Samurai Captive

by Barbara Sheridan

  Grayson cleared his throat. “You’d better go before the storm gets worse.”

  * * * * *

  The storm didn’t get worse, but it did slow to a steady drizzle, the clouds parting now and again to let the moon shine through to reflect off the puddles. Hannah puttered around, waxing the rest of the furniture and noting how many times Grayson checked his pocket watch. It was half past eleven when he set aside the book he hadn’t been showing much interest in. “Why don’t you go to bed, Hannah. It’s late.”

  “Thank you, sir. This weather does tend to make me drowsy.”

  Grayson started up the stairs while Hannah made her way to the kitchen to put away her cleaning things. She went up the narrow back staircase and to her room, leaving her door cracked open just a tad. Grayson came out of his room in a bit. He’d changed out of his fine clothes and now wore plain dark pants, high leather boots, and a short heavy jacket that he’d buttoned up to the collar. He carried a tiny glass lantern and stepped lightly as he went past Hannah’s door and down the stairs.

  Hannah crept out of her room, watching as Grayson bypassed the front door in favor of exiting through the kitchen. Hannah started toward the stairs then stopped and went to her room to change. A western woman wandering about at this hour might raise suspicion, but a Japanese woman wouldn’t ‑‑ or at least not as much. Hannah made a mental promise to Yoriko to replace her kimono if it got ruined from slinking about through the muddy back streets.

  * * * * *

  The faint chimes from a big clock in one of the closed shops signaled midnight as Hannah got closer to the docks. She saw a single ship moored with its sails still unfurled as if it had just come in. Little lights bobbed in the darkness, heading toward the ship’s gangplank.

  Hannah stopped dead when a light reflected off a windowpane ahead and to her right. She froze, covered her own little light with her body, and shrank back into the darkness bordering the nearest building.

  It was a samurai. The small crest stenciled in the center of his dark jacket proved that. But it was Katsuhiro’s family crest the man wore.

  Dressed all in black with his face half covered by a dark hood, Katsu peered around through the stack of wooden crates piled at the far edge of the pier. His heart sank when he recognized the familiar gait of Masato as he approached the men awaiting their late night shipment of hidden opium.

  He wasn’t sure if he was more hurt or disgusted by the fact that his friend was so bold in trying to cloak his own identity that he wore clothing bearing the mon of Katsu’s own family. Katsu flexed his right hand, gritting his teeth against the searing pain that shot up his arm from his injury. He took a deep breath and prayed for strength, knowing that whatever this night held it would be bad for them both.

  Creeping forward, blending in with the darkness Katsu cast his fate to the gods.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hannah set Yoriko’s parasol aside and pulled her dark scarf further down over her forehead to shield her face and cover her hair. Grayson and Tipton made their way onto the boat, the samurai following. She refused to think of him as Katsuhiro. He wouldn’t be up to no good in the dead of night. He wouldn’t.

  The samurai stopped halfway up the gangplank and looked off to his right. Though on the left, Hannah shrank back and crouched behind a tilted wagon with a broken wheel. The samurai stopped looking at whatever had caught his attention and followed the other men.

  Slipping her fingers into the wide obi, Hannah gave the paring knife she’d brought a comforting pat. It wasn’t much in the way of protection, but it could buy her some time if need be. Staying low, Hannah tiptoed closer to the ship, recalling her early childhood when she and the rascally Ollie Moody used to filch what they could from ships and the docks. It was quite the game to skulk about in broad daylight and get into the nooks and crannies and shinny up and down ropes and poles to lift what wasn’t nailed down and could be stuffed into their clothes.

  Of course, in them days she’d been a hell of a lot smaller and more agile, and she hadn’t been wearing a bleeding tube of a dress that restricted her legs. Damn, of all the stupid ideas she’d ever had, dressing like this tonight was right up there.

  Hannah paused to part the lower edges of the kimono and creep behind some covered sacks. As she did, she glanced to the ship and caught sight of a shadowy figure creeping his own way onto the ship. He looked like some wily monkey. A wily little monkey that had a bloody sheathed sword strapped to his back. He was making his way toward the bow, so she kept on her own path toward the stern.

  She could hide around down here on the wharf and hope to hear or see something, but the real goings on were on that ship. She had to see if Katsuhiro was really involved in whatever business the others were. And how the hell did that bloke Masato figure in now?

  One thing was certain: she’d have to climb like a wharf rat to do it because she sure as hell wasn’t going to get aboard all wrapped up in this kimono. Hannah stripped down to her knickers and her camisole and pulled the rain jacket back on to ward off the chill. She tucked the knife into the pocket like bottom of the jacket sleeve. Inching to the ship’s stern, she hoped to hell her childhood climbing skills weren’t too rusty.

  The flurry of activity on the ship’s deck was both a blessing and a curse to Katsu as he made his way around crates and timber waiting upon the dock. The sounds muffled any that he might make, but with the crew clambering about there was a greater chance he could be seen, even though the men weren’t busy near the front of the vessel where he was headed.

  An odd feeling tingled Katsu’s senses as he pulled himself up one of the heavy ropes mooring the ship to the dock, and he looked left in time to catch a glimpse of someone hoisting themselves over the ship’s top rail. Someone with those frilly knee length undergarments Hannah-chan wore. Katsu closed his eyes a moment, praying to every god in the heavens that he was imagining things.

  Captain Tipton hooked his fingers into his vest and rocked back on his heels as Grayson and a deckhand tipped a shipping crate onto its side and pried off the false bottom to reveal another smaller crate nestled inside and cushioned with excelsior to keep it from jostling against the outer wood.

  Hannah silently watched and listened from her vantage point, but she almost failed to contain the gasp when the samurai turned as he was inspecting the opium in the smaller box and Hannah saw that it wasn’t Katsuhiro at all but Sato. Why, you sneaky little bastard. Hannah had to bite her tongue to keep the words from spilling out.

  A muffled sound and a flash of silver in the corner of her eye drew Hannah’s attention. She looked to the front of the ship to see a sailor fall overboard before the shadowy climber she’d seen earlier ducked behind the mainmast. Her attention wasn’t the only drawn. When the sailor’s body hit the water, heads turned toward the sound.

  Another sailor rushed to the rail and leaned over. “It’s Charlie!” he called out. “His head’s been half hacked off!”

  Masato drew his long sword and Captain Tipton and Grayson guns. But the captain’s gun was on Masato and Grayson’s on the captain.

  What the hell?

  Tipton looked as confused as Hannah felt.

  “You an’ him in cahoots, now, Gabe? You planning to cut me and my boys out? His men boarding to take the ship over?”

  “Only one came aboard, and he will leave dead,” Masato growled as he faced the ship’s bow.

  The black clad samurai came up from his hiding place, and Hannah’s heart leaped beneath her breast when he whipped off the dark head covering to reveal his face.

  “I’ll take care of him,” Grayson said, taking aim.

  “Katsuhiro, look out!” Hannah cried, now noticing the blood tinged bandage that wrapped around the palm of his right hand.

  Masato struck the gun from Grayson’s hand then launched a kick at Captain Tipton that sent the older man sprawling.

  Hannah leaned on the mizzenmast for support, but before she could catch her breath Sato advanced upon K
atsuhiro, his sword still drawn. He hadn’t been protecting Katsuhiro; he wanted to kill him himself!

  “You traitorous bastard!” Hannah sprinted across the quarterdeck, paring knife in hand, and leapt with all her might when she reached the edge. She didn’t know or care how, but she hit the main deck in a crouch and sprung at Masato, catching him low in his right side with the knife.

  He spun and hit her with a kick that sent her flying back against a heavy crate. The pain was still clouding her vision when Grayson yanked her up by the hair and held his gun to her head. “Drop it, Sanada, or I’ll blow her head off.”

  “Yes,” Masato added in Japanese as he advanced, a cruel smile twisting his face. “Lay down your katana and let the world see what a useless thing you are. You want to give up your life for the white whore. I can see it in your eyes. You disgust me.”

  Katsu gritted his teeth against the pain in his hand and arm. “I am the one disgusted to see a man I called friend and loved like a brother lower himself to become such a dishonorable animal.” Moving, Katsu shifted his weight and stance as Masato approached, ready to attack him.

  “My only dishonor is to have lived in your shadow all these years. Time and again I bested you in the dojo, and sensei made you head instructor. Lord Narimatsu made you his chief councilor ahead of me. He gave you his favored concubine’s daughter in marriage.”

  Katsu circled opposite Masato’s movements, his gaze never wavering even when Hannah-chan let out a yelp of pain. “Battered pride has driven you to this, Masato? Perhaps I should feel pity instead of disgust. How dare you dirty the samurai blood in your veins with such a thing?”

  “How dare you dirty your own honor by loving that barbarian whore?”

  The insult was still echoing in the night when Masato launched into the attack. The first clash of their blades sent bone-jarring pain through Katsu’s arm and the cuts on his hand and arm tore open from their stitches with each successive swing of the katana and strike against Masato’s blade.

  Katsu knew he’d not be able to duel long, and the smirk on Masato’s lips said he knew it too. Shifting the katana to his left hand was only a momentary respite when Masato came after him with power born of years of pent-up frustration and hatred.

  Fighting back the pain, Katsu shifted his katana back to his dominant hand. Masato leapt forward, raining down a shower of hard, quick hits.

  Hannah screamed when the last blow sent the sword flying from Katsuhiro’s hand to skid across the wet deck. Her fear did not lessen when Katsuhiro defended himself against the next couple blows with the iron fan he drew from his waistband with his left hand.

  She struggled against Grayson’s grip. Tipton was on his feet again, and he came alongside her as Katsuhiro rolled out from under the next slash by Masato to grab his own sword once again. Her heart pounded in time to the clang of steel against steel as the samurai fought.

  “Want me to cover your eyes, pretty?” Tipton asked with a lewd chuckle and a grab of her arse.

  “Fuck you!”

  “You will. Soon.”

  Hannah spat in his face. He hit her with a backhanded slap that had her crashing into Grayson and sent them both tumbling to the deck. Hannah scrambled to her feet first and dove on Grayson’s gun. She took aim at Masato as best she could and pulled the trigger.

  Yanked back by the hair and backhanded again to crash to the deck, Hannah didn’t know what she’d hit, but she knew it was a man by the cry of pain. She just prayed she hadn’t gotten Katsuhiro by mistake.

  She was dragging herself up when Katsuhiro charged forward, cutting down the sailors foolish enough to not leap over the side or dive into the hold. Hannah screamed as Tipton took aim at the samurai and Grayson reached for his gun. Both men were dead in seconds without ever getting a shot off.

  Katsuhiro rushed to her, but Hannah waved him off. “Your friend. Go to him.” She pointed to Masato, who struggled to sit up. Gripping her hand, Katsuhiro took her with him.

  Once they got close, Hannah saw that she’d hit him low in the back. Guilt washed over her when she saw the pain and tears brimming in Katsuhiro’s eyes as he knelt beside his friend and helped him to sit.

  “He-he should lie down. I’ll get help, a doctor.”

  “It won’t help,” Katsuhiro told her.

  She watched helplessly as Katsuhiro held his dying friend. They exchanged words, Katsuhiro shaking his head in refusal at whatever it was until Masato pulled him for a kiss and said, “Please.”

  Blinking back tears, Katsuhiro nodded. “Get that box, put it behind him,” he told Hannah as he pulled the front of Masato’s jacket and kimono open, then helped his friend unsheathe the dagger he carried.

  “Oh God, no,” Hannah whispered when she realized what they were up to. She clamped her eyes shut and turned away as Masato plunged the blade into his belly, dragged it to the side, and fell forward.

  She wanted to throw up when she heard Katsuhiro cry out, heard the sound of his sword slicing through the air and then the dull thud of Masato’s head hitting the ship’s deck.

  Morbid curiosity made Hannah start to look, but Katsuhiro was suddenly behind her, blocking her view. “He redeemed his honor. You will not speak of him again.”

  “All right,” Hannah said quietly. She sank into Katsuhiro’s embrace as he hugged her tightly from behind, her tears adding to the wetness of his rain dampened sleeves.

  His hold on her tightened, and she felt him rest his cheek against the top of her head. “I miss him already,” he whispered.

  * * * * *

  The local magistrate’s men showed up a bit after that, and Hannah couldn’t help but think how like the coppers back home they were, showing up long after they were needed. Katsuhiro saw to it that she had a blanket to wrap herself up in while he and the magistrate had a little meeting about the night’s events at the bow of the ship.

  Grayson, Tipton and the dead sailors were covered up and carted off, but Katsuhiro took charge of Masato’s body, giving orders to a couple of men who wrapped him up and carted him off to a temple.

  Katsuhiro arranged for a palanquin to take them both to the inn over in Kanagawa. Hannah went to have a soak in the bathhouse while Katsuhiro filled his men in on what happened and what they’d be doing coming morning.

  It was a pleasant surprise when Katsuhiro came to Hannah’s room and joined her on the cushy futon. Hannah kept quiet and settled comfortably in his arms, guessing he wanted to be alone with his memories of his friend much as she’d wanted to do when her mother died.

  Hannah woke to a sunny morning that did little to drive the cold emptiness from deep within her bones. Katsuhiro was gone. The maid who brought her breakfast and clean clothing said he and his men had gone to the temple for the funeral and cremation of Masato.

  She was pacing slowly along the wide front porch of the inn when the samurai returned early in the afternoon, Masato’s ashes in a cloth covered box pulled along on a small cart. Katsuhiro dismounted and came onto the porch, his arms folded into the wide sleeves of his jacket. “Walk with me,” he said to Hannah, leading the way around to the quiet little garden at the back of the inn.

  “I guess this is it, then,” Hannah said when they reached the garden. She took a deep breath and told herself it was foolish to think things could end any differently between them, especially now. She remained standing when Katsuhiro sat on a narrow stone bench only to be taken by surprise when he pulled her onto his lap.

  “We’re leaving for Edo before dark. I’ll continue on to take Masato back to bury him in Minowa.”

  Hannah nodded and busied herself with smoothing down the fine silk collar of his jacket and kimono. “Yeah, well, I figured as much.” She forced herself to look him in the eye and ordered herself not to blubber like some silly git. “I hope you have a safe trip. As soon as I can find meself a new job, I’ll repay you for buying me from the whorehouse. It may take some time, ya know, but Hannah Connolly ain’t no debtor.”

  “So you
dismiss me with no more respect than one would show a lowly peasant?”

  “What?”

  A smile tugged at the corners of Katsuhiro’s mouth, though it was plain he was working hard to keep his expression stern. After a quick glance toward the inn, he reached up and stroked Hannah’s cheek with his fingertips. “I’m feeling old and tired with Edo and the politics these days, and I may ask Lord Narimatsu to spend most of my time in Minowa.”

  Hannah placed her hand upon his. “If anyone deserves a rest I imagine it’s you.” She couldn’t take his words at face value because he looked anything but old or tired, although his handsome dark eyes did have a weariness to them from the death of his friend. Friend and lover, she silently corrected herself.

  “So ‑‑” She was silenced by his kiss.

  It was sweet kiss, a gentle one, and again Hannah felt the sadness creep up her spine. When they parted she had to take another deep breath to keep herself composed, and she looked past Katsuhiro’s shoulder to watch the play of sun upon a stone lantern a short distance away.

  With a soft prod of his fingers, Katsuhiro turned her face back toward his. “I want you with me, Hannah Connolly. I love you. I want to live as husband and wife. We can’t do that in Edo. There are too many prying eyes too many loose tongues. My Lord’s position with the Shogunate is an important one. Scandal will not be good for him in these uncertain times.”

  Hannah listened and took it all in. While she’d been waiting today a man from the Japan Gazette had come to try and get information out of her. And while she hadn’t given him so much as the time of day, he’d given her a lot, confirming what she’d pretty much figured out on her own.

  Sanada Katsuhiro was a very important man who worked for a very, very important member of Japanese nobility. It was quite possible that his rank in samurai society could be elevated so that he could be the lord of his own little domain. And here he was ready to chuck it all to move out to the country just to have her by his side and live as his wife.