Seger, Maura (24 page)

The young Japanese woman was obviously no novice. She wielded the sword with deadly efficacy, dispatching several opponents. Dimly, in the back of her mind, Erin remembered hearing that the daughters of samurai families were also trained in the martial arts. But she had never expected to witness such forceful proof of that custom, especially not from gentle Odetsu.

"Come on," her friend commanded, "we must get below deck."

Erin obeyed instantly. Seizing her precious supplies, she followed Odetsu toward the hatch. Along the way, she thought to pick up a heavy length of wood. Compared to the glittering swords flashing all around her, it didn't make much of a weapon. But it proved unexpectedly useful when a samurai thought to make short work of Odetsu, only to find himself caught between the young woman's slashing blade and Erin's club. She brought it down smartly on the back of his head, sending him sprawling to the deck,

"I didn't think Western women were trained to do such things," her friend commented when they at last fell gasping into the passageway.

"We're not," Erin admitted breathlessly. "But it's amazing what we can do when we have to."

Odetsu nodded, gesturing toward the men suddenly streaming onto the
Rising Sun's
deck from other Satsuma vessels. "Reinforcements, and not a moment too soon. If Davin-san can just hold on, we may make it yet."

Erin glanced toward the prow. A low moan escaped her as she spied him surrounded by samurai, fighting fiercely but being pressed back relentlessly toward the railing. She took a quick step forward, only to be stopped by Odetsu, who had also seen the unequal contest and knew Erin could do nothing to help.

Takamori was nearby, frantically trying to fight his way to his friend's side. But it was too late. A soundless scream tore from Erin as Storm lost his balance, teetered for a moment and fell headlong into the remorseless sea.

Chapter Sixteen

"You must come inside," Odetsu said softly. "It will do you no good to stand out here."

Erin shook her head numbly. Oblivious of the freezing wind, she continued to scan the beach in front of the village of Myuga where they had taken shelter, and beyond to the icy waters where men in longboats were still searching for survivors of the battle, which had ended hours before.

Takamori's superb leadership had saved the
Rising Sun
and won the battle, but had not been able to help Storm. Despite frantic efforts, no trace of him had been found. Erin knew the search might well be futile, but she was grateful that it had not yet been called off. When that happened, her last hope would die.

"At least put this warmer cloak on," Odetsu pleaded. She slipped it around Erin's shoulders gently and managed to guide her over to a small stone bench overlooking the sea. They sat together for some countless time without speaking.

Tormenting images flashed through Erin's mind. Storm as he looked in Ned Carmody's office and again on the night of the dinner party. Their arguments about the
Emerald Isle
and
Nantucket Moon
that merely cloaked far more personal conflicts. The ferocity with which he had fought the samurai who tried to kill her in the market, and the tenderness he had shown her afterward. The days in his house when he selflessly refrained from touching her until the old wounds between them were truly healed and they could forge a new life together free of shadows.

She closed her eyes against the bittersweet memory of their lovemaking. How gently he had brought her to the full realization of her womanhood. How generously he had taught her to relish her capacity to both give and receive pleasure.

Only a strong, tender man could so encourage her to accept her own passions without fear or restraint. Storm was both. It was impossible for her to believe that a spirit which had triumphed over so much could be snuffed out by capricious fate.

She refused to accept what all the evidence insisted must be true. Every ounce of conviction she possessed told her she would know if Storm were dead. Just as she had known of his child growing inside her before the physical signs were manifest. But far from believing him lost to her, she was utterly certain he still lived. Where and how, she could not say, but that did not weaken her faith.

The sun was beginning to dip beneath the snow-fringed pine trees when she at last looked up. Takamori was standing over her. For the first time since she had met him, his stoic expression was gone. In its place was anguish and deep, abiding sorrow.

In a gesture that was at once a plea for understanding and a revelation of overwhelming compassion, he knelt down before her and took both her hands in his. "There is nothing more we can do."

Erin knew he was telling her the truth. The men were exhausted, night was coming, and the water was too cold to allow anyone to survive in it for very long. If any hope had remained, Takamori would have moved heaven and earth to continue the search. Not only did his honor demand that he do so, but he was also Storm's friend, a man with whom he had shared both the burdens and the rewards of their search for a new, better world. If he said it was over, then it must be.

Yet her heart continued to insist Storm was still alive. "Perhaps in the morning . . ."

Takamori and Odetsu glanced at each other. Both were extremely worried about Erin. In her anguished condition, she might well lose the child. If that happened, her final link to the man she loved would be gone and she could well feel that life had become unbearable.

Neither believed there was anything to be gained by deliberately misleading her, but they still wished to protect her from the full realization of the tragedy until she had a chance to regain her strength.

Rising, Takamori gazed down into her drawn face. Her eyes were fathomless pools of sadness. Her soft mouth trembled slightly. She seemed somehow smaller and more fragile, as though a vital part of herself had been stripped away.

Quietly he nodded. "In the morning."

With Odetsu's help, he got her inside the fisherman's house where they were sheltering for the night. The family, awestruck by such revered visitors, had gone off to stay with a neighbor. The small, one-room structure was austere by any standards, but Erin did not notice. She was barely aware when Takamori lowered her onto a mat and covered her carefully. Sleep came in a great dark wave that hurled her so far from consciousness that not even dreams could reach her.

She woke abruptly in the dead of night. All weariness was gone. In its place was a fierce if incomprehensible urge that propelled her out of bed. Tiptoeing carefully around the half-dozen or so people sleeping nearby, she left the hut and headed toward the twisty, rock-strewn path leading to the beach.

A full moon rode high in the sky, pale as an ancient shell marooned on some eternal shore. Its ashen light bleached out what little color remained in the winter-bare landscape. Stark silhouettes of trees marked the edge of jagged cliffs. Below, the sea pounded endlessly. Only scattered clusters of debris cast up by the waves testified to the great struggle that had raged scant hours before.

Survivors of the shogun's fleet were under guard in the village. Satsuma loyalists held what had been the enemy ships, as well as their own. The Japanese dead were laid out in readiness for the cremation ceremony the following day. The bodies of Americans and Europeans who had perished in the battle were wrapped in canvas shrouds in preparation for transport back to Yokohama and burial. Messengers from Takamori were on their way to the capital at Edo to inform both the emperor and the rebel leaders of the great victory.

It was a time of immense rejoicing. The shogun's power was finally crushed, civil war was averted at the cost of relatively few lives. But none of that touched Erin. She thought only of Storm, and her absolute conviction that he was alive somewhere out there, calling to her.

In her anxiousness to find him, she slipped several times on the steep path. By the time she reached the beach, her hands were cut and bloodied. The wind whipped her cloak around her legs. Her ebony hair blew out in a stream behind her as sea foam lashed her face.

She began to walk, drawn by a power she could not deny. Heedless of her direction, she scrambled over boulders and squeezed through narrow defiles in the cliffs that often ran straight down to the water's edge. The tide was coming in, soaking through her shoes and turning the bottom of her skirt and petticoats to a sodden mass.

Chilled to the bone, she trembled uncontrollably. Several times her knees buckled, sending her sprawling onto the cold, wet sand. But she kept going, driven by sheer instinct and desperate need.

The moon drifted behind a cloud, momentarily blinding her. Erin leaned against the face of the cliff, trying to get her breath. Straining for any sound, she could hear only the pounding surf and the murmurings of the wind whipping around the ancient stone.

The cloud slid by. Silvered moonlight spilled across the sea. Fingers of light illuminated the beach. Almost overcome by weariness and despair, Erin nonetheless moved on.

Doggedly putting one foot in front of the other, she gave up trying to keep track of how far she had come or how she might get back. Instead she concentrated utterly on answering the primeval cry echoing within her.

A black shape swam within her vision. Tossed up on the beach, it looked at first like a large chunk of driftwood. Not until she got closer could she make out the shape of a man, lying facedown in the sand.

She began to run. Her feet caught in her hem and she stumbled, but kept going. Almost there. He wore a white shirt and trousers. Tall black boots still hugged his legs to the knees. An unruly mass of glistening hair clung to his head. Though his features were turned away from her, she had no doubt of who he was.

"Storm!"

No answer. He might have been dead for all his awareness of her presence. But Erin never even considered that possibility. When she slipped to her knees beside him, her hand feeling for the pulse at his wrist, it was only to confirm what she already knew. The beat was slow and weak, but still unmistakable. He was alive, though badly injured.

The chunk of a mast lying beside him gave mute testament to how he had managed to survive. Destruction of the huge oak timber had cost several men their lives, but saved Storm's. By holding on to it, he had managed to stay afloat in the sea long enough to be washed onto shore.

Erin could never remember afterward how she got back to the fisherman's hut to awaken Takamori and Odetsu. Once they understood her incredible discovery, men were rapidly dispatched to bring Storm to the village. Erin tried to go along with them, but Takamori forcibly stopped her.

As Odetsu hurried to get water boiling and stoke up the charcoal braziers, he carried Erin to a quiet corner of the house and spoke to her firmly. "It is a miracle that you found him and that he is alive. But you will do him no good if you exhaust yourself. Save what strength you have left to help care for him."

She nodded mutely, knowing he was right. Her endurance had been pressed as far as it could go. For her own sake and the baby's, she had to rest, if only for a few minutes. Obediently she sat back on the mat and sipped the tea Odetsu brought her.

By the time Storm was carried into the hut, some color had returned to her face. Far from being weakened by her exertions, she felt stronger and more vigorous than she ever had in her life.

As Odetsu stood by with heavy blankets, Takamori and Erin stripped Storm's salt-encrusted clothes from him. His body was blue with cold and he did not stir. Wrapping him in quilts, Erin checked quickly for injuries.

He had suffered several minor slashes during the fighting, but none of them was still bleeding. There was a bruise on his forehead just beneath the hairline that did not seem serious enough to be contributing to his un- consciousness. His breathing was shallow but regular.

"We can't do much for him," she said softly, "except to keep him warm and watch him carefully. There's no way of telling right now how much water he swallowed or whether his air was choked off for any length of time. Until he comes to, I won't be able to assess the damage."

"I will sit with him," Odetsu offered.

Erin thanked her but shook her head. "I can rest later, when I'm sure he will be all right." Now that Storm was found, she had lost her confidence that he would not die. Every breath he drew was precious to her.

She gave in to Odetsu's pleading only long enough to slip away and change into dry clothes. Back within minutes, she sat down beside him and reached beneath the covers, her hand grasping his.

For hours she remained like that, not taking her eyes from him. Toward daybreak, he was seized by a fever that made him toss and turn restlessly. Takamori's help was needed to keep him from rolling off the bed.

Over and over, Erin bathed his heat-infested body. Holding his head, she urged him to drink. Her low, urgent voice whispered to him of her love and her determination that he would not die.

In midafternoon Takamori found her curled up asleep at Storm's side, her hand still holding his. He covered Erin with a blanket but did not disturb them. Storm was sleeping more peacefully, as though calmed by her nearness.

Erin woke in early morning and swallowed the bowl of food Odetsu brought her, without tasting a morsel of it. The moment it was done, she resumed the task of bathing Storm in melted snow.

There was no end of people willing to do that for her, but Erin persisted. She sensed, and they all agreed, that her touch strengthened him in some indefinable way no one else could match.

That night, when he began suddenly to shake with chills, she hesitated barely an instant before slipping beneath the blanket. Wrapping her arms around him, she cradled his head to her breast, her hands running over his lean, hard body as she strove to impart her warmth to him.

Storm muttered something she could not make out and grasped her closer. His beard-roughened chin rubbed against the softness of her neck. Even through the heavy wool of her skirt, she could feel the muscular power of his limbs.