Seger, Maura (20 page)

"The swordmaster," Storm explained, "is Tokukatsu. He is revered as both a great artist and a holy man who translates the will of the deities into steel."

The small, wizened man who approached them from the hut hardly looked like such an august personage. He wore an austere length of brown fabric draped over one shoulder and tied at the waist by a twisted piece of cloth. On his head was a small peaked hat held in place by a cord secured beneath his chin. His feet were shod only in thin sandals.

"Doesn't he mind the cold?" Erin whispered. She could feel the sharp wind even through her wool dress and cloak. The mere sight of the swordmaster's poorly clad form was enough to make her shiver.

"He has been inured to physical discomfort from childhood."

Looking into the weathered, expressionless face, Erin could believe him. She remained silent as Storm and the swordsmith bowed to each other and spoke briefly. At length, Storm turned back to her.

"Tokukatsu has agreed to allow you to witness the creation of a blade. It is a very rare honor for a woman."

Though she was tempted to point out that she could well do without such privileges, Erin did not. Such behavior would be unforgivably churlish. Sensitive now to the vital importance of "face," she was not about to embarrass Storm.

Instead, she quietly accompanied the men to a small shrine set up nearby and watched as the swordsmith offered his prayers to the deity whose spiritual power infused his blades. This done, they returned to the forge, where a raging fire was being kept well stoked by assistants.

As a chunk of iron was shattered into many pieces and placed inside the forge, Erin's polite curiosity began to give way to genuine interest. The manner of the master swordsmith and his apprentices made it clear that she was witnessing an ancient, revered tradition, part of the living history of the country she longed to learn more about.

"How does he know when the fire is hot enough?" she asked quietly.

Storm smiled. "The first time I watched Tokukatsu make a sword, I wondered about that too. He told me the fire is ready when it is the color of the rising moon about to set out on its journey across the heavens on a June or July evening."

"Was he serious?"

"Absolutely. The techniques for sword-making have been handed down over so many centuries that they bear no resemblance to modern technology. Formulas, temperatures, even precise measures of time have no meaning."

Erin could well believe that. There was an eternal gracefulness to the movements of the men as they removed the fused iron and repeatedly subjected it to heating and pounding. Before she would have thought it possible, the ordinary chunks of iron were transformed into a long length of metal that was then carefully dabbed with clay.

"The pattern of the clay," Storm said softly, "controls how quickly the blade cools. If it is not done absolutely correctly, the weapon will be useless."

Placed back in the forge until the clay had baked to a stone-hard consistency, the blade was then carried to a trough of water set just outside. The swordmaster tested the temperature with his hand.

"It must feel like the sea in August," Storm said. "If it is too cold, the metal will shatter. Too hot and it will not solidify quickly enough to be sufficiently strong."

Erin's breath caught in her throat as she watched the wiry swordmaster lift the blade and without a moment's hesitation plunge it into the quenching liquid. Steam rose from the trough, hanging for a fragment of time before vanishing into the cool air. As the blade was removed and the clay chipped away, the swordmaster permitted himself a tiny smile of satisfaction. Proudly he held the blade up for Storm's inspection.

"Takamori will be very pleased. This promises to be a magnificent sword."

"It is for him?"

"Yes, that is why we came today in time to see it made. Ordinarily, Takamori would have been here himself. But since it is not safe for him to have his presence in Yokohama become known beyond the small circle of his supporters ..."

Erin nodded her understanding. Gazing back at the blade that was being carefully dried with a length of pure white cloth, she struggled to reconcile the undoubted beauty of the ritual with the purpose of its creation. The sword would bring death, perhaps very soon. But it would also protect life, and the vision of men who were determined to make something better of their world.

As they were bowed from the swordmaster's domain and remounted the horses waiting for them outside, Storm touched her hand gently. "I know you can't help but worry, my love, but believe me, men like Takamori understand what they are doing. Every possible precaution is being taken to secure the reformers' safety and success."

"But they are caught between two sides, aren't they? On the one hand, the shogun stands ready to crush them. On the other, the traditionalists oppose anyone who advocates closer relations with the West. It seems to me that with so many enemies, the odds of surviving are slim."

"I don't agree. Being something of an expert on the subject of survival, I think Takamori and his associates have a better-than-even chance of overthrowing the shogun, defeating the traditionalists and taking power for themselves. If I didn't, I wouldn't be helping them."

Erin glanced at him skeptically. "There you go trying to sound cynical again. It doesn't work. I know perfectly well that even if you thought Takamori didn't have a chance, you'd still feel compelled to assist him because you believe in what he's trying to do."

His abashed grin made her laugh. "Don't worry," she assured him, "I won't tell anyone. If asked, I will insist you are the epitome of ruthless pragmatism, interested only in achieving your own ends. I'll never let on that you have even a nodding association with principles, let alone actual morals."

"If you are asked anything at all about this subject, I hope you will say nothing at all and come to me at once," Storm said wryly. "I don't delude myself into believing the shogun is unaware of our activities, but I still prefer for them to be kept as quiet as possible."

Erin tried not to let his quiet admonition worry her. It was only to be expected that in a hotbed of political intrigue such as Yokohama, friends were difficult to tell from enemies. At least she could take comfort from the fact that Storm was hardly an innocent about such matters. As he had said, he had ample training in survival. She had a feeling her own education in that area was soon to be broadened.

Takamori was delighted with the description of his sword's creation. Dinner lasted well beyond the usual hour, as he and Storm spoke of it and other weapons with which they were all too familiar. Erin was not surprised by either man's wide-ranging knowledge, but she could not help but be a bit dismayed by their enthusiasm. They might have been speaking of toys, for all the concern they showed.

Odetsu shared her unease. The women spoke rarely during the meal, contenting themselves with watching the men they loved. As the last dishes were finally cleared away by sleepy-eyed serving girls, the couples rose and said their good nights. Erin felt only the slightest twinge of self-consciousness when Storm's proprietary arm around her waist made it clear that they were headed for the same destination.

Once in his room, the last remnants of bashfulness fell away as easily as the riding skirt and blouse he so expeditiously stripped from her. A sigh of pure bliss rippled through her as he gathered her into his arms, bending his tall head to trail gentle kisses from her brow to the dimple beside her mouth.

"This day has seemed at least a week long," Storm groaned, stepping back far enough to begin unbuttoning his shirt.

Erin laughed softly as her hands closed over his, taking over the task. The trembling of her fingers made her a bit clumsy, but she managed before too long to undo each button and reveal the sun-bronzed width of his chest. Her indigo eyes rapidly darkening with passion, she stroked the warm, hair-roughened skin, marveling in the perfection of his form.

Storm shuddered beneath her touch. His big callused hands slipped beneath the lacy edge of her camisole, exploring the delicate line of her back before gently urging the garment from her.

The blush that stained her cheeks and moved downward over her throat to the very tips of the full, high breasts he was admiring so unrestrainedly made Storm laugh. He watched in fascination as her nipples hardened and her skin glowed with the intensity of her arousal.

Chuckling wryly, he acknowledged that his own need was at least as great. The straining tautness of his trousers made that only too clear. Gently grasping her hips, he moved her against him, letting her feel for herself what she did to him.

Erin gasped softly. Their earlier lovemaking had not dispelled her fascination with the mysteries of male sensuality; on the contrary, she was more enthralled by him than ever. Of their own volition, her fingers gently traced the power of his virility. She delighted in the growl that broke from him.

With boldness that surprised them both, she unfastened the button at his waist and the first two below it. But beyond that she could not go. Storm laughed indulgently as he finished the job for her and slid the snug trousers off. Her pantaloons followed quickly, leaving no barrier to the impassioned touch of skin against skin.

Lifting her swiftly, he strode across the room and lowered her onto the sleeping mat. The glow of smoldering embers cast passion-twined shadows on the wall above them. Their bodies came together eagerly, reaching as one for the shimmering peak of fulfillment.

Drawing out her pleasure to the utmost, Storm waited until she was writhing beneath him before at last entering the silken haven of her body. Erin accepted him joyously, arching to meet each thrust. They moved in perfect unison, the very rhythm of their heartbeats merging. As the world shattered around them, their souls soared together, finding a freedom beyond all boundaries of human existence.

Deep in the night, they woke to make love again slowly and languorously, exploring each other's bodies with near-worshipful intensity. The hush of the dark hours shimmered with the force of their joining.

Storm's whispered words of carnal passion and loving need would have shocked Erin in any other circumstances. But wrapped in the cloak of gentle darkness, she responded without restraint until, inevitably, they drifted to sleep again in each other's arms.

The moon had long since set, and no pale hint of light yet marked the line between sky and sea when she stirred reluctantly. A wind rank with foreboding rippled through her dreams. She moaned softly, burrowing closer to the warm security of Storm's hard body.

He woke instantly, gathering her to him. "Erin . . . are you all right?"

Befuddled by sleep, she blinked dazedly. "I think so ... I must have had a nightmare. Something . . . frightened me."

Work-roughened hands caressed her soothingly. "Hush, now, there's nothing to be scared of. Everything's all right." Whatever painful phantasms had been conjured up by her secret mind fled beneath his gentle touch. But she was still grateful for his protectiveness and the feeling of utter safety he imparted to her.

"Would you like a drink of water?"

Erin nodded sheepishly, only too aware that she was acting like a little child. Storm didn't seem to mind. Oblivious of the cool night air penetrating the room, he left the bed and went over to a small table near the door, where a stone pitcher and cups were laid out.

Barely half-awake, Erin lay back against the pillows. Her eyes fluttered in a futile effort to stay open. She was almost asleep again when Storm returned, but without the water. Dropping down on the mat beside her, he pressed an urgent hand to her shoulder. "Don't move. There's someone in the corridor."

Erin's eyes shot open. The tender, gentle man of moments before was gone. In his place was a ruthless warrior whose taut body radiated strength and whose pewter gaze shone with grim determination.

When she tried instinctively to speak, he covered her mouth with his hand. "Stay quiet. He's coming this way."

Though she could hear nothing but the thudding of her own heart, Erin obeyed. She shrank down under the covers as Storm moved swiftly back to the door. There was no time for him to reach his swords before the panel slid open and a dark figure enshrouded in black entered silently.

Icy shivers of terror raced through Erin as she struggled against the almost irresistible urge to scream. Any hope that the intruder might simply be a servant vanished instantly. No member of the household would dare to enter Storm's room without permission, much less do so in the dead of night.

The man, whoever he might be, had only violence on his mind, as evinced by the short length of chain stretched out tightly between bis hands. Only her absolute trust in Storm allowed her to lie unmoving beneath the covers as the would-be assassin approached.

He was barely a yard from the bed when Storm moved. Hurling himself across the room with a speed and agility that would not have seemed possible in so large a man, he seized the intruder in a grip of steel. Caught off guard, Storm's target still managed to react instantly. Dropping the chain from one hand, he struck out with it, catching Storm across the back.

Erin screamed as the blow tore open his skin. She leaped from the bed just as Storm grabbed for the chain and managed, only because of his immense strength, to rip it from the man's hand. They faced off in the center of the room, both crouched like wild beasts.

The intruder moved first. With a blood-chilling cry, he leaped at Storm, slashing out at him with hands and feet studded with razor-sharp metal points. Evading the deadly weapons, Storm counterattacked with a kick that landed squarely in the man's chest, momentarily knocking the wind out of him and throwing him off balance.

Recovering quickly, the man lashed out with one black-shrouded arm, at the end of which glittered a small, lethal knife. Storm only just managed to avoid having a vein or artery slashed before he landed a chopping blow with the side of his hand. The sickening sound of a bone breaking reverberated through the room.