The Samurai That I Loved

第61章

"No! Wake up! Yoru!" Eliza shrieked while crazed panic began overtaking her in sickening waves, "Fuzakeru no wa yamete kudasai, kono gōman'na otoko"

(Stop fooling around, you insolent man!)

She knew it was useless. There were no words in the world that would make the beautiful man open his eyes. Yoru, her Shojiro-san, her love, her joy was dying in her arms. She lugged him desperately down the rest of the stairs and into the carriage with the help of the maid.

"Here, hold him steady," the maid suddenly ordered from beside her in a hissed whisper filled with frantic haste, "get him in the free seat there." Turning to Eliza, she added, "I'm Beth, by the way."

Eliza mindlessly did as she was told, giving Beth a quick glance and a thankful nod. Hopkins eased back against the opposite seat, watching both women handle his best friend intently with worry in his eyes.

"I've seen him in worse straights. He'll be fine." He mumbled to no one in particular while his face paled, "He's probably faking."

"He's not faking." Beth quipped, aiding Eliza in laying the Japanese man onto his back and brushing loose strands of his raven hair from his face, "I've handled gun wounds before. Keep your dress bundled and pressed against the wound...here." She instructed quietly to Eliza while lifting his shirt, "Until we find a safe place, this is the best we can do for him."

Eliza nodded, whispering back, "Alright...alright." Squeezing her eyes closed, she made a silent plea to the Heavens for a miracle.

The carriage raced through the night streets of London until reaching the docks lined with brick and motor buildings appearing more like ominous beacons in the darkness. Eliza kept her dress skirts pressed down on Yoru's wound, knowing full well his very life depended on it. She tried desperately not to focus on the egregious amount of blood staining his shirt and her hands. Instead, her eyes remained on his still, blessed face. His almond eyes were closed without any indent or furrow, any sign of stress or pain. He looked almost at peace, she thought, losing the battle to tamper down her grief.

What had gone through his mind when he stumbled down those stairs of the Opera house? She believed her heart mirrored his own; the striving battle to be together in complete freedom to love one another, cherish one another, live out their lives together in a reality neither of them had even thought possible.

Was it still possible?

Had it ever been?

Blinking back the stinging tears threatening to fill her vision, she sighed heavily, tilting her face upwards. Beth's hand suddenly settled on her shoulder. Darting red-rimmed eyes towards her, Eliza gazed at her softened face and her mousy brown hair tied up in a loose bun. Beth gave her a sympathetic look back, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"Have faith, m'lady. He seems strong."

"He is strong. Stupidly strong." Hopkins grumbled, his voice coming out in a throaty rasp of caught emotion.

Beth glanced at him and moved over to assess his own wounds before murmuring, "Shush now. You keep that wound pressed. You'll be fine until I'm done with him. But stop talking so much."

The corner of Hopkins' mouth lifted ruefully as he returned her gaze, "You know you like the sound of my voice."

Beth ducked her head, hiding her blush before she retorted back, "Oh tosh, you sassy wanker."

Reaching their offices and housing, the carriage came to a halt, and Beth banged open the door. Assisting Hopkins out first, she turned and helped Eliza carry Yoru's unconscious body into the building as Hopkins followed awkwardly behind.