Eden's Pass Page 9

  The moonbeam faded. Thunder rumbled over the open water. The air stirred, and she was grateful for the sudden chill kissing her overheated flesh. Lightning flashed, and not too long afterward came the steady sheeting of rain hitting the side of the ship. The winds picked up, blowing cool through the window. Snuggling beneath her light blanket, Finn closed her eyes and finally drifted back into slumber.

  The rain pounded down in sheets the next morning as Finn opened her eyes. After rising and dressing, she moved to the window. The sky was pewter gray, with thick black clouds casting shadows in the distance. It was hard to make out how far off those ominous clouds were through the thick veil of drops, but the weather did not look promising.

  She turned away from the window as the feather tick rustled behind her. Iñigo was also awake, sitting up with the sheets pooled about his hips. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his black hair tousled about his shoulders, and he lifted one hand to absently scratch his broad chest. “Is it morning or evening?”

  She smiled at his mumble. It was almost endearing—almost like watching a little boy try to wake himself. “It’s morning, as far as I know. Though, I must admit it is a mite hard to tell with how gray that sky is.”

  Iñigo ran both hands through his hair, then kicked back the covers, while Finn twisted back to face the window. Her insides twisted with an ever-growing curiosity about the man to whom she was beholden. An uncomfortable, persistent curiosity, to be sure, but one that seemed to grow a little more each day.

  “We do need to work on this priggish streak of yours, Finn.” The floor creaked as he crossed the cabin to his armoire. Another creak as he tugged open the doors, and she pressed a fist to her lips, trying hard not to think about how he stood naked not more than six feet from her. Heat mercilessly stung her cheeks even as she tried her best to think of something—anything—that had nothing to do with Iñigo Sebastiano. Her mind spun with images of rogue waves striking the ship, of a sudden storm blowing up all around them, anything to take her mind off the fact he wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing. It was most difficult, but she managed. “Aye, Captain.”

  The armoire doors closed with a bang and Iñigo sounded almost amused as he said, “I am going to relieve the watches. Tidy up a bit whilst I am gone, Finn. I’ll write out the breakfast orders when I return.”

  She nodded, peering at him over one shoulder. “Aye, Captain.”

  When the door clicked shut, she breathed a sigh of relief. Not only did she not have to worry about Captain Sebastiano's undressing until evening, but she also had some time to herself to take care of some personal matters. It was the worst part of each morning, waiting for the captain to leave long enough for her to answer nature’s calls.

  The winds blew with greater force through the opened windows to ruffle her hair and she moved back to stand right in the thick of it. The air was cool and refreshing and she savored the feel of it on her skin, the way it wove through her hair. Closing her eyes, she smiled even as she shivered. It was delicious, indeed.

  Opening her eyes again, she leaned up against the sill, poking her head out to turn in the direction of the heavenly breeze, into the salty spray. The water was a silvery sapphire, the waves churning stronger now, with foamy whitecaps dotting the surface. It was rough and growing rougher still. Judging by the inkiness of the clouds in the distance, it didn’t appear the storm would let up any time soon.

  She pulled back into the cabin, wanting to be topside. Storms didn’t frighten her. They never had. Onboard the Smiling Jack, she went out into foul weather whenever possible. Rain didn’t trouble her. Neither did wind. There was nothing to fear, being out in such weather. After all, before leaving Eden's Pass, she’d survived far worse than anything Mother Nature threw at her.

  Nay, think not of those days… She shook her head, turning away from the window. “Those days are over. The past. Leave them there.”

  Reaching beneath the neck of her tunic, Finn curled her fingers about the delicate gold chain warm against her skin. A gentle tug, and she freed it from where it’d snagged on the topmost strip of bandage. The cross dangling from the chain was an intricately detailed work of art. It was her most treasured possession, and the one thing she valued almost as much as her life. Like her odd silvery gray eyes, the cross was a gift from her mother. She was a mere child of seven when her mother fastened it around her neck. There it remained ever since.

  Forcing the troubling memory aside, she tucked the cross back beneath her tunic and went about tidying up the cabin. It wasn’t the most difficult task, for Iñigo was quite neat, but it was a chore she put off doing until the last possible moment.

  She was drawing the sheets up over the bed when footsteps sounded out in the corridor. Her chores were unfinished, as there were still clothes piled on the table, and a collection of wrinkled stockings on the floor beside the bed, but she was not worried. It would take but a second for her to scoop them up and deposit them in the large basket on the floor beside the armoire.

  The door swung open and Iñigo stepped into the room. His eyes were dark as they met hers, but that didn’t trouble her. Surely he’d not erupt over a few scattered clothes, would he? It seemed silly to her, to grow upset because his cabin was a bit on the messy side, but some people were rather fussy about such things. Mayhap he was one of them.

  She stood there, waiting for him to upbraid her, but he said nothing about the somewhat haphazard state of his cabin and still-rumpled bed. In fact, he said nothing at all. Instead, his eyes continued to darken as he moved to the window to peer through it, staring out at the water.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked, turning around to see him staring out at the water. His arms were folded across his chest, his back and shoulders stiff, almost rigid, as he continued staring out, searching the sea behind the María.

  “We have company.” His voice was a low, humorless growl.

  Her ears perked up, and her belly fluttered at the same time. “Company, you say? I was looking out that window but moments ago and I saw nothing.”

  He gestured toward the open space. “Come, then. See for yourself, Finn.”

  She moved to stand beside him, peeking out the same window. Squeezing between him and the wall, she fought to ignore the musky, masculine scent teasing her nose. Instead, she concentrated on where there had been nothing but foamy, white-capped ocean earlier, now a lone ship loomed, and it grew larger by the minute. She squinted into the distance, wondering if it was the same ship she’d seen the day before. “I cannot see a flag.”

  “She is not flying one.” He twisted to face her, resting his elbow on the ledge below the window. “But I’ve an idea whom it might be.”

  This was a surprise and she couldn’t keep it from her voice as she glanced up at him. “You do?”

  He nodded. “It’s none other than the Magdalena.”

  Finn gaped at him. “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  She turned back to the window, a ripple of apprehension trickling through her. The Magdalena was known and feared by most who sailed the Caribbean waters. She was captained by Edward Kittles, a privateer under England’s protection. Beauregard would sneer and mock the English captain, but the one time the Smiling Jack crossed paths with the Magdalena , Beauregard couldn’t turn tail quick enough.

  Kittles’s reputation was the stuff of legends and even she—a lowly cabin boy—had heard of the Englishman’s cruel streak, his brutal treatment of both his crew and his prisoners alike. Her mouth went dry and her palms clammy.

  Glancing back at Iñigo, it was to see a muscle leap in his jaw and his eyes glint with what appeared to be a murderous rage. Wondering what could cause such rage, she asked, “And what happens now?”

  “My dear boy—” he turned toward her, outwardly calm, save for his glinting eyes, “—surely you did not just ask me that inane question. What think you happens?”

  “You will face them.” It was not a question. They would engage the newcomer in ba
ttle. A flutter of apprehension, mingled with excitement, rippled her belly. It was a risky question, but one she had to ask. “Will you allow me my steel?”

  Iñigo's surprise was clear as his eyed widened. “Allow you your steel?”

  She nodded, anticipation already bubbling through her veins, her hands almost trembling from it. There was nothing she’d ever wanted as passionately, though she tried not to let on. “You said yourself I would be an asset to your crew.”

  “And you’ve been in my company a mere week, Finn. Think you I am so mad as to allow you your weapon?”

  Finn turned back to the window, her eyes drawn back to the growing ketch with the mottled gray-blue sails. “Captain, you have nothing to fear from me. I am in your service through no wish of my own, but it isn’t as though you snatched me from a life of leisure, of a higher station, and forced me into servitude. Know you this, I will be an asset, should it come to battle. You need only trust me. Know this, you need fear nothing from me.”

  “And think you I fear you at all?”

  She snorted. “Of course not. But I am offering to assist you. You said yourself that several of your men were wounded in the battle with the Smiling Jack. I am more than a mere cabin boy. I know you don’t believe me, but Beauregard saw fit to release his ship to me eventually and even you yourself saw what I am capable of, did you not?”

  “Aye. I did. But—”

  “Nay,” Finn shook her head, holding up a hand. “Nay, there is no but, Captain. I offer you my assistance. We both know I am amply skilled with my steel. You would be a fool to not make use of me.”

  More than anything, she wanted to be involved, wanted to feel her steel in her hands once more. She wanted to prove to Iñigo she was every bit as capable as any one of his men. Mayhap then he’d return her steel for good. Mayhap then—

  “Finn?”

  “Captain,” she whispered, no shame, no embarrassment, only steely resolve and determination. “Allow me this and I’ll not ask for another thing the rest of my time onboard this ship.”

  She didn’t care if she begged, didn’t care that it made her seem weak. Her steel was almost in her hands. It was apparent in the indecision in his eyes, in the way he sighed before slowly tipping his head. “Very well, Finn. I will allow it. But,” he added ominously, “know you this—should you decide to try to raise your blade to me, I will make damn certain my men understand they are to cut you down at once.”

  “Of course,” she replied, excitement and blood-chilling fear swirling through her, making her hands, her arms, her entire body tremble with anticipation.

  “You must give me your word, Finn.”

  “I give you my word, Captain.”

  “Very well. Come along, Finn.” He glanced up toward the ceiling. “Dios mío, do not let me regret this.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Finn couldn’t remember the last time such joy had swept through her as she stood on deck in the refreshing rain. Her fingers tightened about the cutlass’s leather hilt and she smiled, glancing down at the gleaming blade. A bubbly laugh rose to her lips as she sliced the air before her, and slipped it back into the worn leather baldric draped over her chest.

  A buzzing drone rose into an intermingling of lyrical voices, each one rapid-fire in his native tongue be it English or Spanish as the María’s men readied for battle. It was almost musical, adding to her growing delight. Her laughter returned as Ennis stepped up, also armed and ready to plunge into the fray. She caught his eye and he raised his blade in greeting, which she returned.

  Iñigo stood above them, on the quarterdeck, spyglass in hand and Diego at his side. Both dark heads bent together, as if they wanted to keep their words between themselves. Feeling blissfully lighthearted, she took the short flight of steps to the quarterdeck two at a time. She was no longer earthbound, but as if she could fly.

  True, the rain had already begun seeping through her clothes, surprisingly cold against the damp heat, but she no longer cared about it. She was no longer a cabin boy. She was as free as she’d ever been onboard the Smiling Jack. Freer still than ever before. Her smile only widened as she approached Iñigo and Diego.

  “Captain?”

  Both men glanced over a shoulder before turning. Diego's eyes moved slowly over her from top to bottom. His disdain was evident as he gestured at her. “Iñigo, are you certain this is a wise idea?”

  Iñigo's gaze flicked toward her and he shrugged. “It’s a fine idea. What could be more amusing than to know one of Ramírez’s most treasured ships, one of his most feared captains, was defeated at the hands of a boy?” His accompanying chuckle was oddly mirthless. “Besides, we need every able-bodied man we have.”

  At the name Ramírez, Diego stiffened. Finn glanced from Diego to Iñigo and back. Who was this Ramírez and why did he cause both men such consternation? She frowned, staring at the ship slowly gaining on them. Ramírez. Though she couldn’t recall ever hearing the name, it wasn’t an altogether unfamiliar one, either. Glancing up at Iñigo, she opened her mouth to ask about the unknown sailor when he growled at Diego. “I’ll kindly ask you to not question my judgment. We have much more pressing matters with which to concern ourselves.”

  Diego looked properly chagrined and Finn had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling as he nodded, saying, “Aye, Capitán,” and turned back to lift his spyglass once again.

  Iñigo turned to her, an unexpectedly devilish grin lifting the corners of his mouth. “I think you make him nervous, Finn.”

  Deciding her questions could wait until they’d bested the Magdalena , she smiled. “A first, I’d wager—a cabin boy terrifying a group of bloodthirsty pirates.”

  His grin became a full smile. “I suppose it is.”

  He turned back to the Magdalena. The ketch was even closer now and as she stepped up beside him, Finn saw the Union Jack fluttering high atop the mainmast. Iñigo nudged Diego. “Think you we should run up the red flag?”

  Finn's chuckle mingled with theirs. The red flag struck more terror than any Jolly Roger ever could, for all sailors knew its meaning: no mercy would be shown to any man onboard the approaching ship.

  Diego laughed along with his captain. “Ah, now that would be a sight to behold, watching the English wet themselves at the sight of it.”

  The rain lessened somewhat as the Magdalena neared. Onboard the English ship, men scurried about, preparing for battle. Men hurried below—most likely to man the guns, and her thrill faded a bit. They were not quite quick enough, though, for the Spaniards were already set to fire the María’s guns.

  Though she was quite accustomed to the thunder of firing guns, she started at the first blast from the María. An explosion of wood followed the first ear-splitting boom as the three-pounder tore through the Magdalena’s port side.

  The battle had begun.

  The thunder grew, swelling until Finn could no longer hear Iñigo, though he stood right beside her. Gray-black smoke rose from both ships with each blast to mottle the air, despite the spitting rain. Sails were shredded, masts splintered and men shattered as the Magdalena quickly took the brunt of the damage.

  The Magdalena was not going quietly, though. The María rattled to her timbers, lurching wildly from a particularly nasty blast. Wood shards exploded and several men screamed as shot tore through the lower deck. Finn coughed, ignoring the growling fear as smoke billowed forth in an ugly black cloud and Tomás, the ship’s carpenter, raced down to assess the damage.

  Her ears rang from the repeated bursts of guns firing, and the sheeting rain made matters worse. Though it prevented the fires from raging wildly, it mingled with the acrid smoke to form a pasty soot clinging to her skin. It threatened to choke the breath from her as she crouched low behind a bulwark, waiting for the inevitable hand-to-hand that would follow the guns. Drawing the back of one hand across her eyes to clear her vision, she pulled it away to see it smeared black.

  Another blast, and above her, wood shards speared the ai
r. She covered her head as best she could as the María let loose a particularly violent blast.

  The screams from the Magdalena echoed across the water as finally, with one long, low roar, the María blasted chain shot to wrap about the Magdalena’s mainmast. It tore through wood and yards as if they were delicate silk. The mast crumpled, crashing down onto the deck, exactly as it had done on the Smiling Jack.

  The María bumped up alongside the Magdalena, and the men set to work setting up a makeshift bridge to prepare for boarding. The shouts, both in English and Spanish, rose as both crews prepared for the next battle. Despite her growing nervousness, Finn couldn’t hold back her grin as she hurried to the main deck, slipping her cutlass from her baldric and tightening her grip on its hilt.

  A hand on her arm made her stop and she turned to see Iñigo standing beside her. Over the din, he shouted, “You gave me your word, Finn!”

  “Aye, Captain! And keep it I shall.”

  He smiled. “God be with you.”

  “And you as well, Captain.”

  He clapped her on the shoulder. “Una mujer tan hermosa.”

  She frowned, not understanding a word he uttered. “I beg your pardon?”

  Either he did not hear her, or he chose to ignore her, for he did not respond, but hurried across to board the Magdalena. She stared after him for a moment, shrugged, and followed. Maneuvering deftly across the bridge, she barely noticed the menacing sway. Her belly alive with anticipation, her fear receded as she jumped down onto the English ship.

  It returned with great haste as men locked in fierce battles to the death. It was no dream, nor was it the result of boredom-induced fantasy. The screams and yells surrounding her were beyond real. Steel meeting steel with deafening clangs—that was real. The blood spattering her cheeks with sticky, stomach-churning warmth—that was real.