Eden's Pass (14 page)

Chapter Sixteen

After sharing her morning meal with the crew, Finn knelt on the foredeck, a scrub brush in one hand, and a battered wooden bucket filled with rainwater at her side. The sun beat down on her as she dipped her brush in the water. Shaking off the excess, she pressed the bristles into the wood, scrubbing the salt grit from the planks. It was hot, tiring work and after nearly an hour, her arms ached, her back ached, and she couldn’t feel her legs. Her wounded arm twinged from time to time, but only if she stretched out too far. The pain made thinking about anything else impossible, and she was grateful for it.

When she first began scrubbing, the inside of her head was a whirling, jumbled muck. Her mind constantly meandered back to Iñigo's infuriating smugness. She wanted to scream each time it popped forth, and when she spotted him on the quarterdeck, deep in conversation with one of the others, anger burned through her.
Merely a cabin boy, indeed.
She snorted aloud, plunking her scrub brush into the bucket. “I’ll show him merely a cabin boy. I look forward to the day I wipe his smug grin off his smug face. Laugh at me, will you… We shall see who laughs last, Spaniard.”

She couldn’t wait until they made port. It mattered not if Ennis wished to leave. She was going and that was all there was to that.

She gritted her teeth as Honoria came out on deck, escorted by Farruco. Apparently, she was being made to feel quite the honored guest, as Farruco seemed to be giving her a tour. He pointed out into the distance and a peal of silvery laughter rang out, causing dark heads to turn in her direction, Iñigo included.

“You would think they’ve never laid eyes upon a woman,” Finn muttered, scowling at Honoria. “The way they all gawk, and how Javier almost toppled headfirst into the rain barrel yesterday. They should only know how foolish they look.” She sniffed again, and attacked the deck with renewed vigor.

A cramp in her right thigh brought her back to the present. Rocking back, she plunked the brush into the bucket, reaching up one arm to draw her sleeve across her sweaty forehead, staining the expanse of gray linen. Honoria and Farruco were gone now, and instead of feeling relief, she was more annoyed. “It feels as though I’ve been here half my life and yet, only a small portion is actually clean. Meanwhile, Lady Blonde is treated as if she were royalty. If only—”

“You! Boy!”

She ignored the shout coming from the stairs as she reached into the bucket to retrieve her brush and resumed scrubbing. Moments later, a shadow fell over her. Looking up, it was to see Mateo standing over her, long legs shoulder-width apart, arms folded over his massive chest as he glared down at her with most menacing eyes.

She did not know Mateo, having only seen him sparingly since she arrived onboard the
María
. It seemed each time she laid eyes upon him, he lounged about, watching the others as they toiled.

“Boy! Answer me when I’m talking to you.”

She paused in her scrubbing, rocking back once more. “What can I do for you?”

He crouched down, coming eye to eye with her. “You a pretty lad, ain’t you? That why the captain keeps you locked away night after night? You make him odd?”

“I’m afraid I know naught of which you speak.” She went back to her scrubbing.

Mateo ripped the brush from her hand. “Who do you think you are, boy? You’ve been on this ship but ten days. You do not turn your back to me.”

“Leave me be,” she said, glaring up at him and holding out her hand, in no mood for a battle. “My brush, if you’d not mind.”

He grinned at her, revealing graying, stained teeth, several of which were missing. “Nay, lad. It’s of no mind.”

He tossed the brush over his left shoulder, down onto the main deck. It hit the planks with a loud
thud
, catching the attention of the men below. Heads turned in their direction, hands coming up to shade eyes from the bright, blinding rays of the sun.

Heat crept into her cheeks, but she held Mateo’s stare easily. “You
will
fetch that for me, won’t you.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. She fully intended on forcing his hand, as to give in would mean nothing but further misery for her.

He threw his head back and laughed. “That’s amusing, boy. Think you I am a go-for? You want it?
You
fetch it.”

She drew herself upright, hands on her hips. “I did not throw it, man.”

Mateo mimicked her stance, dark eyes hard beneath unruly black brows. “Tell me, you the captain’s plaything as well? Never guessed he liked anything other than wenches. I suppose I was wrong. Guess he won’t mind sharin’ Miss Honoria, either.”

She sniffed even as her gut twisted painfully. “Mad, is what you are. I am merely there to help him dress and fetch things as he needs them. And, as everyone’s seen, I splice rope quite well.”

“’Course you do, boy. And I’d wager you make yourself right comfortable in his bed night after night, don’t you?”

“You are mad,” she repeated, folding her arms over her chest. “Now, if you do not mind, I’ve work to do.”

Mateo let out another coarse laugh, kicking over the bucket to send its contents sloshing toward the bow of the ship. She groaned. The rain barrels were lashed to the mainmast, which meant having to make her way through the now-gaping throng of men watching with utmost intensity. “You nasty little man,” she sputtered, wishing she dared throw the blasted bucket at him to knock his asinine grin from his meaty face.

“I’ll wager the captain won’t mind lettin’ you shirk a duty or two.”

“There is nothing odd about your captain,” she growled, eyes narrowing. “He touches me no more than he touches any one of you. And if I were you, my friend, I would think twice before uttering such nonsense out loud. You know not what he will do, should he overhear you questioning his manhood.”

She moved to step around him to get to the steps, but he shifted to block her path. Frustration twisted her belly as she was forced to halt. “Do it again,” she gritted, “and you
will
regret it.”

Another bark of laughter. “Regret something brought on by a child? I think not.”

She didn’t reply but sighed, rolled her eyes, and made to step around him again. Mateo blocked her once more. Lifting her eyes to his, she growled, “Move.”

“I think not, boy.”

“I said,
move
!”

He jabbed her in the shoulder with enough force to knock her several steps backward. “Well?” he taunted, remaining teeth flashing in a cold sneer. “Ain’t I supposed to regret this?”

Finn regained her footing and stared at him for a long moment, fighting to control the fire in her blood. “If you do not move this instant, trust me, you
will
regret it.”

“Do your worst, boy.”

Without thinking, she picked up the bucket and heaved it at him. It slammed him upside the head, splitting the skin over his left eye before clattering down onto the main deck.

Mateo let out a howl, dropping to his knees, and pressed a grimy hand against the jagged slash on his head. “You cur!” he hollered, pushing upright and reaching inside his filthy white tunic.

The fire turned to ice as her eyes fell upon the lethal-looking dagger clutched in his fist. She backed up, cursing Iñigo for confiscating her dagger. Fighting to keep her breathing even, she glanced around in hopes of finding something,
anything
else she might use as a weapon.

The men gathered below began jeering, urging Mateo on. She was the newcomer, the outsider, even though they’d accepted her. Not a one would come to her aid.

“Come, boy. Make me regretful, won’t you?” he taunted.

“Take not another step.”

He lunged, swiping at her in one motion. She ducked the blade, springing forward and bouncing upright almost at once. Mateo let out another howl, spinning about to see the crowd was quieter now. “Come, coward. Do not duck and hide. Face me as a man.”

Finn’s eyes remained trained on the dagger’s blade, glinting brilliantly in the sun. “You attack an unarmed boy, and yet
I
am the coward? I think not,
amigo
.”

Her taunt drew forth a roar of mocking laughter from the spectators. Mateo’s swarthy skin reddened at the jeers now aimed at him. Blood trickled down his cheek in a narrow rivulet, running into his unkempt black beard. He made no move to wipe it up, snarling, “I’ll spill your blood, whelp.”

“Yet another threat?” she taunted, shaking her head. “Enough boasting, my friend. Do what you will.”

Mateo flew at her, arm upraised, dagger ready to strike. She remained calm, her eyes trained upon him. At the last moment, she dove to her right, extending her left leg at the same time. He lunged at empty air, tripping over her foot, before crashing down the very flight of stairs he’d blocked her from using.

Finn whirled about, hands on her hips, unable to stop the smug grin pulling at her lips. “I tried to warn you.”

A low murmur went through the crowd as Mateo lay sprawled on the deck for a long moment. All heads whipped toward the quarterdeck and just as quickly, they dispersed, each man returning to what he’d been doing.

Her satisfaction drained away as she spied Iñigo on the quarterdeck, arms folded across his chest. She could not make out his expression, but by the way the men hurried back to work, she surmised it wasn’t one of amusement.

Heat stinging her cheeks, she held her head up as she moved down the stairs. She stepped around Mateo, who still fought to draw air into his lungs, to retrieve her bucket and brush, feeling Iñigo’s gaze upon her the entire time.

She tried to ignore his heated stare, which grew colder as she drew nearer, and went about refilling the bucket to lug it back to the foredeck. As she resumed scrubbing, she fought to put the incident from her mind.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Another shadow fell over her. This time, when she looked up, her gut roiled furiously as Iñigo stood over her, none too happy.

“What goes on here?” he asked, his voice mild, hands in fists, resting upon his hips.

“I was up here, minding my chore, when Mateo decided it would be great amusement to come up here and taunt me.”

“Taunt you, you say? What, pray tell, did he do?”

She hedged. She had no allegiance to Mateo, no reason to protect him, but she was unsure if she
should
tell Iñigo. She had no way of knowing how he would react. She straightened her shoulders. “Mayhap you ought but ask him. He is the one who started it all.”

Iñigo swore softly under his breath. “You know I cannot ignore this, Finn. It would have serious—”

She cut him off. “Then you ought ask him.”

He folded his arms over his broad chest, his shirtsleeves drawing tight around his thick arms. “What happened, Finn?”

She sighed, splunking the brush back into the bucket, and drew her sleeve across her forehead. “I was up here, scrubbing, as I was told to do, when your man came up and began taunting me.”

“Taunting you? Taunting you how?”

It was difficult, trying not to shrink down before those penetrating amber eyes. He never raised his voice, never let any heat creep into his words, yet she was upbraided just the same. “He had—questions—about the nature of our relationship. Yours and mine, that is to say.”

“Questions, you say?”

Now
heat inched its way into his voice. Still, she aped him, booted feet slightly apart, arms folded over her chest, chin set at an arrogant angle. “He wanted to know the true reason you keep me as your cabin boy.”

Iñigo's lips pressed together tightly, disappearing into a thin white line. “I see. And what did you tell him?”

“What did I tell him? I told him the truth, of course.”

“The truth?”

She couldn’t help another smug smile. “I fetch you breakfast and help you with your boots. Things of that nature.”

Iñigo sighed, reaching up to rub his eyes. “I will deal with him.” He gestured toward the bucket with one hand. “You may resume what you were doing.”

As he turned to make his way to the main deck, Finn stared, slack-jawed, at his back.
That
was all he had to say on the subject? Not even a
thank you
? After all, she could have very easily ruined his reputation, could have undermined every ounce of his authority, had she allowed Mateo to know what had happened the previous evening between her and Iñigo.

“Well,” she sniffed, sinking back to her knees and picking the brush from the bucket. “Arrogant jackass. It would serve him right if I
had
allowed everyone to believe such nonsense.”

She resumed scrubbing the deck with renewed vigor, finding it a much more pleasant task if she imagined herself scrubbing the skin from Iñigo's back instead of salt from the wood. Much more pleasant, indeed.

Iñigo muttered to himself as he crossed the deck to where Mateo sat, his back against the railing, still breathing heavily. His long legs splayed across the deck as he leaned his head back, dirty arm pressing his sweat-stained, dirty sleeve to the gash in his forehead. The only thing different about him was the gash, for Mateo was one of the lazier men onboard.