Eden's Pass (6 page)

Chapter Six

The sky was a peaceful, inky black, a sea of twinkling stars sparkling against it. Men milled about, most having finished their chores for the day and now they took advantage of the beautiful night to simply laze about. Some leisurely smoked cigars. Some passed leather bottles back and forth. All looked up, curious as Iñigo dragged her across the deck toward the battered foremast.

“Diego!” Iñigo's voice carried out over the water.

She flinched at the scorching fury in his voice. Her stomach churned worse as she looked again at the scarred mast. A chill settled into her body, filled her bones and tossed her belly even more violently as she fought the urge to retch. Her terror was unlike any other, and she hated it with each step.

Her lungs refused to obey and draw breath, and the lack of air made her queasiness even worse. Her muscles twitched and jumped, and she had no remaining strength to struggle against Iñigo's hold on her. He was none too gentle, flinging her toward the mast. The air rushed from her lungs as she slammed into it full force, stunning her for a long moment.

Diego appeared, looking more than a little surprised at his captain’s rage. “Aye, Captain Sebastiano?”

“Bind his wrists. Five lashes for his disrespect. Add five more for his insolence.”

Diego grabbed Finn's left wrist with one hand, and her right with the other. He tugged, forcing her to embrace the battered mast, and the others wasted no time in gathering around to be spectator to this momentous occasion.

Curious stares burned into her back and renewed dread washed over her. Humiliation and terror brought a buzzing to her ears, and her eyes refused to focus. She swallowed hard against the thickness in her throat as Diego bound her wrists with a rough coil of rope. He yanked, and it was all she could do to hold back her yelp as the hemp burned her.

But hold it she did, along with her breath. She was frozen, waiting for her shirt to be cut from her back and her secret to be revealed. It would be far worse than ten lashes. Squeezing her eyes shut, she did something she hadn’t done in what seemed like a lifetime.

She prayed.

Iñigo stood off to the side, arms crossed, watching Diego bind the boy’s wrists. Already, he second-guessed himself. The terror in the boy’s eyes was plainly visible, but there was something else. Gone was the bravado, the arrogance Finn had shown below. He visibly shook—actually trembled from head to toe. His teeth, surprisingly white and intact, pulled at a bottom lip, which suddenly seemed surprisingly lush and sensual.

¡Dios mío!
Iñigo’s lips curled back in a sneer of their own accord
. What the devil is wrong with me?

Diego stepped back. “He is secured, Captain.”

Moving closer, Iñigo nodded, holding out his hand. “The cat, Diego.”

Diego stepped up, holding out a freshly woven cat-o’-nine-tails. Iñigo had forgone the common practice of forcing the boy to make his own instrument of punishment. For this lashing, inspired fear was unnecessary. The boy was already beyond terrified.

Iñigo stared hard at Finn's back. The boy’s thin shoulders shivered and shook, and his head rested against the mast, even as the shivering worsened. Still, his unease at the spectacle did not halt the words rising in his throat.

“Diego, remove his tunic.”

Finn's heart hammered her ribs, her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps as Diego replied, “Aye, Captain.”

Her throat tightened as she fought to swallow, watching Diego press the whip into his captain’s hand. Craning her neck, she peered over one shoulder. The cat was clean. What had happened to the man who’d woven it? It did nothing to ease her growing terror.

Twisting her neck further, she ignored the slow burn of a pulled muscle snaking through the sinews as Diego withdrew a dagger from his belt. She couldn’t halt her trembling, couldn’t stop shaking as he grabbed a fistful of her tunic. Icy sweat slicked her back, trickled between her tightly bound breasts as dots danced before her eyes. Her blood pounded in her head, becoming louder with each second.

Dear God,
she prayed, squeezing her eyes shut and swallowing hard.
Please, please let it be quick.

The ringing bells surprised her. She’d seen no bells onboard the
María.
Yet they clanged wildly in her skull. She couldn’t catch her breath, couldn’t do anything but sag up against the mast. She had no choice, her legs were refusing to hold her weight any longer.

“The first punishment is five lashes,” Iñigo announced over the noisy bells.

The dagger’s blade pierced her tunic, below her nape, barely poking her skin. The bells seemed even louder now. Iñigo cracked the whip over his head and the rushing black tide swallowed her whole.

The swirling black muck slowly receded. The sour taste was gone. No cool breeze kissed her bare back. Her back. It didn’t sting. Not a whit. Absolutely nothing. Her eyes fluttered open and it took a moment before she understood that she lay face down on worn, musty hemp. Her hammock. Stretching, she gasped at the stinging of the bandages rubbing the raw skin beneath her breasts, but that was her
only
pain.

She halted the movement. Her back didn’t hurt at all. She didn’t even feel the cool breeze blowing in through the small window above her hammock. With tentative fingers, she reached over one shoulder. Aside from the small, frayed hole caused by the point of Diego's dagger, her shirt was still intact. A relieved sigh leaked between her lips. She’d been spared and her secret also remained intact.

“Ah, you are with us once more.”

Her sigh became a groan at the low pull of Iñigo Sebastiano’s voice. Dropping her head back to the hemp, an oath bubbled to her lips, but she choked it back at the ominous sound of creaking leather and the dull thud of boots on the floor.

She had to force herself to watch Iñigo cross over to her. The cat rested on the table, its nine separate, knotted lengths dangling over the edge. Her relief ebbed away. Would he attempt to mete out his punishment once more?

“Such a brave boy,” Iñigo sneered as he drew closer. “Fainting at the very crack of the cat, the way a
woman
would. For shame, Finn. There is no honor in lashing one who
faints
.”

Her first instinct was to ask how there was ever
honor
in lashing a body, but she managed to swallow it back. It would be madness to provoke him again, and she had no desire to find herself lashed to the mast again any time soon.

However, Iñigo seemed more intent on taunting, rather than punishing, her. He stopped mere feet from where she lay, his lip twisting as he sneered, “Pray tell, is that why Beauregard kept you on, boy? Did he favor your womanly ways? Your womanly fears? Did you suffice when there were no females to be found?”

An inward sigh of relief. Her secret was still safe. He mocked her because he thought her weak and it was another way to get under her skin. Unfortunately for him, it was hardly an insult, nor was she offended by his disparagement of Captain Beauregard. Actually, she would not have been at all surprised to learn Beauregard swayed toward boys as well. Sickened, mayhap, but not surprised.

Iñigo's scorn brought a smile to her lips instead. Wouldn’t
he
feel very much like the fool to know how little his ridicule stung?

“I hate to disappoint you, Spaniard,” she replied, keeping her voice even. “I held very little interest for Captain Beauregard. Whatever his preferences were, I was not privy to them.” She jerked around to stare at the wall to her right instead of at him.

Snatching a fistful of her tunic, he growled, “Look at me, boy.” He waited for her to comply, which she did at once, her eyes holding his with little fear. “It’s not too late to repeat the scenario. And this time, I’ll not care if you do faint, boy. I will flay your back to the bone.”

“Coward.” The word was out before she could halt it.

“So you seem fond of saying. It’s amusing, how you boast with all of the arrogance you possess. But you should only know how your ghostly face tells me otherwise.” He released her, moving back to the table to lift the cat-o’-nine-tails and let the tails slip through his fingers. “And now we both know your Achilles’ heel.”

She frowned. Her what? “And who is this Achilles you refer to?”

Iñigo smiled, dropping into the chair facing her, letting the whip fall across his lap as he lifted both booted feet up to rest upon the table. “I take it you’ve very little education then, Finn.”

It was a bit of a sore spot with her, her lack of schooling. She’d had but only a whit of schooling as a child, and only due to Mary’s insistence. When Tobias discovered what the two children were doing, he put an immediate end to it. Though Mary did manage to teach her to speak well. Still, it wasn’t something she was proud of, knowing no history, only barely being able to write, and struggling with even the simplest of books.

“I’ve schooling aplenty,” she retorted sharply, sniffing to show him how ludicrous she found his notion. An airy wave and she shrugged, rolling her eyes. “I’ve simply heard nothing of this man. Who might he be? A friend of yours?”

Iñigo threw his head back as he let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I suppose it
might
be possible, were I two thousand years old. No, dear boy, Achilles was a Grecian warrior. Almost impossible to defeat, save for one small flaw.”

“And what might that be?” she asked without thinking, propping her head on her fist. Her irritation drained away, filtered by her curiosity. She might not be educated, but it hardly meant she wasn’t interested in learning. Quite the opposite. And here was an opportunity. She’d have to be a fool to let pride end their somewhat civil conversation and pass up the chance to learn something new.

“His heel. An arrow pierced it and crumbled him to his knees, leaving him wide open for a lethal attack. It was his one weak spot and it was a weak spot which led to his destruction.”

“And that is what to find one’s
Achilles’ heel
means?”

“Aye.”

She smiled without thinking, offering up a pert, “I thank you for the history lesson,” and dropped back down onto the thin pillow he’d given her.

Her smile faded, though, as his voice floated over her. “And now, you
will
bathe, Finn. And you will assist me as well.”

She sighed, turning to face him once more. “And you trust I’ll not shove you under the water and hold you there ’til you drown?”

“I have every confidence that I am far stronger than you. Should you try such a thing, dear boy, I assure you, you will regret it. Remember what I told you. One mark, one threat, and my crew will dispatch you without a second thought.”

Nervous flutters took root in her belly once more. She would help the blasted pirate with his bath, but there was no way she would allow him to remain in the cabin if she were to bathe.

And she had about an hour to come up with the perfect excuse as to why she needed privacy.

Chapter Seven

The flutters swirled wildly out of control as there came a knock at the door and Iñigo bade entry to two men carrying a large bathing tub made of hammered brass.

Water must have been already heating, for it wasn’t much longer before those same two men were lugging in buckets to empty into the tub. With each splash, Finn’s mouth grew drier and her palms clammier. Her heart hammered against her ribs and her nervousness rose tenfold as the last bucket was emptied and both men left. Iñigo bolted the door behind them and turned to her, saying, “Show a leg, Finn.”

Finn glanced at the table, where the lash still lay, then back at the captain. He smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking. “If you think you might outrun me, dear boy, by all means, try to grab it.”

“I’ve no need for a whip.” She shook her head. “I’ll end your life with a blade.”

“Of course you will.” He turned away from her, and she was certain her heart actually ceased to beat as he parted the black silk shirt he wore and tossed it onto the chair.

Her gaze swept over his bared back, her mouth suddenly as dry as sand. His skin was dark—bronzed by both sun and heritage. At the slightest movement, thick cords of muscle bunched across his shoulders. For one daring moment, she imagined what
that
part of his body looked like—that part now covered by snug black breeches.

“Finn.”

She jumped, then sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the hammock. Heat swelled inside her, until she was certain her face must be a flaming red. It didn’t stop her from easing down and crossing over to him on trembling legs. “Aye?”

He turned, smiling at her muttered growl. “Ah, I only had to repeat it once. Good. You are learning.”

She averted her eyes, but not before catching her first glimpse of his nude chest. That damn heat swelled further at the sight—beautiful and bronzed and—

Where the devil had
beautiful
come from? She swallowed hard. Her thoughts caused almost as much discomfort as his bared body. They made her giddy, almost faint, and her wobbly legs grew wobblier still. The lack of food was most likely the cause behind it. There could be no other logical explanation why she was on the verge of collapsing.

Of course, why should
his
chest fluster her the way it did? Why should it make her so shaky? It made no sense. It certainly was not the first time she’d ever seen a man’s bared chest. Beauregard's crew often went shirtless beneath the hot West Indies sun. There were many times when she almost wished she could do the same, rather than sweat beneath those powerful rays.

But flustered she was. She swallowed hard, trying to ignore the funny tightening in her belly. Gaze remaining focused on the floor, she muttered, “Aye.”

“Feeling a bit priggish, dear boy?” Iñigo asked mildly.

Her head jerked up and she hoped he couldn’t see the blush burning her cheeks. “I beg your pardon?”

“Priggish. Embarrassed. Surely I’ve nothing your own clothes do not cover as well.”

She was as impressed by his command of English as she was embarrassed by his state of undress. Were it not for the curious, almost musical, lilt to his words, she would guess English was his native tongue. This wasn’t the time to dwell upon it, as he awaited her response—

“No, of-of course not.” Her voice cracked, much to her dismay.

He chuckled. “If it bothers you, you may wait until I am in the water, then.”

Relieved, she nodded. “If you’d not mind.”

She turned, wincing at his dry chuckle of, “I’d not mind.” Water sloshed, spattering on the floor and her belly twisted when he sighed appreciatively. A moment later, came his almost-purred, “You may begin, Finn.”

She took a deep breath before turning to see Iñigo relaxing in the tub, eyes closed and head resting back, arms resting on the rim, long-fingered hands at ease as they dangled over the sides. His expression was one of a man at total peace.

A washrag and a small cake of soap lay on the chair beside the tub. Willing her knees to stop quaking, Finn forced herself to cross over and lift both items, one in each hand. Kneeling, she dunked the rag into the hot water before mangling the soap with it. “Captain?”

Without a word, Iñigo sat up, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his drawn-up knees. She had to tighten her grip on the soap to keep from dropping it as the water sloshed to accommodate Iñigo’s big body. It rose above his hips and was still quite clear, giving her more than a bit of an enticing peek at the firm curve of his backside.

Her hand trembled as she
splopped
the rag against his smooth skin and began washing him. She pressed into his flesh, lathering his golden skin to a foamy whiteness, struggling not to notice how solid he was, how broad his shoulders were, how wide his back was. Tried not to notice the way those thick bands of muscle bunched with the tiniest hint of movement.

Scrubbing the back of his neck, she was nearly overcome with the maddest urge to lean forward and nibble swarthy skin she’d bared. The soap slipped from her grasp, plunking into the water to send up a showering spray of droplets. “Oh, bloody hell!”

“Take care, Finn,” Iñigo growled, lifting his head to peer over one shoulder. “You’d not like it if I thought my life might be in danger.”

“I—I apologize.” She thrust her hand into the water to scrabble about for the soap. Gritting her teeth against her rising curse, she managed to snag it on the third grab.

Iñigo let out a long, low purr of satisfaction as she resumed scrubbing. Water beaded along the swells of muscle on his shoulders and down his back. Instead of making his hair limp, the steam made the black waves curl about his nape and his temples, appearing to make it even thicker.

She clutched the rag and soap in a fist as she moved around to the side. The groan teasing her lips was even harder to suppress. Her hunger forgotten, she leaned over to drag the rag over his chest. One whiff of his clean, masculine scent, and her knees almost buckled.

He leaned back and she hesitated, glancing down at the now sudsy water hiding his most secret part.
Nothing ventured
. She dipped down to scrub his inner thigh.

Iñigo lunged forward to seize both soap and rag, nearly toppling her face-first into the tub. Catching herself on the tub’s rim, she managed to regain her balance, sputtering, “What the devil—?”

Iñigo's expression was one of pure disgust as he snarled, “Get yourself dressed, boy. I can finish this myself.”

A firm hand to her breastbone accompanied his order, shoving her back and away from the tub. Landing on her backside with a jarring thud, she stared, unable to decide whether she ought be angry or confused. A sudden giggle rose in her throat. He reacted only when she’d ventured down between his legs, and she swallowed it as quickly as possible, not wanting to anger him further.

Iñigo ignored her as she sat there, a hand pressed to her mouth. His mind had yet to figure it out, but his body knew he was not in the presence of a boy. Instinct at its most basic level had somehow known it. Still, his obvious discomfort amused her, as she hadn’t missed the way he sucked in his breath, nor had she missed the sudden tension in the thigh her fingertips brushed against. A mere graze and he jumped as if stabbed with a blade. Of course, she understood why it was appalling to him. How could she not? It offered no comfort, but the urge to laugh was a nice one—one she had not had in a long time. It died only at the slosh of slopping water and the patter of wet feet on the floor, followed by a growled, “Into the tub with you, Finn.”

She turned slowly, relieved to see he’d wrapped himself in a silk robe of midnight blue, and was now seated at the table, glaring at her as if he’d like to throttle her. “Captain, ah…”

His eyes flicked from Finn to the tub and back. “Still feeling priggish?”

“A mite.”

He sighed, shoving up from his chair. His sigh was annoyed, but she could see the disgust still lining his face. He was obviously angered and embarrassed by his own reaction to his cabin boy. His voice was brusque, his words clipped as he said, “I will be back shortly. Whilst I’m gone, you’d best make use of that blasted tub. Do you understand?

She nodded, more than willing to obey his order as she almost sympathized with his discomfort. Almost.

The good captain made haste to re-dress himself and she almost laughed again as he pointedly did
not
ask her to assist him. Instead, he swiped up the cat and stalked from the cabin, slamming the door behind him.

At last, she dissolved into those delicious giggles. After indulging for a good five minutes, she caught her breath, wiping her eyes as she calmed herself. Her sides still aching, she made haste to strip off her clothes, her humor fading as she unrolled the filthy bandages and took in the broken skin beneath them. It stung worse than ever, as the grooves were deeper and frighteningly red. Patches of raw skin had gone rawer still—a feat she didn’t think was even possible.

Kicking aside her filthy clothes, she carefully stepped over the tub’s lip and into the tepid water. She sucked in her breath, swallowing a rough cry of pain as she sunk into the water and it lapped at her seared skin. However, she fought down the pain as she set out scrubbing the filth from her hair and the grime from her skin.

When she finished, the water was practically ice-cold, and the towel not very dry, as it was the same one Iñigo had used. She wrapped it about herself as she knelt beside the tub, paused, and dunked the bandages into the soapy water, twisting as much moisture from them as she could.

“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.”