Winter Blossom: A Journeys of the Heart Romance Read online

  WINTER

  BLOSSOM

  A JOURNEYS OF

  THE HEART

  Romance

  Rebecca Ward

  Copyright 1983 by Cynthia Sinclair.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter One

  “THE SHIP! HONORED MISS, LOOK BEYOND THE point and you can see the English ship!”

  Zanna leaned out of her lacquered palanquin. Late afternoon sunlight dazzled her thick-lashed eyes and glinted dusty gold on her long black hair as she followed old Kenjuro’s pointing finger. She could clearly see tall white sails rounding the treacherous rocks that divided Katayama Inlet from the Pacific beyond.

  “The great lord Azuma once swore that no barbarian vessel could round that point without being torn apart by the rocks,” Kenjuro was saying, excitedly. “But now see how confidently the English ships travel to Japan! Naturally, they come to visit the Katayama London Company and its director general, Rutledge-sama.”

  Kenjuro’s voice was full of respect, and Zanna’s delicate features tightened with determinat ion. “Honored director,” she promised silently, I’m going to do my best to please this Englishman!

  “Can you make out the English lord?” Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, but, outwardly calm, she allowed the old man to help her from the cramped palanquin and onto the pier.

  Kenjuro shook his head. “Not yet, but you’ll see him soon. The ship will come up fast around the point and then drop anchor in the inlet.” He smiled. “Surely, you remember? When you were a child, we came together to this pier and watched the ships come in.”

  His friendliness caught at her heart. Since her return to the Great House in Katayama a week ago, there had been scant kindliness shown her. “That was a long time ago. It has been thirteen years since then,” she said.

  “But now Rutledge-sama needs your help in dealing with the foreigner, and you have returned.”

  “English lord,” she corrected, gently. “Man­ager Kita insists that we all pay the deepest respect to Lord Alex Curtis.” She nodded at the richly saddled horse tethered by the palanquin. “You’re sure this is the best horse in our stable, Kenjuro? Lord Alex must have the best of everything!”

  It was an effort to speak calmly, hard to speak at all. Tensely, she watched the ship, its sails bellied with wind, rounding the point. Then, she could hear faraway shouting and the sails flapped down. Was Lord Alex shouting also? she wondered. She had no idea what he was like—young or old, kind or bad-tempered. She prayed he wouldn’t be angry that she, instead of Rutledge, was there to meet him. If he was angry with her, she would have failed before even beginning her important duty. Zanna shivered, suddenly, in the cool sea wind.

  Manager Kita had warned her about failing. This morning he had called her into the inner office of the Katayama London Company and had faced her grimly across Rutledge’s costly, lacquered desk.

  “You have been in the Great House for a week,” he began without preamble. “Are you prepared to show gratitude and duty to our director general?”

  Zanna had bowed. She had always been in awe of Manager Kita. He was the second most important person in the Katayama London Company. Thirteen years ago, when she and her mother had lived in the Great House, Kita had appeared thin and spare and sharp. He was still thin and hard, and his dark eyes were unfriendly as they looked her over.

  “You must realize that you were brought to Katayama for a reason. Not long ago we received word that Lord Jasper, in England, is sending his nephew to inspect our Katayama office.” He tapped his fingers on the lacquered desk. “You’ve heard of this?”

  “The servants talk about it constantly,” Zanna said. “The finest room is being prepared for the English guest.”

  “English lord!” Kita’s eyes narrowed. “You will always treat Lord Alex Curtis with the greatest deference.” He frowned. “I am not at all sure that you are the right person for this delicate business! In fact, I advised the director against relying on you. Unfortunately, you are the only one who speaks English well enough to be of any use.”

  Zanna said nothing. Kita’s hostility did not bother her, but as he spelled out the importance of the task before her, she became more and more nervous. Lord Jasper, Kita said, was one of the richest backers of the British East India Company. His nephew had therefore to be pleased at all costs.

  “He must be satisfied with the Katayama staff, be pleased with our company, delighted with our efforts in Japan! Then, he will make a favorable report to his uncle when he returns to England.” He stabbed a thin finger at Zanna. “Do you understand your part in this? You are to please Lord Alex Curtis in all things. You will interpret for him when Rutledge-sama is not present. You will make sure that his lightest whims are attended to.”

  She said, distressed, “Kita-san, I don’t know anything about English lords! Perhaps I’ll blunder and offend him!”

  He cut her off impatiently. “Lord Alex’s visit coincides with our busiest time of year. Today, Rutledge-sama is away from this office for the day, and news has come that the English ship has been sighted!” He jabbed his finger at her again. “This means that you will have to meet the English lord at the pier! You must please him! If you fail to do so, the disgrace will reflect on all of us.”

  The long, narrow eyes were now slits of concentration. The manager’s voice had become low and intense. “You will explain to the Englishman, Zanna! You will be his intermediary, his liaison! You will do as he commands, even to scrubbing his back in the bath! As I have said before, you must not fail. Do you hear me, honored miss?”

  The mockery in those last words had made her flush, and she had met his stare squarely. “Yes,” she had told him. “Yes, I understand. And no, Kita-san, I don’t intend to fail!”

  From the vantage point of a full six feet, Alex Curtis swept the crowd on the pier with his spyglass. Where in hell was James Rutledge? Certainly, among all the short, dark-haired folk who had assembled to meet the Anabella, a tall, fair-haired English trader should stand out like an eagle among pigeons! Alex had been searching for Rutledge since the ship dropped anchor. Didn’t the man realize that the Anabella had arrived in Katayama?

  “Spotted the trader yet?” It was the skipper of the vessel, swarthy, bearded Captain Francis. When Alex shook his head, he added, “Well, if he was there on the pier, you’d spot him amongst the Jappos easy. Look at the monkeys. You’d swear they’d never set eyes on an English merchantman before.”

  There was contempt in the captain’s tone, but Alex ignored it. He had pictured this moment of arrival often, first back in England, and later during the long voyage when the wind roared in the rigging and great spumes of salt water hurled themselves against the bow of the little English merchantman. This was Japan. This was Marco Polo’s fabled Chipangu!

  It was nearly twenty-one years since Will Adams, that redoubtable ship’s pilot, had made landfall in 1600, and tales had filtered back to England from other Briti
sh adventurers: stories of fierce samurai warriors with shaved foreheads and deadly twin swords; tales of profit to be made from Chinese silk and Japanese silver; hopes, always, that Japan could be used as a steppingstone toward the vast riches of the spice trade, in which the London Company had paramount interest.

  “It’s your first voyage,” the captain was saying, “so I’ll give you a piece of free advice, Mr. Curtis. Don’t you trust these Jappos! They always grin, but you never know what’s behind those grins.” He licked his thick lips.

  “The Jappo women, now, that’s quite another story. A piece of silver will furnish you with an armful of sweetness.”

  Alex grinned. Lord Jasper had warned him at great length about the lures of the flesh. “You’re a young man,” he had lectured, “and after a long ship’s voyage, no doubt your blood will be hot. But remember! Reflect! It is business, not lust, that takes you to Japan. Take an example from James Rutledge, our director general in Katayama. In spite of temptation, he’s remained single!”

  “But, then, you’ll be here on business,” the swarthy captain was amending. “Do you plan to shake up the Katayama office of the London Company? Rumor says that Rutledge hasn’t been doing as well as he should. Those Dutch merchants are faring better in matters of trade. God rot them!”

  Ships’ captains, Alex knew, were often privy to a great deal of information. “I’ve heard the Hollanders have a firm toehold in Japan,” he began.

  “Toehold!” The captain spat his disgust. “First, it was the Portuguese with their hold of Macao and their monopoly on trade with China. Now, it’s the Dutch! They’ve got both feet in what should be England’s business. These God-cursed Hollanders are everywhere, Mr. Curtis. They’re in India and they’re in Java and in the Moluccans. There’s millions to be made in the spice trade, thank you! After all, didn’t Sir Francis Drake bring home a fortune in cloves from the Moluccans? But, curse them, the Dutch East India Company is richer and more powerful than our London Company, and those big East Indiamen of theirs can rule the trade on the seas.” He leaned closer. “If you ask me, Mr. Curtis, you need a director general who can. . . .”

  He broke off as one of the Anabella’s crew let out a shout. “We’ve got company,” Captain Francis growled.

  A boat was being rowed toward them across the inlet. In the boat stood three Japanese men. They wore stiff, ceremonial trousers over their robes, and their foreheads were shaved. What hair remained formed a kind of topknot at the back of their heads. All three looked decidedly grim, and one kept his hand on the handles of his twin swords.

  “Samurai?” Alex asked.

  The captain nodded. “They represent the authority of the lord Azuma of Iwase. They’re here to make sure we really are a peaceful merchantman!” He grimaced. “Now I’ll have to go and make my bows. You come, too, Mr. Curtis. They’ll want to see you.”

  The Samurai’s visit to the Anabella was brief. They treated the captain with cool contempt, but their interest sparked as they surveyed Alex’s inches. One of the warriors barked something to Captain Francis, who nodded, gravely. Then the samurai bowed to Alex, who returned the courtesy, and snapped out an order.

  “What’s going on?” Alex asked as the samurai ceremoniously left the ship.

  The captain grinned. “He asked if you were nobility, so I said your father and uncle are great lords. That made all the difference, Mr. Curtis. The Japanese are cursed status-conscious! They’re letting us disembark.” He paused. “Another piece of advice, young sir. Never stand up to a samurai! They’re as proud as the devil and mighty free with those swords. They’d cut you up quicker than look at you!”

  Alex smiled. “I intend to keep well out of the way. I’m here on business, remember?” He wished that there were some way of returning to the earlier conversation about James Rutledge, but Captain Francis had moved away and was now giving orders that the longboat be lowered. Excitement surged through him. He was going to set foot on Japanese soil, and Rutledge could wait. And, when it came to that, where the devil was Rutledge?

  He scanned the faces on the pier again as he and Captain Francis were rowed ashore. The pier was completely thronged with Japanese. Both men and women wore flowing, wraparound robes—kimonos, the captain called them—which fell in a straight line from shoulder to ankle and which were caught at the waist by a wide sash. The men wore their hair in topknots, but the women’s dark tresses were elaborately coifed and ornamented. They held flowing sleeves to their mouths and giggled at the sailors’ ribald greetings as the longboat touched the pier.

  “Here we are, Mr. Curtis,” the captain said.

  “Up you go, now.”

  After weeks at sea, Alex was grateful for the solid ground. As he stepped ashore, he was surrounded by a circle of short, olive-skinned people. Before he could think of what to do or say, he felt a light touch on his arm.

  “Lord Alex Curtis?” a soft voice asked.

  A slim Japanese woman stood before him, hands on knees, head and shoulders bent in a low bow. Her hair was not piled high like the other women’s, but was pulled back from her face and held at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell comb. All he could see of her face was the ivory white of her forehead with its widow’s peak of contrasting jet black hair.

  “Lord Alex,” she was saying, “I have been sent to guide you to the house of James Rutledge.”

  Now it registered that a Japanese woman was speaking English! There was a slight musical accent to her words, but the soft voice formed the words clearly. All he could think of to say was “Where is Rutledge?”

  He noted that the slender shoulders in the pale kimono tensed at his words. “I am very sorry,” she said, “but he is away on business. If you will come with me, I will guide you at once to the Great House.”

  She looked up at him then, and he caught his breath. Her pale face with its high, dark brows, tip-tilted little nose and generous mouth would have been striking in any context. What held Alex, however, were her eyes—wide, thick-lashed, silver gray eyes.

  “Who are you?” he managed.

  “I am Zanna. I am the—the unworthy daughter of James Rutledge. It would be my great honor, my lord, to accompany you to my father’s home.”

  Chapter Two

  “DAUGHTER? I DIDN’T REALIZE JAMES RUTLEDGE was a married man!” From behind the tall Englishman, Zanna heard a guffaw, and a swarthy fellow with thick beard and mocking eyes winked at her.

  “No more is he, Mr. Curtis! But a man who spends nearly twenty years in these islands might be excused for taking a companion, eh? The girl’s mother must have been better looking than most, at that!”

  Zanna tried to pretend she hadn’t heard, but a bitter swell of humiliation made her throw back her head instead of retaining the correct, humble position. The next moment, she was furious at herself. She had no right to take offense at what anyone said about her mother or herself! The only important thing was that she lead this English guest to the Great House. But would he come? He was frowning, as if angered. Panic filled her.

  “Please, my lord,” she said urgently, and forced herself to smile into his scowl. “We have brought a horse for your convenience. We had thought you might not enjoy a palanquin ride. . . .”

  She gestured to the narrow lacquered box nearby and breathed a sigh of relief as he smiled. “Madam, I doubt if I could get my legs into that contraption! A horse will be pleasant after so long at sea.”

  Her knees were trembling, but she bowed again and led him to where Kenjuro held the bridle of the horse they had brought. As they walked, the Englishman said, “I take it that your father’s business keeps him away from Katayama a great deal?”

  “He is a very busy person for the company, my lord.” She gestured to the old man who was bowing deeply. “This is Kenjuro, Lord Alex Curtis. He is a very old servant of the director, and he welcomes you to Japan.”

  She stepped gracefully into the narrow palanquin, watched Kenjuro hold the horse still as Alex swung into the sadd
le. With infinite gratitude she felt the bearers of the palanquin take up the stout poles that held the lacquered box aloft, heard old Kenjuro’s proud cry: “Make way for the palanquin and the noble English lord!”

  It was done! So far, she had succeeded! Zanna realized that she had clenched her small hands into fists. Slowly, carefully, she relaxed them. She closed her eyes and leaned back against the swaying palanquin. Merciful Buddha, she thought, thank you! Now, if only Rutledge-sama is at the Great House when we get there. . . .

  “Lady Zanna?”

  Her eyes flew open and, looking through the open door of the palanquin, she saw that he was riding beside her and watching her. She shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord. I’m Zanna, not Lady anything!”

  His laugh was deep, pleasant. “And I’m just Alex, I’m afraid. My uncle Jasper is a lord, and my father is a knight. My older brother, Griffin, will inherit the title, not I.”

  “I don’t understand. If your father is a knight. . . .”

  “Titles go to the oldest boy in the family,” Alex explained. “As the second son, I must make my name and my fortune elsewhere. Truth to tell, poor Griff doesn’t have much of a fortune, either, as he’s learned to his sorrow.”

  She frowned, trying to follow the rapid flow of English. “Is he a poor man?” she asked.

  “Not poor, no, but not rich enough to make a difference. He loved a neighbor squire’s pretty daughter, but the wench married a richer man.” He laughed again, but this time his laugh had a hard edge to it. “Money and land—this is what the woman wanted. Perhaps she’s right. Money and power are everything in this world.”

  She wondered if she understood all he said, and ventured to glance up at him. Until now she had been so afraid of doing or saying something wrong that she hadn’t noticed much about him except his willingness to follow her to Rutledge-sama’s home. Now, she was surprised at the breadth of his shoulders, his tallness, his erect carriage as he rode. She had always thought Rutledge to be the tallest man in the world, but this Englishman was even taller. She could see the ripple of muscle under his dark-red velvet doublet as he rode beside her, the taut power of thigh and long leg. And there was his coloring, too: the deep gold of his hair, the midday blue of his eyes. It was so different from what she was used to, and yet right for him. He was as vivid, as powerful as the sunset through which they rode.