Eden's Pass (11 page)

By the time Finn returned to Iñigo's cabin, the tightness in her chest receded. A hint of smoke hung in the air as the
Magdalena
had been set aflame and left to burn on the water. A heavy tiredness sunk into her bones. Her arms and shoulders ached, especially her wounds, but since Farruco was busy enough tending to those more seriously wounded, she didn’t trouble him with hers. She would tend to them herself instead. The bleeding slowed, and all she wanted to do was crawl up into her hammock and sleep.

It wasn’t meant to be.

Iñigo looked up from the sheaf of parchment on his desk. She bit back an annoyed sigh, knowing sleep was now most likely going to wait. “Farruco will tend to the girl when he has finished with our wounded.” She closed the door and crossed to her hammock. “Juan and Martín are assisting him.”

Iñigo nodded, setting down the parchment with a slight scrape. “And how many wounded are theirs?”

Swaying the hemp slightly, she debated whether or not to simply climb up and see how he reacted. Running a thumb along one rough section, she replied, “Three from the
Magdalena
. Two seriously. We’ve lost six at their hands and twelve were injured.” The hemp squeaked and she opted to risk climbing up.

As she turned away, Iñigo said, “Your wounds still bleed, Finn. Did Farruco tell you to return later?”

She froze. Though she grimaced at the burn of split skin and torn muscle, she’d managed to push it into the darkest recesses of her mind. But with his words, though, the sear flared again and she winced as she moved her arm to grip the hemp. Setting her jaw against the cry threatening to break free, she replied, “Nay. I do not need his assistance. The others fare worse than I do.”

She reached over to pluck the bloodstained sleeve from her skin. What she hadn’t realized was most of the blood soaked into the grimy linen had dried. It became painfully apparent, though, as the fabric stuck fast, pulling at the broken skin to send an arrow of pain flaming up her arm.

At her hiss, Iñigo's chair scraped and his boots thudded dully against the floorboards. “Leave it be before you spill a bucket of blood across my floor.”

Her stomach clenched as he crossed over to her and reached for her arm. “Nay, Captain,” she managed to grit out even as her head spun. “I am fine.”

But he wasn’t about to listen as he said, “An order, Finn. If it is not serious, I can stitch you up.”

Icy dread washed over her as he refused to release her hand when she tried to pull it back. Desperation chilled her from the inside out. “Captain, please. I do not argue, but there is no need for all of this fuss. The bleeding has stopped and I am fine.”

“Blast it, Finn. Cease being so damned stubborn.”

She ducked as he reached for the lacing at the front of her tunic. Horror made moving almost impossible, which was probably best, as she had no feasible explanation as to why she couldn’t remove her shirt.

She had to swat his hand away, had to halt him before he discovered her secret. She twisted away. “I say it is fine. Leave off, won’t you?”

He frowned, snatching her arm in a fist. “Breaking your word, Finn? Need I remind you of the consequences?”

Wanting to scream with frustration, she jerked her arm in a futile attempt to free herself. As she did, she clipped the side of the armoire with her injured arm. Fire exploded in her arm as her skin split and dark red blood seeped through the stain afresh. Her shriek was higher than even the youngest boy’s, and all worry of being discovered fled as she clutched her throbbing arm close.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she managed to whisper, “I beg you, Captain… Leave me be.” Nausea rose, swift and sharp, in a monstrous wave, leaving her no choice but to sink to her knees, lest she faint dead away.

To her surprise, Iñigo sunk down beside her. “Either I tend to it, or Farruco does, and I can assure you, you’d much rather I be the one.” When she shook her head, his words grew softer. “I am much more likely to keep your secret. I cannot say the same for my crew.”

The pain momentarily faded as she lifted her head, her belly flopping like a fish on the deck. “What was that?”

To her dismay, Iñigo nodded. “I am well aware of what secret you keep.” A devilish smile pulled his lips upward. “Or
two
secrets, as the case may be.”

Fiery pain flared, dousing out her fear. It hurt too much for her to care very much. She’d worry about the consequences when her blood stopped gushing, when her arm no longer burned as if ablaze.

Panting heavily, she nodded, sinking back into the wall. “Very well, Captain,” she managed to force out through gritted teeth, easing her grip on her damaged arm.

His touch was gentle as he pushed the sleeve up to her elbow. Frowning, he said, “You need remove your tunic.”

“Nay. The worst cut is this one.” She pointed to the gash on her forearm. Halfway between her elbow and her wrist, it was deep and clean, and it amazed her that Kittles hadn’t severed her hand from her wrist.

“That isn’t bleeding, Finn.” He rocked back on his heels. “Worry not. I assume you have your bandages wound tight once more?”

By now the pain had faded enough to render her able to glare at him. “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

His grin was maddening. “Ah, Finn, I admire your tenacity, but there is no need to keep up the charade. I know you are no more a boy than that pathetic creature you brought up from Kittles’s cabin.” As he spoke, he caught hold of the leather cord lacing her tunic closed. “So, I assume you are well hidden.”

The fact that he didn’t sound at all perturbed instantly put her on guard. “And you are all right with this?”

“I’m certain you’ve had your reasons for hiding your gender,” he replied evenly, tugging at the cord. “I will try to keep an open mind when you offer up your explanation.” Another grin pulled his lips. “And now, you will remove this.”

She did as he instructed, flinching and sucking in her breath as the movement of drawing the tunic over her head jostled her arm. Buried in the voluminous linen depths, her voice was muffled as she asked, “How long have you known?”

Whisking her shirt away, he said, “Since the night I forced you into the tub that first time. I found your bandages beneath the bed. If that wasn’t curious enough, I saw two most definite impressions in the linen.”

Though the linen bandages hid her from his sight, embarrassed heat filled her cheeks, heat that had nothing to do with her secret being discovered. “I can explain, you know.”

“There is no need to explain, Finn. Think you no other woman has hidden her gender in order to sail the seas?” He frowned as he leaned closer to examine the wound stretching almost to her shoulder. A rivulet of blood trickled toward her elbow and he frowned again. “I must admit, I was most impressed, seeing the way you handle your steel.”

Her stomach turned at his frown and she sucked in her breath as he prodded. “Take care, please. It hurts like the devil.”

“I apologize,” he said, meeting her gaze. “I don’t think it needs to be sewn. But, I might need to make use of your bandages.”

“Captain…”

His chuckle was soft and smooth. “I am but teasing, Finn.”

The heat in her cheeks grew as his gaze crept over her, lingering on her bandages. Her discomfort swelled as she fought the urge to cover herself. Nay, she’d not give him any power over her. Despite her odd discomfort, she managed to hold his stare. “Why did you not dispatch Kittles?”

Taking her good arm, Iñigo rose, lifting her to her feet before saying, “As I said, I do not slaughter in cold blood. I will deal with him as I see fit when we reach port. Do not trouble yourself about him, Finn. You are to stay away from the hold from this point on.”

She bit back a sour retort as he guided her to one of the chairs at the table. Arguing would take more energy than she could spare. Sinking into her chair, she sighed, “Do you wish me to fetch Honoria?”

His expression became one of confusion. “Why would I wish you to do such a thing?”

Giving him a long, level look, she said, “I am not dense, Captain.” She reached up to gingerly probe at the clean slice in her upper arm.

“Leave it be. I will wrap it.” Iñigo slapped her hand away from her arm. Turning away, he moved to the wardrobe, where he pulled out a length of linen toweling. Returning to his chair, he tore the towel into several long strips. “Now, you’ve yet to answer my question, Finn. Why should I wish you to fetch Honoria?”

Air leaked through her teeth as he went to work wrapping one of the strips tight about the wound. It stung, but her hiss was the only sound. Clearing her throat, she said, “I am no fool. You are the captain and she is but a spoil of battle.”

She wasn’t certain, but it seemed as though darkness flashed through Iñigo's eyes and his jaw tightened. His voice was equally taut as he repeated, “Spoil?”

The heat in that one word surprised her, but she nodded. “Aye. She is yours.” She jumped as he suddenly yanked on the linen and pain crackled up her arm. “Have I said something I shouldn’t?”

“Is that how Beauregard treated women?” Iñigo growled, shoving away and rising to his feet. “Is that how he would have treated you? Is that why you hid your gender?”

She stared up at him, at a loss for words. It seemed the silence would stretch into eternity before she finally found her voice. “I don’t know how he would have treated a woman. I do not recall ever seeing him in the presence of one. I can assure you, though, he knew nothing of my disguise. He had no inkling I was anything other than a boy.”

Iñigo stared hard at her, the darkness now absent from his eyes. “Then why would you suggest—”

She shook her head, not caring if he saw it as a deliberate provocation. “I am confused. Honoria is lovely, if a bit thin. Do you prefer to wait until she’s a bit—ah—softer?”

His jaw tightened again, her heart skipping a beat as he rumbled, “You will not
ever
suggest such a thing again, Finn. Is that clear?”

“But—”

“Is it?”

His glare held a hint of murder and she didn’t press. “Of course, Captain.” She didn’t know why his scolding annoyed her. Mayhap she was irritated at herself for pushing, or mayhap she was irritated with him for discovering her secret. Either way, she couldn’t help herself as she muttered, “Of course, I won’t suggest such a thing. I did vow absolute fealty, did I not?” She lifted her gaze to his, biting back a wince as a fresh spear of pain burned along her arm. It dulled to a throb, and she fought to put it from her mind. She was drained, both from battle and the conversation, and wanted only to close her eyes and sleep for several days.

But that was not going to happen.

“And now, we will discuss your deception.” Iñigo swiped up her tunic and tossed it to her. “Tell me why.”

She sighed as she tugged the linen over her head, taking care not to jostle her arm too badly. It was unsettling, how he didn’t seem at all upset. Was it because he already planned to have her whipped for her deception?

She had no other option. The truth was out. She had to confess. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a slow hiss before saying, “I needed to secure passage on a ship and it was the only way I could do it.”

“And no one aboard the
Smiling
Jack
learned the truth?”

She shook her head as he sat across from her. Tapping her forefinger against the table, she explained, “Only Ennis knows.”

Iñigo's mouth tightened. “Ennis knows.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement uttered in a toneless voice. She nodded. “Aye. Our friendship is one of a lifetime and runs quite deep. We’ve been together since we were but children on Barbados.”

Iñigo folded his arms over his chest, reaching up to rub his chin. Silence stretched forth again, broken by his question. “Tell me, why did you leave Barbados?”

This time, the pang in her belly had nothing to do with Honoria or her wounds, but the rising tide of memories best left hidden. Her mouth dry, she murmured, “It’s naught I wish to discuss, Captain. If you’d not mind.”

He sat back, shaking his head thoughtfully. “I’d not mind, Finn. It was mere curiosity which made me ask.”

Waiting for the pangs to subside and the sudden lump in her throat to dissipate, Finn gazed over Iñigo's shoulder and through the window. The grayness was slowly ceding to fading sunlight as dusk approached. The light seemed more gold than normal, or mayhap it was only the sudden tears stinging her eyes.

It took all of her might to not turn away as she willed those bloody tears
not
to fall. She didn’t want to show any weakness, refused to let him see how even thinking about Barbados upset her.

Iñigo didn’t press, but broke the stony silence by slapping both hands against his thighs, “I suppose I might give you the remainder of this day to rest. I daresay you look as though you could make do with the rest.”

She jerked her head toward him. “I think that unnecessary. I am quite capable of making more rope. Even in the dying light.”

The corners of Iñigo's mouth twitched, though he never smiled. A hint of laughter echoed in his voice as he replied, “You might wish to reconsider my offer, as I’ll not make it again. Think you I’d let you shirk your duties because I’ve learned your secret? That I cannot do. Even rope-making is important, you understand.”