Samurai Captive

by Barbara Sheridan

  It was then that Hannah could make out the sounds of hushed voices and the rustle of garden foliage outside the steamy bathhouse. Images of that awful day with the Richardson party sprang up in Hannah’s mind. There’d been so much blood. She began backing up and slipped on a wet patch of flooring. For a moment the water on the cedar planks looked like the blood that had coated the ground beneath her and the dead that day, and she felt a scream well up in her throat. Sanada turned and glared, looking every bit as fierce as the samurai who’d tried to kill her that day. Hannah scooted back until she was between the wall and the backside of the big tub.

  All hell broke loose then with men yelling outside and the clash of steel ringing in the still night air. Two men, dressed head to toe in brown ‑‑ only their eyes uncovered ‑‑ broke through the thin walls of the bathhouse, and Hannah screamed again. Their short knives flew through the air, embedding deep in the wood of the walls, floor, and tub. Flecks of cedar flew out as the metal struck the walls, pelting Hannah’s exposed skin, shooting perilously close to her eyes.

  More masked men appeared outside beyond the broken walls, and she caught sight of samurai entering the fray. A clang of metal hitting metal caught Hannah’s attention, and she jerked her head around to see Sanada-san still taking on the two who’d broken in.

  One dark assassin swung a chain to wrap around the blade of Sanada’s sword. He tugged, trying to disarm the samurai, while the other lunged with a long knife.

  Distracted by the blade nicking his throat, Sanada lost his grip on his katana. He dropped to the floor and snatched up a broken wooden plank to fend off the new attacker. The one with the chain turned his venomous gaze upon Hannah.

  Fear paralyzed her, but instinct propelled her to bolt up and throw herself through a gaping hole in the wall. She hit the ground as the masked bastard’s chain swooshed though the air and scraped her upper thigh. Crying out, she pushed to her feet and ran, praying to every saint she knew to keep her moving.

  Samurai and more assassins clashed around her as Hannah darted through the only clear path and toward the trees and high shrubs that bordered the garden area. That bloody chain whistled in the air close behind.

  Branches caught Hannah’s hair and she stumbled, tripping over a rock and falling to her knees. The chain whooshed over Hannah’s head. She closed her eyes, her body trembling in anticipation of the attack. It seemed like forever until warm liquid brushed against her toes, and she was certain that her head was filled with some dying fog and it was her own blood washing against her. She shrieked when a hand touched her leg.

  “Hannah-chan. You’re safe.”

  Still hugging her knees, she cautiously opened her eyes to see her handsome samurai captor alive and well and looking back at her with what could only be concern.

  Behind him lay the assassin with the chain, his head severed cleanly from his shoulders.

  Sanada moved to block her view of the corpse and held out his hand. She clutched his strong fingers like a lifeline and let him pull her up. Oh, she knew that the Japanese didn’t put much stock in showing any kind of affection or emotion, ‘specially with others around, but right then Hannah didn’t give a flying fig that Sanada’s friend Masato watched and others were there dragging off the dead attackers and talking amongst themselves about what had brought it all on.

  She threw her arms around Sanada’s neck and clung to him with all her might until he pulled away. He barked some orders, then led her back into the house and handed her off to the maids who’d taken care of her when she arrived.

  Chapter Five

  The days that followed were interesting. There wasn’t any of the deadly commotion that greeted Hannah her first night at the samurai’s estate, and Hannah saw precious little of Sanada-san and his friend as her days were filled with mundane household chores much like her early years in service had been.

  Just like clockwork after the evening meal had been eaten, she was sent to Sanada’s quarters to serve him some after-dinner sake. Some nights he had a friend along. They mostly ignored her, unless the guest was that Sato chap who liked shooting her nasty looks from the corner of his eye, although most evenings Sanada-san was alone.

  Hannah liked those times best, when it was just the two of them. He never spoke to her except to say “more” or even just gesture to the sake cup for her to refill it, but the air of the room took on a certain cozy-before-the-fire hominess that made Hannah long for a quiet country life back home.

  As she whiled away the evenings in the comfortable quiet watching the samurai read or write reports or something, she found her thoughts wandering to the imaginary country house where she sat before a fire mending socks or embroidering linens with a strong shadowy husband at her side and a couple playful kids rolling around the floor.

  The peaceful mundanity of it all would end though, and it would turn annoying when Sanada motioned that it was time for her to go to her room where he’d truss her up in the silk ropes like he had that first night. She swore he took great delight in roaming his hands over her skin, easing her higher and higher, then leaving her there with those damn big knots pressing in all the most frustrating places so she had no choice most nights but to wiggle herself around and touch where she could to make herself come and relieve the maddening pressure.

  And though she couldn’t prove it, she thought he felt up the ropes when he cut them away in the mornings just to see if they were damp or stiff with her dried wetness.

  “You don’t need to do that you know,” she said one morning. He seemed a bit surprised, and she knew her theory of him trying to judge how hot she’d gotten herself was right. “I ain’t gonna run away. I mean, come on, where ‘ave I got to go? I got a roof over my head and a job helping tend this place and all your friends or whatever they are. You don’t need to tie me up.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “So what is it? You like the thought of me rolling around on the floor trying to diddle myself? Maybe you watch, is that it?”

  “Did dell?”

  Hannah smirked and rubbed herself. “Yeah, diddle.”

  “Perhaps I do watch, Hannah-chan. Or perhaps I only listen to those soft moans of yours and how your breath goes quick.”

  “Why don’t you do more than watch, then? Why don’t you just take me?”

  Sanada gave her a long, hard stare, and Hannah didn’t know if she’d angered him or not, but then he took hold of the hand she’d just touched herself with and licked the lingering wetness from her fingertips.

  He left without another word, and he didn’t summon her to his quarters that evening to serve him. He also didn’t come to truss her up. Her mind kept running with unanswered questions of what he was up to, but no answers ever came and her samurai captor never appeared.

  The thick candle in the heavy floor lantern had burned halfway down when Hannah heard the hushed voices of Sanada and his friend in the adjoining room. She held her breath and listened for the sounds of them having sex again, but none came. She heard the soft sliding of a door and then nothing until her own door slid open just a touch.

  “Hannah-chan,” Sanada called softly.

  Hannah rose up on one elbow and stared across the way at him, wanting to hate herself for loving the look of him in the pale, flickering light. He said not another word but held out his hand, and she clambered to her feet and trotted to his side like an obedient pup.

  She felt more like a cherished lover than a simple captive whore when he swept her into a tight embrace and covered her mouth with his for a long, slow kiss, his tongue lazily stroking across hers, his strong, rough hand slipping into her robe to rub across her nipple and send a thousand little shivers through her. He pulled away long before she was ready, then led her back to the bathhouse that had already been set to rights.

  They hadn’t been in the little bathhouse for a minute when Sanada pulled the robe from her and pushed her to her knees. She didn’t need to be told what to do when he moved behind her. She leaned forward and
spread her knees wide, her body already quaking in anticipation.

  And she cried out when Sanada-san gripped her hips and drove himself to the hilt into her dripping cunny.

  She could swear he was every bit as hard and thick as the scabbard of his dagger, but oh, he felt so much better, ‘specially when he began to play with her tits. God, how she loved the feel of them hands on her, the slight scratchiness of the rough parts of his skin when he brushed them over her nipples.

  When he stopped fondling her and grasped her hips, Hannah lowered her head to the floor. “Fuck me hard,” she whispered, groaning when he granted her wish. She pushed back, matching each of his forward thrusts, his powerful hips and thighs sending jolts of pleasure through her when their flesh collided.

  She was ready to come even before the samurai worked his special magic and rubbed her clit. She was so close to the edge when he pulled out and flipped her onto her back. He loomed over her, his body supported by his forearms, his cock poised at her entrance. He slammed back into her as his lips captured hers in a slow, deep kiss.

  Hannah came harder than before and gripped the samurai’s shoulders tightly as the desire shook her through and through. He stiffened, and she felt him spasming within her as he came too. He stayed buried within her until he began to grow soft. He pulled out and stood, grasping Hannah’s hand and pulling her to her feet.

  Sanada reached for the cloth in the bucket he’d used before, but Hannah took the cloth from him and dipped it into the big tub. She squeezed the warm water over his chest then began to swab his tan skin, fascinated with the planes and angles of his slim, toned body. She began to notice some old scars here and there and couldn’t help but bend down and kiss the larger one that ran across his right hip.

  When she finished cleaning him, Hannah knelt and began to clean herself, only to be pleasantly surprised when the samurai pulled her to her feet and took the cloth from her. Hannah closed her eyes as the man ran his hands over her, playing her like some master musician played a pianoforte. She grew weak in the knees all over again when Sanada took the wet cloth and gently pushed it up inside her then pulled it out oh, so slowly.

  “You’re gonna wear me out before my time, luv,” she said with a chuckle. He gave her a questioning look, but she waved it off and told him simply in Japanese, “Thank you.”

  He nodded then climbed into the high, heated tub and held his hand out. Hannah climbed in as well, loving the way Sanada pulled her onto his lap and wrapped one arm possessively around her as he leaned his head back and relaxed. Hannah laid her head upon his shoulder and did the same until the candle in the lantern began to grow dim and Sanada coaxed her off his lap. They dried themselves and slipped into new robes that were hanging on the wall, then went back inside the house.

  Hannah was more than a little disappointed when the samurai escorted her to her own room and left her there before crossing over to his own room and sliding the door closed firmly behind him. Lying down on the futon mat, Hannah told herself that it was the incense in the air that was making her eyes water.

  Chapter Six

  Hannah’s eyes were still puffy and sore when the jabbering little maids woke her by barking shrill orders at her after sunup. The older one poked her head out into the corridor and called to someone out there, and in a minute another younger girl scurried in with a big paper-wrapped bundle she set on the floor and began unwrapping.

  “Will you look at that!” Hannah exclaimed at the sight of some proper women’s clothes ‑‑ a corset, petticoat, crinoline, and the prettiest green dress she ever did see, with all kinds of pretty tucks, little pearly buttons down the bodice, and snow white lace edging at the collar and cuffs. “Now where’d this come from?”

  The soft chatter of the maids stopped and Hannah looked up. Sanada-san was there ‑‑ all decked out in what she knew was the samurai’s formal attire. Over his usual thick silk, dark kimono, he wore a blue getup, the hakama pants with a detached stiff upper part that rested over his shoulders and tucked into his waistband. He looked so damn imposing in it with those swords of his and his long hair all pulled back tight.

  “Put it on,” he said looking at the dress. “Hurry. We leave soon.”

  Hannah’s breath caught in her throat, and all she could do was stare at the empty doorway after he strode away. She looked down at the lovely dress and felt a tug deep inside. Was he handing her back to the English?

  “Hurry, hurry,” the older maid snapped.

  Hannah gave herself over to their aid, finally batting their hands away once she was able to get a hold on the foolish whims of her heart.

  Sanada Katsuhiro walked slowly back and forth along the engawa, dismissing his friend Masato’s concerns with a stern look.

  “Listen to reason, Katsu. The woman is stupid and of the lowest class. She will cause more trouble than good. If the foreigners suspect ‑‑”

  “You’d rather they take advantage of the turmoil in the government and do what they did to the Chinese? There will be no opium plague in Japan.”

  “But this woman ‑‑”

  “She was a servant, she will be a servant again, and this time she will report what she sees and hears to me.”

  “She’s one of them. She has no loyalty to you.”

  “We shall see.”

  Masato’s argument was lost in the morning breeze once the shoji slid open, and Katsu turned to watch his Hannah-chan step out of the house, the closed-in shoes he’d gotten for her held in one hand. She set them on the engawa, then balanced herself against the wall while slipping each foot into the shoes. That done, she boldly strode forward to meet him, her eyes alight with a tigress’s fierce determination.

  Katsu glanced out to the rock garden to divert his thoughts lest he break into an amused smile.

  “All right then, why’d you give me these clothes?”

  “I’m returning you to Yokohama,” Sanada-san said before shifting back to face her. “Come.”

  The words were still sinking in when he and that friend of his began to stride away. Hannah rushed to catch up, telling herself she should be relieved to go back to where she belonged.

  Outside the gates to the estate, men on horseback waited. Masato was mounting his horse beside which Sanada-san’s waited, pawing at the ground. There was also a palanquin on the ground with men front and back to carry it. Hannah looked from the boxlike carriage to the samurai she was reluctant to leave.

  “Get in,” he said. “Running again is useless.”

  Hannah took a few steps forward. “I wasn’t going to run,” she said softly. “I don’t want to go.”

  Masato muttered something, and Sanada shot him sharp look then turned that cold stare on her. “Get in. Now.”

  His look pushing her into submission, Hannah gathered up her voluminous skirts and obeyed. She looked out the little door and up at Sanada. “But why?”

  “Because I want you to seduce a man and gather information,” he said before sliding the little door shut with a decisive bang.

  “Hey, now!” Hannah tugged on the little sliding door only to find it locked from the outside. The other side was locked as well. She had half a mind to punch a hole through the papered window covering the top of the doors and unlatch it herself, but she thought better of it once the servants picked up the carriage box and took off at a quick pace.

  * * * * *

  “How can you not know the assassin’s clan? That alone should tell you who sent them.”

  Masato came close to blurting out a reply, but took a long breath instead before speaking. “Their weapons were new and bore none of the expected markings. The only way to tell would have been to capture one alive and judge by his speech, assuming he hadn’t practiced to alter any regional dialect.”

  Katsu glanced at the road ahead then turned back. “Then who do you suspect?”

  Once again Masato hesitated in speaking his mind. “It could have been anyone, but ‑‑”

  “Say it.”

&nbs
p; Masato turned his gaze to the road as his friend had done a moment before. “I find it interesting that the white woman wasn’t killed.”

  “She would have been, if I’d gotten there a moment later.”

  Masato shrugged but said nothing. He refused to look back and see the withering look which made it quite clear that for now Katsu was more Masato’s domain superior than his friend.

  They continued the journey in silence until they paused briefly while the original palanquin bearers traded places with the extras brought along to keep the journey to a minimum length.

  “The whore was a servant to the white man from England,” Masato said softly.

  “I know that. Everyone in Japan knows that.”

  “But have you thought about what it might mean?”

  “Of course,” Katsu answered simply. Quite a few British had relocated from China to Yokohama since the settlement began to grow, all eager to get in early on any and all trading opportunities. Especially those that were questionable at best.

  Katsu reined his horse away from the main traveling party to relieve himself in one of the earthenware pots buried off the side of the road. His needs taken care of, he rode up alongside of the palanquin and rapped on the side with his iron fan.

  Hannah-chan slid open the small papered window and peered up at him, her green eyes both questioning and enticing. “Yeah?”

  “We’ll be stopping at Namamugi to eat before going on to Yokohama.”

  “All right,” she said before settling back so he could no longer see her face.

  And that troubled him more than he cared to admit.

  A prod of his heels sent Katsu’s horse to a trot until he pulled up alongside Masato at the front of the traveling party.

  * * * * *

  Hannah was glad to get out of the cramped box carriage, but when the men carrying it set it down with a thump that jarred her backbone she was ready to cuss them out as the door slid open. She climbed out, countless curses forming on her lips, but when she saw where they were, saw the familiar narrow street with its roadside shops and cluster of drab one-story houses, a dank chill filled her as another day took form within her mind’s eye.