolerate anything but respect from those who serve me.”

  Her ire rose at his pointed look, despite her best effort to tamp it down. “You do not own me, Captain. True, I work for you, but I am not your—your slave. And as for Beauregard… Well, he did treat me as almost an equal.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is.” She had no reason to hide the truth. Besides, mayhap it would ease some of her pent-up frustration. “I acted as his valet and in return, he promised me command of his ship.” She frowned as Iñigo burst out laughing. “What is so amusing?”

  His laughter became a cough as he reined it in. “Promised you command, did he?” he sputtered, shaking his head and clearing his throat at the same time. “Of course he did, Finn. Of course. A cabin boy, promoted to captain? How could I possibly not believe that?”

  “He did! We’d struck a bargain, Beauregard and I. When we sailed into Port Royal, he would retire. He would retain ownership of the Jack, and I would assume command. We would split all profits fifty-fifty and… It isn’t funny! It was perfect—the perfect arrangement.” A sense of stinging bitterness rose sharply, bringing a foul taste to her mouth. “Until we happened upon you, that is. Now, I no longer have that one brightness to look forward to. Now I am a veritable slave.”

  “And why do you think this?” Iñigo asked mildly, folding his arms over his chest. “Have I clapped irons on you that I do not remember?

  “One need not wear irons to be a slave. This is not my ship—” She bristled as he chuckled and didn’t trouble himself to hide it. “You also find that amusing, Captain?”

  “Amusing?” Iñigo shook his head. “No. Not at all. It isn’t amusing. Rather, it is ludicrous, to say the least.” His expression became stern. “Am I to assume you vowed false allegiance?”

  She sighed. It wasn’t worth trying to convince him she spoke true about assuming command of the Smiling Jack. “Nay. I did not. You may be assured I’ll not slit your throat in your sleep.”

  He smiled blandly. “Somehow, that was not something I was worried about.” He uncrossed his arms, and clapped his hands together. “Now, about your duties. As I said, I fully expect you to set to work at once. There is no loafing aboard my ship. Every man toils, no matter what his position.”

  Fixing him with a hard stare, she retorted, “And as I said, I do not intend to laze about, Captain. I might not be happy about the change in circumstance, but mine are not idle hands.”

  “Very well. I’m pleased we are in agreement over this.” He turned away, crossing to the table in the middle of the room, where he withdrew a chair and sunk into it. Leaning back, he stretched his l
ong legs out across the royal blue and gold Persian carpet, crossing his ankles. His shirt pulled taut across his shoulders as he folded his arms. “It’s quite simple, as I am a relatively simple man.

  “I expect you to wake before I do, and you will have my clothes laid out. I require fresh water each morning and you will shave me every other morning. You will fetch my meals, keep this cabin tidy, make certain everything is laundered to my specifications. You will also serve above deck as well. It’s a bit late today, but in the morning, I will get you acquainted with Diego. He is my second in command and will give you a list of daily chores needing to be done as well.” He tapped his right foot against his left. “Have you any questions?”

  It did not sound as though the work would be backbreaking, nor did his requests sound at all unreasonable. “Will I be allowed to bathe?”

  She fought her urge to flinch at his puzzled stare. Dunce! What boy would ask to wash? She wanted to slap her forehead for her idiocy, though all he said was, “You will be allowed, Finn.”

  It was all she could do to hold in her relieved sigh as he still stared at her with that queer expression. Instead, she forced herself to bob her head, as if it mattered not one way or the other. “I thank you.”

  His right eyebrow lifted. “I must admit, I am a bit surprised to hear you request to bathe.”

  She struggled to think of a decent enough reason for a boy to ask for a bath, finally blurting, “I do not wish to offend you.” At his puzzled look, she quickly added, “With my fetid odor, I believe you called it.”

  Iñigo's puzzled look dissolved and he slowly nodded. “Ah, yes,” he replied. “I did make mention of a bath earlier, didn’t I?”

  “You did.”

  “So I did.” He stared at her for another moment. “And when would you like this bath?”

  “Whenever you deem it feasible, I suppose.” It was devilishly difficult to keep from fidgeting as her stomach churned, and she bit the inside of her cheek. No other man ever made her feel this uncomfortable, this—this bare beneath his eyes.