Eden's Pass (2 page)

“Ah, I commend you, lad. So young, and yet, such fight, such spirit. I feel it only fair to tell you that your cowardly captain is no more, so there is no need for you to remain defiant. His mistake is now yours and you might wish to lower your steel. Unless, of course, you wish me to run this one through.”

His English was smooth, but the lyrical lilt of his words sounded very much like the man she and Ennis slaughtered. Spaniards, no doubt. She’d crossed paths with only a few, but that lilt was one she’d heard before.

She opened her mouth to argue, but saw the
Smiling
Jack’s
captain lying crumpled against one of the bulwarks, clearly dead. Beauregard must have emerged in a drunken attempt to defend his ship and been run through. Her stinging shoulder forgotten, her surprise gave way to bitter regret. To surrender would mean surrendering
her
ship. Anger bubbled forth for a moment, but was quickly replaced by icy fear as she glanced up into the coldest eyes she’d ever seen—dark gold surrounded by thick black lashes.

Like his shipmates, he was dark-skinned, with a heavy fall of raven black hair tumbling to his shoulders. Unlike most of the others, though, this man sported no beard, but a neatly kept mustache instead. He towered above Ennis, holding one shoulder to keep Ennis in place, while pressing the tip of a lethal-looking blade into his side.

Where most of their invaders wore battered, buff-colored breeches and equally battered, stained white linen tunics, he was dressed entirely in black. Black leather boots blended into black breeches, which then blended into a flowing black shirt. His shoulders were broad, his chest was broad, but his body narrowed into slim hips and long legs. He wore no baldric, but a leather scabbard fastened around those narrow hips.

The scabbard, of course, was empty, as he held the finely-honed weapon in his left hand, its tip poking into Ennis’s side. Unlike the broad-bladed cutlass, this weapon was narrow, forged to a sharp point.

She looked up to see Ennis's eyes squinched shut, and she cleared her throat. “Leave him be. I will, of course, lower my weapon at once.”

“A fine idea, to be sure,” the Spaniard growled, his eyes never leaving hers. “But a far better one would be for you to set your blade down slowly and boot it my way.”

Another yelp from Ennis and the amber-eyed marauder chuckled. “By all means, think it over, lad. But be warned, for every second which passes, my blade sinks deeper into his flesh.”

Ennis’s eyes snapped open, wide and glassy blue with fear. “Finn…”

“Worry not, Ennis,” Finn replied in the calmest, steadiest voice she could muster, ignoring the warm trickle of blood at her shoulder as the sting returned. Flicking her gaze back to his captor, she nodded. “I will do as you ask, but you will release him first.”

“Will I?” The Spaniard mulled it over, before nodding slowly. “Very well.”

Ennis breathed a heavy sigh of relief as he lurched forward. Finn considered lunging at the Spaniard, but held back as she looked up to find him shaking his head at her. His eyes were cold, filled with silent warning as his gaze held hers. Her blood ran icy at his stare and it was over. She had no choice. She could not defeat the man if she tried. Her stomach churned as the realization swept through her.
No choice.
She’d lost her ship. And with it, her dream.

A heavy disappointment washed over her as she reluctantly dropped her cutlass and tapped at the handle with her foot. The sword spun toward him, clattering over the planks, and he lifted one booted foot to step down on the handle, halting it. When it stopped, he calmly sheathed his sword in the scabbard at his right hip and used the toe of his boot to lift her surrendered weapon. He frowned, curling his large hand about the handle to slice the blade through the air. “It hardly weighs an ounce, this,” he said. “Have you no muscle, boy?”

“I’ve muscle enough.” She cast a nervous glance at Ennis before peering over her left shoulder at the growing silence behind her. The few surviving men of the
Smiling Jack
were bested, and all were now quick to surrender.

Finn squelched the urge to look at Captain Beauregard again. She did not wish to see what these marauders had done to him, did not wish to see any more spilled blood. She’d seen more than enough to last her a lifetime already. Besides, it mattered not
how
he died—all that mattered was that he had. It was something she’d almost prayed for, but this was not the ending for which she’d hoped. She was to be free,
not
the possession of yet another.

She pulled her eyes from her weapon now in the Spaniard's
hands. “What have you planned for us, then?”

The man ignored her. His men apparently awaited his orders and he was quick to issue them in rapid-fire Spanish. Only moments later, the few men who’d surrendered had already taken the oath to join the Spanish crew. They marched from the
Smiling Jack
across the makeshift bridge to the ship now quietly bumping up against them.

Thoroughly defeated now, she turned back to the Spaniard, repeating, “And what of us?”

He flashed a maddeningly smug smile. “You will come with me, boy. I could use able-bodied swordsmen, seeing as how you dispatched one of my best men. This one seems equally skilled. You will be given the opportunity to earn your keep. After you pledge fealty to me, of course.”

Mayhap it wasn’t merely good fortune after all, if the Spaniard considered her an able-bodied swordsman. It was almost amusing, wondering what he’d think if he knew the truth. Her amusement was short-lived though. Nay. He also must never know the truth. “You wish me to
join
you?”

“Aye, lad. I am Captain Iñigo Sebastiano and you are my new cabin boy. And you, lad—” he clapped Ennis on the shoulder, “—will make for a fine deckhand.”

Ennis nodded. “Aye, Captain. That is how I served Beauregard. I will, of course, take your oath.”

Captain Sebastiano smiled down at both of them. “You will not be unhappy, my new friends. I run a fair ship. There are few who complain.”

Finn gritted her teeth at his jovial tone. Few who complain, eh? Well, she supposed she could find
some
way to swallow any complaints she might have. It did not sit well, having her promised freedom stolen with such swift ease, but she would eventually find her way to it. She had no intention of vowing loyalty to him. Not now and not ever.

Her resolve was short-lived, though. How terrible could it be? After all, it was exactly what she had done onboard Beauregard's ship, wasn’t it? Of course, it would mean remaining in disguise, but at least she might find
some
way to obtain the elusive specter of freedom. Exhaling heavily, she nodded. “Very well. I, too, will pledge loyalty.”

Iñigo smiled again. “Shall we?” He gestured toward the makeshift bridge and she swallowed hard again. He didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned with the cargo the
Smiling Jack
carried. It was almost as if his battle with them was personal. But why would this Spaniard have a vendetta against Captain Beauregard?

She kept quiet as Iñigo took her by the arm, shouted something across the deck, and they were joined by a second Spaniard who was every bit as frightening as the first. “Aye, Captain?”

“Diego—” The name was all she understood as he broke into Spanish, walking her and Ennis toward the rickety-looking bridge spanning the distance between the two ships. Diego was almost as tall as the captain, with a thick fall of shaggy black hair and an equally shaggy black beard. His heavy-lidded, dark-eyed gaze flicked in her direction, but snapped back as Iñigo spoke in rapid Spanish. Apparently, his orders had been to separate her and Ennis, for when they set foot onboard the Spaniard’s ship, Diego steered Ennis in the opposite direction.

The pit of her stomach dropped with a sickening splash as Iñigo faced her again. She debated grabbing the dagger tucked in her tunic, but her hand remained still. There were too many Spaniards still swarming about. It was better to bide her time and await the right moment to show itself.

Chapter Two

“What is your name, boy?” Iñigo gave the skinny whelp a long look, pausing his stride. The battle was over and he was in no hurry. He was the victor. His crew was now larger by nearly a dozen men, all quick to pledge their allegiance to him.

The boy did not even flinch. His head at an arrogant angle, he did not avert his gaze, but stared hard up at Iñigo, almost spitting out, “Finn.”

“Finn.” Iñigo nodded and glanced down at the lad’s bleeding shoulder. “Do you need my ship’s surgeon?”

Finn seemed surprised to find his shoulder bleeding, his eyes widening as he glanced over at the tear in his coat, and the dark splotch widening in a crescent below the frayed fabric. A lazy shrug. “Nay. It’s but a scratch. It pains me not.”

“Very well.” Iñigo studied the boy standing before him. There was something decidedly feminine about him. He’d noticed it when he’d taken Finn’s arm. Almost no muscle. His arm was tight and sinewy, but lacked anything that could even be remotely considered to be muscle.

Lack of bulk wasn’t the only thing that didn’t seem right about him. Aside from the smooth cheeks and thin arms, his eyes troubled Iñigo. They were almond-shaped, an odd silvery-gray, and fringed by thick, sooty lashes that were far too long by half. His hair was black, thick and coarse, cropped just above his slender shoulders. A few inches more, and the boy could almost be mistaken for a girl. An uncomfortable shiver tickled along Iñigo's spine. But damn if Finn wasn’t the prettiest boy he’d ever seen.

Finn bobbed his head sharply. “Aye, Captain.”

“And what position did you hold on Beauregard's ship?”

“I was his cabin boy. As I will be yours.”

Iñigo almost smiled at the arrogance in Finn's voice. Quite uppity for a mere cabin boy, for sure. Not that Iñigo minded. He’d enjoy the challenge of breaking Finn’s arrogance, of smashing it into dust. “Aye. I suppose you know what I expect of you.” At Finn's silence, he added, “Not so arrogant, are you, lad, when you’ve been bested?”

Finn sniffed. “Arrogant? I know not what you mean.”

“Of course you do.”

“I am afraid not,” he replied crisply, stopping to face him directly. “You speak in riddles.”

“I do no such thing. I noticed once your captain was dispatched, your will to fight seemed to vanish as well. You felt no loyalty to the man, so quick to offer surrender of your freedom and his ship?”

“Aye.” Finn shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I cared not for the man. Even less that he met his maker.”

That surprised Iñigo. “You disliked the man, then?”

“Aye. That’d be puttin’ it mildly.”

“I see.” Iñigo didn’t miss Finn's sharp tone. Mayhap there was more to the lad’s relationship with Beauregard, a facet that disgusted him? Another shiver threatened Iñigo's backbone and he shoved the uncomfortable imaginings from his head. “Well, it matters not. He is no longer your concern. I am.”

“You are?” Finn's voice cracked on the last word, shooting up an octave in a way that made them both wince at the same time.

“I am.”

A feeling of dread filled Finn with those two words. She had very little to fear where Beauregard was concerned. The man was a drunkard, sober only long enough to rise from bed and place his feet upon the floor—and that was on a good day. Though Finn had never tried it, she was quite sure she could have paraded around his cabin stark naked and he’d never have noticed.

She didn’t have that feeling where the Spaniard was concerned. His was not the look of a drunkard. His eyes were not bloodshot and heavy lidded, his skin was not sallow, but smooth and without the look of freshly tanned leather. His teeth were not blackened and foul and he carried no odor of rum seeping from his pores. In fact, she would even admit the Spanish captain was not at all unattractive.

She bit the inside of her cheek. How could she think such a thing? This man was a devil—

And now he was also her master.

The hilt of her dagger poked her, urging her to grab it and whip it free to wreak havoc upon him. Her fingers flexing, she lifted her right hand toward her coat, but she paused. Another chance would surely present itself before long, and she was rapidly learning the meaning of patience.

Ignoring the urge to roll her eyes, she vowed to
not
think about that yet. Instead, she would concentrate on escape, and take the first chance she was given to free herself of this latest imprisonment. They had to pull in to port sooner or later, and when they did, she would find some way to free herself.

With her pristine, uncluttered decks, Captain Sebastiano's ship was a world away from Beauregard's. The mottled, billowy sails blended into their surroundings. This ship made the
Smiling
Jack
look like a barely-floating heap of kindling. If it weren’t for the fact she was being brought onboard the Spaniards’ ship against her will, she would be even more impressed.

She glanced over her shoulder at the wreckage that had been the
Smiling Jack
. Spaniards now swarmed all over the ship, looting what little could be found in her hold, no doubt, and shoving the bodies of dead men overboard into the ocean.

Her stomach knotted. It was of utmost importance her true gender not be discovered. As a boy, she was of value to these men. As a woman, she would be considered bad luck and would not be allowed to remain onboard. They were in the middle of the ocean and there would be only one place for her. And
that
most likely only
after
the captain passed her around to every member of his crew.

She shuddered despite her best effort to remain still. Nay, it was most definitely in her best interest to remain a boy for as long as she could.

She glowered up at him, the way she would at Beauregard when he would hurl his vicious insults at her. “And what are my duties to be—” she almost choked on the word, “—sir?”

“Ah, we will discuss that in a bit.” He gestured toward his ship’s quarterdeck. “For now, you need only concern yourself with getting settled in your new home.”

Those words sent fresh irritation burning her innards. After nearly three months of serving Captain Beauregard, she knew him—his moods and his habits, as well as how to handle them—and it would one day pay off. Now she’d have to start afresh. It was more than a mite unsettling. Still, she shrugged as if she hadn’t any concern. “Very well, then.”

Iñigo looked surprised, as if he’d expected a bit more fight, a bit more argument. “I am glad we understand one another, Finn.”

She waited for him to continue, but he said no more. Instead, he marched her across the open deck and toward a stairway leading down into darkness. Without being told, she knew he was steering her toward his cabin. Another flash of apprehension, followed by a silent prayer that she’d not give herself away. It’d been too simple, fooling Beauregard, but this man would not be quite as gullible. What she didn’t know was how he’d react, should he learn her secret.

A final look over her shoulder at the
Smiling Jack
brought forth a surprising pang of sorrow as she watched the ship’s death throes. The tattered, grayish sails snapped back and forth in the wind, which had picked up considerably. The masts were splintered wreckage, one toppled over, the others leaning haphazardly as the ship listed wildly to her port side.

She turned away, whispering, “Bloody hell,” and dropped her head as sudden tears stung her eyes. When one of Iñigo's men approached to ask his captain something in Spanish, Iñigo replied in kind and she lifted her head. “What did you tell him?”

He shrugged. “Francisco asked what I wished to do with the ship.”

Finn held her breath. She didn’t like feeling on edge, didn’t like not knowing what to expect. She especially disliked the captain speaking a language foreign to her.

Iñigo looked as though he awaited a response. Unable to think of anything of substance, she shrugged as if it was of little importance to her. “And what did you tell him?”

“I told him to let it sink. I’ve not enough men to spare to bring in a worthless wreck of a ship. And I have what I wish from her, and so I am finished with her.”

What could he mean by
that
? Mayhap there
was
something of value in the
Smiling Jack’s
hold. As Beauregard's cabin boy, she’d spent precious little time in the hold, and what few ships he did attack, she was always ordered to remain behind. Curious, to say the least.

Gray smoke billowed forth as flames devoured the
Smiling Jack.
The acrid stench of burning wood stung her nose, only fading away as Iñigo directed her down into the shadows of the stairs. Should she be more afraid? Should she dread each step into those shadows? Fear was difficult to muster. Certainly the captain could hardly be more of a monster than those she’d already encountered in her score and three years.

She couldn’t halt herself from saying, “Ah, of course. How silly of me not to think of such a thing. What you wished was a few more men and a cabin boy?”

“You should be thankful I was in need of both. You do know I could have run you through and not have thought twice about the matter, don’t you? It wouldn’t have troubled me a whit.”

Fear trickled through her veins at how emotionlessly he spoke of ending her life, and she didn’t doubt he meant each word. Lifting her gaze to meet his, she almost shivered at the menacing glow in his unusual eyes. The trickle grew into a full-fledged chill to race through her. Still, it did not keep her from saying, “Aye. I suppose you could. Still, you do not expect me to find joy in being stolen from the ship that was my home now, do you?”

“And from the captain whom you yourself said you felt no loyalty toward. You will forgive me for not shedding a tear, Finn, but you will call
me
captain now.”

She bristled at his mocking, arrogant tone as he bowed low before her. “Will I?” she asked mildly, arching one eyebrow as he straightened up before her.

“You will, or you shall feel the sting of the lash each time you show disrespect. It’s how I keep my men in line and though you are but a boy, do not expect to be coddled.”

Her sharp retort died on her lips as another shudder rippled along her spine. The lash. Her flesh tingled at the very word and her mouth went dry. “Please, sir—” it was most difficult, forcing a meek tone into her voice, “—I shall, of course, be as respectful as a person in my situation might be.”

“Very well.” Iñigo swept his elegant black hat from his head, gesturing across deck with a sweeping motion. “
Bienvenido
a bordo de la María.
”

She frowned at him once more. “I am afraid I understood not a whit of your babble.”

Chuckling, he returned his hat to his head and replied, “I said, welcome aboard the
María
. Your new home.”

She crossed her arms stiffly over her chest. “I do so hope you are not expecting me to speak of how delighted I am to be here.”

“Not at all. But you will come with me now. First, we must get you out of those dreadful togs and into something a mite more appropriate, as yours will no longer be a life of leisure, but one of work.”

She couldn’t hold back her bark of laughter. “Leisure? Think you I did naught but loaf? Guess again, Spaniard. Captain Beauregard might have been a lazy sot, but I can assure you, he would not tolerate the same of me. And, I might add, I am most capable of working in these togs just fine.”

“Be that as it may, you are a member of
my
crew now. As such, and as your captain, I insist you change. Dear boy, know you not how fetid your odor is?”

Heat filled her. Even if she appeared to be a boy, it didn’t change the fact that she wasn’t, and despised feeling filthy all the time. She was only able to wash her clothes once a week, and bathe whenever Captain Beauregard left her water. To have Captain Sebastiano notice was enough to make her want to throw herself overboard. It was odd, as it never bothered her onboard the
Smiling Jack
. Why should it now? Surely she smelled no worse than any other man onboard.

Hoping her cheeks weren’t glowing pink, she sneered. “It’s one I far prefer over the smell of
Spaniard.
”

His eyes went blazing amber and an icy rush of fear swept through her, more powerful than any other before it. She had gravely insulted him but she couldn’t halt herself before the words left her mouth.

Iñigo’s full lips pressed together until they disappeared into a white line. He was none too gentle as he wrapped his hand about her upper arm, practically lifting her from her feet as he dragged her the rest of the way down the narrow stairs and down the corridor, growling, “Tell me,
eres tú un catamite, muchacho
?”

She struggled to keep up with him, but Iñigo was very near half a foot taller than her six inches over five feet, and her toes were the only part of her body touching the floor.

“I know not what you say, Captain,” she panted as they neared the door, out of breath. “I speak not your tongue.”

“I asked if you were a catamite, lad?”

She took immediate offense. “I am no such thing! I am every bit a man as
you
, sir.”