Eden's Pass Read online

  “I’ll simply have to hope I don’t give myself away,” she muttered, scurrying behind the hammock in search of a place to allow the bandages to dry where they might not be easily spotted. It seemed every place she looked was one Iñigo was sure to spot rather easily. Apprehension curdled in her belly. She had to find someplace and quick. Iñigo was bound to return momentarily.

  Finally, she hit upon it. “Beneath the bed. I highly doubt he goes under there on a regular basis and these will be dry by tomorrow eve.”

  She slid across the carpet on her belly to lay the linen strips out flat, pushing them as far back as she could reach. She backed out and rose before bending forward to wrap the wet towel about her head. Having her hair swept back from her face left her feeling too vulnerable, so she rubbed furiously to dry it. When she was satisfied that it was dry enough, she shook her head, letting her hair fall where it may.

  Tossing the towel over the tub’s lip, she finished dressing, breathing a silent, relieved sigh when the door opened as she finished up fastening her trousers. Her mood greatly improved without those bandages slicing into her and she even managed a smile. “Good evening, Captain.”

  Iñigo stared hard at her, obviously a bit suspicious about this sudden burst of friendliness. He closed the door, moving to set the whip on the table once more. “Feeling a little less churlish since you’ve bathed, boy?”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “Good. I expect you will obey me with a mite more ease than you’ve done these past four days.”

  It was a reminder of why she was onboard the María. It mattered not, knowing the captain felt more than whit of desire for her. She was still his prisoner, despite being given the moniker of cabin boy. Prisoner and cabin boy were interchangeable. Her good spirits faded. “Aye. I suppose you do. However, I’d not be surprised, if I were you, to find little has changed. I still will not serve you willingly.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Aye.”

  Iñigo rubbed his chin. “Then I suppose we shall start our morn with a lashing, Finn. You need learn your place.”

  She eyed the cat-o’-nine-tails back on the table and hastened to ask, “Might you be willing to strike a bargain?”

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve already told you, boy. I make no bargains.”

  “Aye, you’ve told me. But you’ve yet to hear what it is I wish to bargain.”

  Iñigo let out a long, low sigh. “Go on.”

  Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “I wish to see Ennis. You said I was to take meals with the others—”

  “Which you chose not to do, opting for this foolish hunger strike instead.”

  She ignored his interruption, continuing, “Now I wish to see him. To put my mind at ease as well as his. He is a close friend. My closest, in fact. Surely you can see why it would lay so heavily on my mind. I am worried about him. He is most likely worried as well. I will gladly eat, if I am with the others.”

  “And in return?”

  She would come to regret her next words, but could think of no other way to get him to agree to her request. “I will do as you ask, when you ask. No hesitation. No disrespect. I will be every inch—” she almost choked on the words, “—your obedient slave. Ah, I mean, cabin boy.”

  Iñigo mulled it over for several long and horribly agonizing minutes before nodding slowly. “Very well. On the morrow, you will take your meals with the others, as I originally planned. But, know you this, it’s the one and only bargain I will allow.”

  She hated herself for being beholden to him, but there was precious little else she could do. “Of course.”

  “To bed now. The sun will be up ere you know it.”

  She didn’t reply, but climbed into her hammock, rolling away as the Spaniard removed his clothes once more. Still, the feeling of victory pervaded her and, for the first time since she’d been brought onboard the María, she had no trouble falling asleep.

  Chapter Eight

  After rising, dressing and sending Finn topside to scrub the quarterdeck with Ennis, Iñigo relaxed in the quiet of his cabin. He was still annoyed at himself for his damnable reaction to Finn's washing him. He’d been fine at first, until the boy leaned in to wash his right thigh. Much to his chagrin, he noticed the lack of whiskers on Finn's smooth cheek. In fact, the delicate curve of the boy’s jaw and flawless reddish-bronzed skin looked decidedly unmasculine.

  More irritating still, Iñigo's eyes, acting entirely on their own, shifted to the boy’s lips. Soft and full, they were most definitely flushed. He couldn’t help but suck in his breath when the tip of Finn's tongue darted and his eyes flicked up to meet Iñigo's. His body responded at once to the heat swirling in those silvery depths. A strangled groan choked him even as his blood smoked through his veins.

  Disgust flooded him and he couldn’t stop himself from grabbing the soap and cloth, and shoving Finn. Iñigo would never forget the look of utter shock on the boy’s face. Hell, his reaction had surprised him. But at the time, all Iñigo cared about was putting space between them. Even now, disgust twisted his insides. The boy must have wondered if he was in the presence of a catamite. Attracted to a boy, for Christ’s sake! What the hell was wrong with him?

  Determined to simply pretend it never happened, he shoved it from his mind as he sat there at his desk. Reaching down, he opened the topmost drawer and lifted out a rosewood box. He inserted a small brass key into the lock, twisted, and then lifted the lid to gaze down at the dagger he’d confiscated from Finn the first day. It was finely crafted, with an ivory hilt and a blade sharp enough to sever a head from the neck.

  Taking it from the box, he noticed the unusual hilt, which bore an unfamiliar cross etched in gold. The intricacy of the detailing rendered the weapon a work of art. The circular plate behind the top half of the cross was decorated with an elaborate pattern of angled swirls and loops. The sun glinted from the beveled edges, almost blinding him with its brightness.

  The dagger clattered to the floor. Bending over to retrieve it, he frowned as he caught sight of something beneath his bed. “What the devil?”

  The dagger forgotten, he knelt down to take a closer look. Wads of cloth had been shoved under the bed. Reaching into the semi-darkness, he caught hold and tugged a wad free.

  He’d obviously only pulled out part of the wad, for he’d seen much more than the narrow strip he now held. The linen was stiff, freshly washed, but by no means clean. He surmised it had once been white, but time, dirt and sweat had permanently stained the long strip a dull, dingy brown. He passed it through his hands, muttering, “What the devil is this about?”

  Peering under the bed once more, he saw what remained of the wad stuffed into the shadowy recess. Bit by bit, he pulled them out. They were similar in length, badly wrinkled, and even more badly stained. Dark splotches, very much like dried bloodstains, mottled parts of the strips, and he slowly nodded. He stared down at unrolled lengths of bandages.

  He retrieved the dagger, locking it away again. Setting the strips on the table, he studied them and frowned. Something else caught his eye, and it took several moments of rearranging the bandages until it made sense.

  When laid one atop the other, overlapping the edges, each strip had two curious indentations aligned almost perfectly. A slow smile lifted his lips and a sigh of relief rose in his throat. Shaking his head, he dropped into a chair. “I’ll be damned.”

  There was only one explanation for those curious indentations and it meshed perfectly with the lack of whiskers, the lack of depth to the voice and the all-over sensuality of the stubborn cabin boy.

  His new cabin boy was a woman.

  He was still at the table when Finn returned later in the day. When the door closed, he looked up and couldn’t help but glare at her. Finn. What was her true name? Would she offer it up if he confronted her with the truth?

  Nay. He’d not let on. Knowing the truth about her lessened his discomfort. His body reacted to her presence not because she was a delicat
e boy, but because she was a delicate woman, and he was man enough to sense it, no matter what togs she wore. Without it troubling him any longer, it was time to make a bit of sport out of her deception.

  He wasn’t angry. Not at all. It was quite clever, actually. How many of Beauregard's crew knew the truth? She was most convincing as a boy. Of course, he was grateful he hadn’t let the cat fall when she fainted. It would have been a crime, to lash this clever girl. And if she was as lovely as he suspected, it would have been unforgivable, much like destroying a fine work of art.

  “Satisfied about how you spent your day?” he asked, lifting a cup to his lips and taking a long drink.

  “As a matter of fact, I am. I thank you for allowing it, even if I did scrub ten pounds of salt from the deck. It was well worth choking down that tasteless mush you forced upon me this morning.”

  “After so many days without food, I thought it unwise to offer up anything heavier, and it was nourishing, which was far more important, considering how you spent your time. As you saw by your chore, I prefer a clean ship. I take pride in the María.” He shrugged. “I can see how you might not appreciate it, judging by Beauregard's floating pigsty.”

  “Ah, he could issue the orders, but all knew he’d never enforce them. He was as slovenly as the rest and because of his sloth, they rarely obeyed his every command. However, I can assure you, I would never allow my ship to be quite as filthy.”

  He smiled at the smugness in her voice. Finn seemed quite certain she would one day captain her own ship. Amusing enough when she was a he, downright absurd now. He held her steady gaze, but couldn’t keep the disbelief from his own voice. “Is that so?”

  “It is,” came her pert reply.

  “I see.” As he spoke, his eyes wandered over her, wondering how curvy she truly was. The dents in those bandages were modest and her large shirt did much to hide any vestige of womanhood, as did her mannish coiffure. What had she looked like prior to hacking off her thick hair? What she would look like once it grew back? Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be at all disappointed. “And what shall I fetch for supper?” she asked, averting her eyes, as a proper servant would.

  He smiled at her bowed head. Oh, yes. Things were going to become most interesting in his cabin.

  Most interesting indeed.

  Chapter Nine

  The hand on her leg was not the least bit gentle, seizing her ankle in a tight fist and giving a brusque shake. “Show a leg, Finn.”

  Finn forced her eyes to open at the low, throaty growl, but she couldn’t smother her yawn as she sat up and stretched her arms over her head. Rubbing one eye, she cast a wary glance at the bed. She’d yet to find a way to retrieve her bandages, and was worried they would be discovered if she did not fetch them soon. Still, it was a rather nice comfort, to not have the horrid linen slicing into her skin. She was feeling much better after only two days, and the chafed patches hardly stung at all. If they would not be discovered, she would be more than happy to let them remain under the bed gathering dust.

  Sunshine flooded the cabin, pouring in through the narrow windows running along the back wall. The light was the pure, golden light of early morning—one she hadn’t seen since her arrival on the María. It was the first time Iñigo had rousted her from bed at such an early hour.

  Her lids refused to stay opened and she rubbed her other eye. “Aye, Captain?”

  “I need your assistance.”

  “Of course.” She yawned loudly, forced her eyes to finally remain open, and swung her legs over the side of the hammock to face him, only to find him already dressed. “Captain?”

  “I need you to shave me, boy.”

  The black shadow of beard darkened his jaw, but it didn’t look at all awful. In fact, it added to his sensual appeal.

  She wanted to slap her hand against her forehead. Where the devil did that come from? “Why? I noticed that most of your crew sport beards. Why not do the same?”

  “I might ask the same of you, boy,” Iñigo replied, turning away to move to his chair and sink into it. “A few whiskers would add years to the baby face you sport.”

  Letting it pass without comment, she eased down from the hammock, still rubbing her heavy-lidded eyes. “You would trust me to hold a blade to your throat?”

  His grin was chilly. “Is that a veiled threat, boy?”

  Shaking her head, she hastily replied, “Of course not. I gave you my word and I intend to honor it, no matter how distasteful I might find it.”

  “Good to hear, Finn.” He gestured to the shaving supplies set out on the table. “You may proceed.”

  She looked at the table, taking in the silver lather cup, the brush, razor and everything else necessary to whip up lather to cover his skin. Nervousness fluttered in her belly. She’d never shaved anyone before now. What if she nicked him? Or worse?

  As he settled into the chair next to the supplies, she moved to the table and set about stirring up enough soapy lather to shave at least six men. Frowning at the foam almost frothing over the rim of the cup, she sighed and reached for the stiff-bristled brush to dip into the mix.

  Iñigo’s head was back, his eyes closed, apparently at ease with her holding a blade to his throat. Finn tried to be gentle, swiping lather up over his cheeks and down over his neck, almost to the towel wrapped about it. She jumped when he cracked one eye and growled, “I think that’s more than enough lather, boy.”

  “Of course.” Breathing deeply to steady herself, she lifted the blade in one hand and the towel in the other. Iñigo went still as she pressed the blade into his skin and scraped the whiskers from his left cheek. “Take care, Finn,” he growled, not opening his eyes. “I have no desire to lose an ear.”

  She scowled, pulling the blade through the towel to wipe it clean before placing it against his cheek once more. “My apologies, Captain. I have no intention of lopping off any parts.”

  “A relief.”

  Willing her hands to remain steady, Finn carefully angled the razor along the curve of his cheek, around his chin. The coarse whiskers disappeared, and her fingers brushing the newly smooth cheek sent a rush of tingling heat up her arm.

  Her hand trembled at his exposed throat. It would be simple—very simple, indeed—to merely grab hold of him. To slash the blade deep into his flesh. Enticingly simple—

  “Finn?”

  She shook her head to clear it. “I apologize, Captain. I am not fully awake yet.”

  He smiled, his eyes remaining closed. “If you are certain?”

  “I am.”

  “Proceed then.”

  She held her breath, moving more quickly now, determined to finish her chore as rapidly as possible. Breathing a relieved sigh as she finished, she tossed the razor onto the table. Lifting the towel from his neck to wipe his face, she muttered, “Finished, Captain.”

  She ignored the chuckle, patting him dry. Iñigo caught the towel between thumb and forefinger, whisking it free, and sat upright. “Hungry, Finn?”

  “Nay.”

  “You’ve not eaten a true meal in five days, boy. You will now, if you wish to rejoin your friend for meals.”

  “I want nothing.” Not entirely true, as her stomach rumbled and she did so wish to take meals with the others. The bland mush she’d had the day before was enough to keep her on her feet, but not nearly enough to sustain her. Still, she shrugged as if she cared naught about eating and turned to march back to her hammock. Launching herself into it, she assumed her usual position, arms and ankles crossed, and waited for him to argue.

  When he didn’t, her stomach kinked as he rose from the chair, tossing the towel onto the table, but all he said was, “Clean this mess up and go fetch our morning meal. I will be back in a bit and I expect a hot meal to await me.”

  “Go to the devil.”

  Iñigo paused at the doorway, his hand hovering above the handle. “You gave your word, lad, did you not? Perfect obedience? Surely you are not breaking your word so soon?”


  Finn glowered at the ceiling. Hellfire and damnation! He was determined she never forget those words she regretted uttering. She had no qualms about continuing to scowl at him as she sat upright once more. “Very well.”

  He smiled. “I will be back in but a moment and I expect this cabin to be clean when I return.”

  “Aye.”

  Iñigo’s gaze flicked to the razor on the table. Two steps, and he was stretching across it to swipe it up. “Just to remove temptation.”

  She glared at him, angry at herself for not grabbing the blasted razor before he could. Gritting her teeth, she muttered, “I gave my word.”

  “Ah, so you did. But you have been here only five days, boy. It’s hardly time enough for me to even consider trusting you, don’t you think?”

  “Trust me, Captain, you do not wish to know what I think.”

  “Is that so? Well, I must admit, I do admire your sense of humor.” He strode to the door and pulled it open. “It’s most admirable, your ability to find humor in your situation. Most admirable, indeed.”

  She hoped her glare burned holes in his back as he left the cabin. His footfalls died away and she slowly oozed down from the hammock to stomp over to the table and gathered up the remaining shaving tools. Looking down at the overabundance of lather remaining in the cup, she sniffed. “What does he expect me to do with this?”

  Marching over to the small windows, she opened one, reaching out to dump the cup’s contents into the ocean. The foam proved to be most stubborn though, clinging to the metal despite her violent shaking.

  She gave a particularly nasty shake and the cup slipped from her grasp to splash down into the calm sea. “Bloody hell…”

  Poking her head out the window, she groaned at the silver cup glinting as the sunlight danced along its side. Her horror grew as it slowly sank from sight, disappearing beneath the calm waves. She stared down in disbelief at the rippling sapphire water rolling out in all directions. The cup was long gone. Even the swell caused by it striking the water’s surface was gone. Damn. “How am I ever going to explain this?”