Flame on the Sun

by Maura Seger

  His big hands grasped her shoulders and the nape of her neck, thumbs moving in deep, circular motions. By the time he turned her over, Erin was far too limp to protest further. She lay docilely beneath him as he kneaded each separate toe, the calves of her legs and her thighs. Pressing his palms into the fiat plain of her abdomen just above the cluster of dark curls he had explored so thoroughly, he smiled devilishly.

  "Stop looking so aroused, Erin. This is a strictly therapeutic massage called Shiatsu. The Japanese acclaim it for its healing benefits."

  "Among other things," she groaned, unable to repress the undulating waves of pleasure spreading through her. Her nipples tautened as her breasts swelled temptingly.

  "As nearly as I can figure out," Storm continued huskily, "its major effect is to banish fatigue and restore certain energies."

  "Hmmm."

  "It certainly seems to work well."

  Following the path of his eyes, Erin laughed softly. His claim that she had worn him out was no longer valid. As his manhood rose hard and urgent, she opened her arms joyfully. They tumbled across the bed, far too eager to allow for long, drawn-out lovemaking.

  Grasping her narrow waist, Storm lifted her above him. She had barely a moment to wonder what he intended before he lowered her slowly, inch by inch, onto his maleness. Erin's head fell back, her lips parted in a cry of aching delight.

  Enthralled by the power he gave her to move as she chose, she relished the feel of him inside her. Her steadily increasing rhythm made Storm groan. His eyes narrowed to quicksilver slits, his breath coming in harsh pants as she brought them both to an ecstatic culmination shattering in its intensity.

  Passion spent for the moment, they fell back in a tangle of arms and legs. He laughed throatily as he cradled her head against his sweat-dampened chest.

  "You make me feel like a randy youth again. How did I manage to get along without you all these years?"

  "I can ask the same myself. It seems as though everything that has gone before was only a dream. My life has at last begun, here in your arms."

  Storm's arms tightened around her. "Our life together, my love. For now that I have found you again, I will never let you go."

  He paused, wondering if she would object to his unbridled possessiveness. If she did, he would have to find some way to bring her around, for he could not conceive of existence without her. She had become as necessary to him as air and water. Perhaps more so, for the lack of those things would bring only physical death, while the very survival of his soul seemed to depend on her.

  But far from protesting, Erin delighted in the knowledge that she was necessary to him. Nonetheless, she was still not prepared when he matter-of-factly announced, "As soon as the political situation calms down a bit, we must see about getting married."

  "M-married . . . ?"

  "Yes, of course. You didn't think I had anything else in mind, did you?"

  Tilting her head back, he read the silent admission in her clear blue eyes. Storm shook his head in amazement. "You did. You actually thought I would be content to have you as my mistress."

  "What else could I think?"

  "Yet you still agreed to come here."

  Erin smiled unrepentantly. "I suppose after the way I behaved last night, you must think me a shameless hussy."

  "Not just last night. I seem to recall you working your wicked ways all morning."

  "Too true. I'll just have to repent and reform."

  "Not if I have anything to say about it," Storm assured her. He cupped her head gently, drawing her close for a long, tender kiss. Their bodies entwined languorously. Cradled in his massive arms, Erin drifted off to sleep, a contented smile following her into her dreams.

  "Are you sure you are not angry with me?" Odetsu asked the next day when Erin at last bestirred herself to venture into the garden. She found her friend gathering fallen pine cones, which would undoubtedly end up in delicately artful arrangements around the house.

  The Japanese woman looked so genuinely concerned and contrite that Erin could not help but laugh. "I'm sure," she admitted ruefully. "You did me a great favor and I thank you for it."

  Odetsu smiled in relief. She had thought that morning as she heard Davin-san whistling when he went off to join Takamori that her instincts had been correct. But it was good to know for sure.

  "I am pleased that you are happy," she said shyly. "In such difficult times, people must find all the joy they can."

  Erin nodded somberly. Although Storm had said very little to her about the progress of efforts to overthrow the shogun, she had the impression that the crisis was coming to a head.

  All morning men had arrived at the house, coming in quietly through the back door. Most were Japanese, but a few were Western—men like Storm who wanted to do whatever they could to prevent widespread bloodshed. The low rumble of their voices reached her as she went about her own tasks. They sounded tired and worried, but undeniably determined.

  Watching her, Odetsu saw the sorrow that darkened her eyes, and she wondered at its source. Softly she said, "Takamori has told me of the terrible civil war that ravaged your own country. I know that Davin-san was caught up in it, but were you also?"

  "Not as much as he. Many of the people in the South, where he lived, lost everything. In the North, where my home was, we were more fortunate. But I still saw much suffering and death. It is bad enough when such things happen between people of different countries, but when brothers fight each other, it is terrible beyond belief."

  "There was a time here in Japan when the daimyo warred almost constantly. That is how the shogun came to power. The people were so tired of violence that they were willing to accept the rule of one man, no matter how tyrannical."

  "But conditions have changed now, haven't they?" Erin asked. "The coming of the Westerners saw to that. With men like Takamori traveling outside the country and being exposed to different ways, it was inevitable they would bring great reforms to their own land."

  "The shogun does not consider it inevitable. He is fighting against every effort at change. It doesn't seem to matter to him that we are in danger of losing our ability to determine our own destiny. He is living in a fool's paradise, yet that does not make him any the less dangerous. Even those who most despise him admit that he is wily and clever."

  "But so far he has done little to stop the reformers," Erin pointed out. "Didn't he even offer to resign a few weeks ago?"

  "He did more than just offer. In the presence of the emperor, he signed what was supposed to be a document yielding all his powers to the throne. But it was only a formality. Neither the emperor nor the royal court is in any position to actually administer the country, which the shogun knows full well. He did it just to throw his opponents into disarray, and to some extent he succeeded. That is why Takamori had to come here to confer with other reform leaders. They must decide what to do quickly or the shogun may succeed in destroying them."

  "So I am right in thinking the situation has become critical?"

  Odetsu nodded, her delicate features tense with concern. "Takamori and Davin-san believe the shogun intends to take some action to precipitate the crisis. It is only a question of how soon he will act. Tomorrow, the next day, next week. Surely it will not be very long."

  Gazing down into the stone pool where small light-gilded fish swam lazily, Erin shivered. The last scarlet leaves were falling from the branches of the miniature maple trees scattered throughout the garden. The wisteria arbor was bare, leaving only the skeleton of bleached wood embraced by sere vines. A chill wind blew out of the north, carrying hints of the snows that would soon descend from the peak of Mt. Fuji to envelop the land.

  Her eyes closed reflexively on the image of a world smothered in white and stained blood-red. Odetsu was right: joy was precious and must be held tightly lest it slip through careless fingers and vanish into the maelstrom of great events.

  A sound at the edge of the garden penetrated the dreary fog of her thoughts. She l
ooked up to see Storm coming toward her. The golden light of late afternoon cast shadows over his rugged features, making him appear uncustomarily weary and vulnerable.

  Rising quickly, she met Odetsu's understanding smile with her own. Moments later she was in his arms, sheltered by the enchanted circle of their love, which, strong though it was, could not quite conceal the tempest about to engulf them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  "To the samurai," Storm said quietly, "His sword represents his soul. He won't speak of it to strangers, much less let them see or touch it, except in battle. If he does show the sword to an honored friend, the blade must be handled only indirectly, with a cloth wrapped around the hand."

  Erin nodded unenthusiastically. She was happy enough to accompany Storm on his errand to the swordsmith, simply because she enjoyed being with him under any circumstances. But she would just as soon not dwell on these reminders of both her own near-death and the violence that might soon descend on them.

  Yet she could not deny a certain fascination with what she quickly realized was far more than simply a means of enabling warriors to hack each other to bits. The forge they visited bore no resemblance to the blacksmith's she remembered from home.

  A low cluster of wood-and-tile buildings surrounded a meticulously clean yard. Young men in neat, somber kimonos hurried about their tasks. They spoke rarely, and then in the low, reverent tones of temple acolytes. The apprentice who admitted Storm spoke no English. But in response to Storm's fluent Japanese, he bowed to him deeply, concealed his surprise at Erin's presence and led them both to a small hut half-hidden by a bamboo overhang.

  "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 h
is 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.