Seger, Maura (9 page)

He might have been a marauding pirate bent on plunder instead of the rescuer who had saved her from certain death. As she took a shaky step toward him, her eyes wide with unconscious entreaty, he growled, "You little idiot! What the hell are you doing here?"

Erin opened her mouth to answer him, but no sound emerged. She swallowed painfully and tried again. Still nothing. As the full impact of what she had witnessed, and what had almost happened to her, sank in, she began to tremble. Her body was swept by alternating waves of heat and cold. What little color had remained in her delicate features vanished completely. Against the milky whiteness of her skin, her eyes were huge terror-filled pools. All the blood seemed to rush out of her arms and legs, leaving her barely able to stand.

Without realizing that she did so, she reached out a hand to Storm. He was fading away, becoming less and less distinct with each moment. Or was she the one disappearing? Falling into a whirling vortex of darkness splintered by shards of darting light. Tumbling down a spinning chute to nowhere.

Someone called her name, but Erin did not hear. Merciful unconsciousness seized her as she slipped like a broken flower to the ground at Storm's feet.

Chapter Six

Storm's first reaction was astonishment, plain and simple. Erin Conroy faint? It couldn't happen. Even in her most flirtatious coquette days she had never shown the slightest susceptibility to the vapors. Yet there she lay, white-faced and helpless before him.

Hard on the heels of surprise came outrage at himself. How unfeelingly stupid could he be? She had damn near been killed! Cut in two by that bastard samurai. If it had taken him a moment longer to force his way through the churning mob and reach her . . .

Unable to think of that, Storm took a quick glance around to confirm what he had already suspected: the battle was over. It was safe to give her the attention she needed without further endangering them both.

Sheathing his sword, he lifted her easily. With Erin cradled tenderly in his arms, he stepped over the body of the man he had slain moments before and strode toward the end of the street where the shattered survivors of the melee were pouring out their stories to horrified cavalrymen who had arrived too late to do more than gather up the dead and succor the injured.

His eyes glittered dangerously as he thought of the army's failure to reach the battle scene in time. But his anger died as he silently acknowledged that the samurai had struck so suddenly there was no opportunity for anyone to truly challenge them.

Settling Erin across the saddle of his big ebony stallion, which was far too well-trained to have made any effort to flee the terrifying scene, he glanced up and down the street.

Most of the bodies were those of merchants unfortunate enough to be caught outside or of the shogun's samurai who were sworn to defend the foreign enclave. But a few, including the man who had attacked Erin, wore the insignialess armor of ronin, renegade samurai without land or leader.

They were among those most bitterly opposed to the "Westernization" of Japan. Several times in the past, ronin had risen up to try to expel the foreigners and return the country to what they believed was a more virtuous past. Each time, the shogun, ruling in the name of the emperor, had managed to throw them off. But this time, Storm wondered if he might not confront more than was immediately apparent.

Perhaps he was being unduly suspicious, but it did not seem impossible that factions who wanted to destroy the shogun himself might make use of the ronin to stir up civil unrest and create a climate of violence in which anything could happen.

Shaking his head, he reminded himself that this was hardly the time for political ruminations. Erin was still unconscious, her slender body pressed against his so intimately that he could not deny its effect. Gazing down at the pale face surrounded by a silken fall of midnight-black hair, he cursed silently.

God, how he wanted her! More than eight years ago when she had rejected him so coldly. More than when he kissed her in the garden during the Carmodys' party and thought his desire might snap all bounds. More even than when she had come to see him at the boatyard and he had caught himself struggling against the almost overwhelming need to help and protect her.

And now he was doing just that. But under circumstances that made it possible to accept what he might otherwise have regarded as weakness on his part.

After all, he could hardly have left her to the samurai, or, having saved her, abandoned her unconscious in the street. The fact that he was taking her to his home meant nothing beyond a simple act of humaneness.

As he reflected on the near-fatal danger she had passed through, his arms tightened around her achingly. Surely she was the most stubborn woman on earth. It wasn't enough that she had braved the perils of a journey that taxed the strength of the most robust man; she had to go on proving herself against challenges she should have never even considered confronting.

This nonsense about outfitting the
Nantucket Moon
and
Emerald Isle
was a case in point. Not for a moment had he believed she meant to go through with it. Her presence in the market indicated just how wrong he could be.

Shaking his head ruefully, Storm urged the stallion to a faster pace. He was becoming more concerned with each passing moment that did not restore her to consciousness. If she had suffered a blow to the head or any other injuries, he wanted to find out about them as quickly as possible.

Reining in before his home some slight distance from the center of Yokohama, he was relieved to see that the serene Japanese-style structure was undamaged.

The high wooden palisade completely surrounding the residence was intact and the barred gate firmly locked. Beyond it lay a meticulously maintained garden set off by scarlet and gold maple trees, softly babbling brooks, lotus-strewn ponds and nests of wild herons and ducks.

In the midst of the bucolic enclave stood the house itself. Two stories tall with polished wood walls and a red tile roof, it nestled harmoniously into its surroundings as though nature itself were responsible for its presence. A large veranda protected by bamboo shades gave way to sliding panels which allowed direct entrance to any of the rooms on the first floor.

Settling Erin on a low wooden bench before the main vestibule, he slipped off her shoes and his own boots, then scooped her up again and headed inside. For once, the spacious, austerely beautiful interior failed to relax him. He was oblivious of the graceful symmetry of paper screen walls, golden mats covering the floors, airy ceilings, natural wood supports and unobtrusive recesses discreetly furnished with choice pieces of artwork.

Entering a chamber he had learned to think of as a bedroom but which bore no resemblance to its Western equivalent, he set Erin down carefully on a straw mat and went over to a low, carved chest hidden away in an alcove. From it he took a thick, fluffy mattress, several blankets and a pillow. When they were spread out on the sleeping platform, they made a more-than-respectable bed.

Erin moaned softly as he lowered her onto it. Her face was as pale as ever and her breathing seemed shallow. Becoming more concerned by the moment, he hurried out of the room to find cool water and towels.

The silence in the rest of the house informed him that his servants were nowhere .about. Their absence did not surprise him. Knowing them as well as he did, he understood they must have hurried into town to help the injured. He could only hope none of them were among the victims of the ronin's rampage.

The kitchen was as deserted as the rest of the house. A large, open area surrounded the wood-fired range made of tiles and topped off by a metal funnel that guided the smoke outside. Nearby was the indoor well, a vital part of the facilities, since meticulous cleanliness was maintained at all times. Adjacent to it stood a sink comprising a large water jar and dipper.

Storm used it to fill a porcelain bowl, then grabbed a towel off one of the bamboo racks that held various utensils. Returning to the bedroom, he knelt beside Erin and studied her worriedly.

She didn't seem to have moved since being laid down. When he touched a coolly damp towel to her forehead, she made no response. Lifting the silken fall of her hair out of the way, he gently bathed her face, throat and hands, noting as he did so that she had suffered several scratches and bruises in her effort to escape from the samurai.

Quelling a moment's hesitation, he began to undo the long row of tiny buttons down the front of her dress. Her modesty would have to be sacrificed if he was to discover the extent of her injuries.

Easing the garment from her, he made a determined effort to ignore the pearly opalescence of her skin, the soft swell of her breasts, and the tapered slimness of her waist and hips. Struggling for a physician's objectivity, without a glimmer of success, he drew off her heavy petticoat and stockings, leaving her in only a thin cotton camisole and pantaloons that did little to hide the beauty of her form.

A sheen of perspiration broke out on his broad forehead as he gazed on her loveliness. His impassioned scrutiny missed nothing of the velvety darkness of her nipples showing through the delicate fabric, the slender line of her ribs leading inexorably to the indentation of her navel, the flat plane of her belly, and the shadowed delta beyond.

Cursing softly under his breath, he forced himself to search for injuries without regard to the havoc the touch of her body beneath his hands wreaked on his already fevered senses.

There were several more bruises and abrasions caused by contact with the rough wooden wall against which she had sheltered. But her head, which he checked with special care, showed no bumps or cuts.

Hoping that this meant her faint was merely the result of the terrifying experience she had passed through, he made her as comfortable as possible before settling down to wait for her to return to consciousness.

His vigil did not last long. Barely had he settled on the mat next to her than Erin's eyelids fluttered and she moaned softly. Recollection flowed back into her mind, bringing with it terrifying images of the street littered with bodies, the samurai, the raised sword ...

She sat up abruptly, her eyes wide with fear. Her gaze locked on Storm, already moving to soothe her. She felt no surprise at his presence, nothing but overwhelming gladness and the need to communicate her relief in the clearest way possible.

Without pausing to think, guided only by instinct, she reached out to him as her soft, moist lips shaped his name.

"Storm . . ."

Steely arms closed around her with infinite gentleness. Cradled against his massive chest, Erin luxuriated in the exquisite sense of safety and care. Enveloped in warmth and strength, she breathed in deeply, savoring the intrinsically male scent of burnished skin, crisp linen and tobacco.

She almost purred with contentment as his big hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so that she was forced to meet his quicksilver gaze.

"You gave me a hell of a scare," he muttered thickly, his breath warm against the delicate curve of her cheek.

Incredibly after the terrifying events of barely an hour past, she managed to laugh softly. "I didn't do myself a whole lot of good, either."

"What was Carmody thinking of, to let you go to the market alone?"

"He didn't know there would be trouble. How could he?"

"It's his job to know," Storm insisted. When he calmed down a bit, he might be willing to admit that no member of the diplomatic community could have anticipated the ronin's attack. Even with all his own contacts among the Japanese, Storm himself had not had any hint that it was coming.

But just then he knew only that Erin had been gravely endangered. The knowledge of how close he had come to losing her forever ripped through him. With a low growl, he bent bis head, claiming her mouth with fierce demand.

Far from being dismayed by his kiss, she met it with desire every bit as intense as bis own. The nearness of death had brought home to her once and for all how much she loved him. All thought of caution, propriety and doubt vanished before the sheer force of her need.

Her lips parted willingly to admit the rousing strokes of his tongue. Arching even closer to him, she teased the silken chestnut curls at the nape of his neck with her fingers as her breasts and hips moved against him heatedly.

"God, Erin, do you know what you're doing to me?"

Not completely, but she wasn't about to admit how innocent she still was. Instead, she gave herself up to a delicious sense of her own womanly power. Dazzled by her ability to move him, she held nothing back. What began simply as a kiss quickly became an erotic duel which neither could lose.

Her breath was coming in ragged pants that matched his own before Storm at last reluctantly raised his head.

"Much more of this," he growled, "and I will be tempted to forget the matter of your debt." Without really intending to do so, but driven by forces he could not begin to understand, he added ominously, "Or perhaps that is what you hoped."

Stung by the utterly unjust accusation, Erin yanked herself out of his arms. Very deliberately she wiped her hand across her mouth in an effort to blot out the lingering taste of him.

Storm scowled at the motion. It was oddly childlike in a way that made him feel more than a bit uncomfortable. Reluctantly he was forced to remember a certain conversation with Meg the night of the Carmody's party when, after having witnessed his encounter with Erin in the garden, the Irishwoman took it upon herself to inform him in no uncertain terms that her young mistress was utterly without experience in such matters.

"She may seem worldly-wise," Meg had warned, "but it's just a pose she's had to adopt to keep people from trying to take advantage of her. Don't be fooled by it, Captain Davin, else you'll be making the biggest mistake of your life. For eight years, that girl's held your memory in her heart. She's been blind to all others. Don't you dare treat her like some . . . some lightskirt!"