The Blonde Samurai (18 page)

I sensed a bonding with her, dear lady reader, though I would not know why until later. I must remind you, what happened in these pages was spoken in the native language, not fluent on my part, and I remain certain I have missed innuendos, so I have filled in the speeches to make them more complete for you. I have also eliminated the honorifics such as
-san
to allow you to integrate into these pages, not as an observer who finds these mannerisms strange, but as one who is part of the samurai life.

Come with me as I walk through the village, the children sailing paper boats in rain puddles, the women in their wide, straw hats washing their rice pots in the streams and pretending not to stare, the samurai practicing battle moves with swords and spears.

But on that morning, it was my encounter with Akira that remains the most vivid in my mind.

“You are well, Lady Carlton,” I heard a voice say, then I turned to see Akira coming out of the shadows as if he waited there for me to pass. Word of my identity had spread.

“Yes. I don’t know how to thank you for saving my life.” I bowed, but not before I saw him grab the bulge in his divided trousers. I gasped, felt my blood heat with an uncomfortable urge. I couldn’t help myself, but I imagined him naked and aroused, his warrior body smooth and muscular. My pubic muscles tightened and I lowered my eyes, but not before I saw Nami hide her mouth, giggling. I dared not let her see my reaction. I could hide nothing from her. I would soon learn the way of the warrior exceeded my expectations in many ways.

“I am duty bound to guard you, my lady, and shall do so with my life.” He bowed, his strength and discipline intriguing me as much as the way his body moved with the litheness of a mythical warrior, all his instincts tuned in to hunting his prey.

Me.

“I would never ask that of any man,” I said honestly.

“I am prepared to give…whatever you ask of me,” Akira said.

With another bow, he was gone, his physical presence as disturbing to my senses as a rare essence from an exotic blossom. But the lingering thought in my mind disturbed me more. This young man, as handsome as a royal prince, wanted me, and God help me, I couldn’t stop the stirring in my pussy.

Bless me, Father, for I have sinned…

I became settled in my new quarters, a ten-mat room in a big house with a main pillar so big in girth I couldn’t get my arms around it. My room included a small attendant’s area and was located not far from an earth-floored kitchen, along with
a necessary place in the corner of the veranda with a big pot underneath so I could attend to my ablutions
inside
without having to go out in the rain. Or face the guard stationed outside.

On this day, Nami fidgeted with making everything clean and orderly, insisting on preparing ginger tea then washing me with the careful touch only another woman understands. Her fingers long and slender, nails translucent, she splashed soapy water over my breasts, stroked my hips, embraced my buttocks and washed the area between my thighs, her silence at seeing my blondish pubic hairs saying more to me than words, then bade me soak up to my chin in a rice-wine bath to smooth and soften my skin. Afterward she applied sesame oil to my hair to make it shine, then dressed me in a vibrant blue silk kimono and deep pink obi, pulling the sash around my waist tighter than my corset, and white ankle-length stockings upon my feet since I was to have a visitor.

Shintaro.

Shintaro in his world was another man. A ruler, all powerful, dominating. And a poet. His first words to me were not of rebuke, curiosity or desire, but poetry. The purity of the first snow, summer’s calm slumber, battles with demons of the night and she-foxes, moors and mountains ever green. We sat upon square silk cushions in the main room, drinking foaming green tea and eating the sweetened red beans Nami had prepared. I have never forgotten his poems and though they may seem elusive, the more you study them the more you will comprehend what hides behind the words, as I came to understand the man behind the samurai. I have recorded my favorite poem here for you, the story of a girl who loses her samurai love:

The beauty of his poems still makes me wistful, longing as I do for him, but I was not prepared for his next words when Shintaro stood and turned his back to me, thinking before he spoke, then—

“Why have you disturbed the peace of our village, Lady Carlton?” he asked me in the native tongue, his tone direct, surprising me.

“I came to warn you, Shintaro, that your enemies have openly proclaimed you a rebel against His Majesty.” I explained to him that if samurai did not follow the conscription law and accept the cut in their yearly stipends and other privileges, the government would move against them with muskets and rifles, leaving them with nothing but a name.

“Is that the only reason?” he insisted, turning around to face me.

“No,” I said without embarrassment. “After what happened between us in Yoshiwara—”

“I regret I acted as men do in the pleasure quarters, my lady, and brought disgrace upon you.”

“I am not ashamed of what I did.”

Ignoring me, he said, “You must go back to your husband.”

“I can’t. He will kill me.”

“He knows…about us?”

“No—”

“Then why do you not obey me?” he said to me in English, startling me. “Are my words not clear?”

“Yes, but—” I stopped, shocked. I daresay I was as surprised as you are, dear lady reader, to learn my samurai was a man of linguistic talent. But as is peculiar to those of his warrior status, he revealed such talents only when the battle tide turned against him. He wished to be rid of me and no one was to question his decision. Including me.

“You
must
return to your husband,” he repeated.

“Why didn’t you tell me you speak English?” I was angry with him, for how dare he play me for the fool, speaking English only when it pleased him.

“There are many things you do not know.” His look was amused, though I did not find it so.

“How did you learn to speak my language?” I asked.

“I wish to know my enemy,” he said, walking around me, studying me as if I were an imitation of a man with breasts and a pussy, deciding if I was significant enough to be worthy of an answer. I sensed here was a man capable of cold fury when crossed in battle.

“You mean certain members in the British Legation working with the council,” I said simply.

“Yes. Japan must be strong both economically and militarily.” He added how he used his position at the mikado’s court to study English. “That will not happen if the
gaijin
colonize us and take away our freedoms, our status as samurai.”

“Not all foreigners are against you, Shintaro.” I lowered my eyes, why I didn’t know since I was determined not to act submissive around him. “I find you…very appealing.”

He laughed and tilted my face up to meet his eyes. “You are most daring in your actions, Lady Carlton, not unlike a brave samurai woman taught to display courage and fortitude should she need to defend herself.”

“I envy her,” I said with raw emotion coloring my voice,
“but that freedom will be lost if your enemies move against you. You will be hunted down and killed.”

I was surprised to see his dark eyes brighten with the most curious expression. A half smile curved over his lips, then his voice hardened as he said, “The
gaijin
think they can defeat us by selling us old, rusting muskets and rifles from France. But they are no match for the sword of the samurai.”

“They
will
come, Shintaro, with many soldiers, better arms and ammunitions. You can’t stop them.”

“You are not samurai, Lady Carlton. You do not understand our ways.” He refused to listen to me, though I swore I saw a softening around his mouth, then it was gone. He became the stoic leader again. “You shall leave here in two days when the road has cleared.”

“What about my husband, James?” I pleaded. “He swore to kill me.”

“You said Lord Carlton knows nothing about me.” His eyes hardened. “Do you lie?”

“No, I speak the truth.”

“Then why do you fear your husband?”

“I cannot explain why, Shintaro. All I ask is you don’t send me back to him.”

“I believe the British to be barbarians, but they do not allow husbands to murder their women.” He paused, as if weighing his words. I took that time to admire his striking figure in a green silk kimono tied with a white sash affixed with a white collar, wanting to rip it from him as he straightened, flexing his broad shoulders and the muscles of his back. “I have given my word that you will return.”

“Your word?” I asked, surprised. “To whom?”

He grinned. “To myself. It is too dangerous for you to remain in our village.”

“Dangerous for whom, Shintaro?” I demanded to know. “After what happened between us, how can you send me away?”

“I must. It is written that when the song of the nightingale pierces the air thick with battle, a black cloud descends upon the warrior and he knows not his enemy,” he said, the deep creases of his face bronzed by the sun tightening with a controlled tension. “It is that darkness I fear.”

“Shintaro is a fool, Nami,” I said, not hiding the irritation in my voice as I watched her fold the blue silk kimono in the proper manner,
a gift,
she insisted. “Why doesn’t he understand he’s in danger?”

“Shintaro is samurai and sees everything in his world changing,” she said in a calm voice, wrapping the beautiful kimono and white ankle-high stockings I came to know as
tabi
in thick handmade paper. “You are a part of that change. He cannot accept that.”

“But he
must,
Nami, or your people will suffer.”

“He is first a man, Lady Carlton.”

“Please call me Katie,” I said, bowing then laying my hand upon her arm. She nodded. We both knew tomorrow I would be sent back to a life I rebelled against and to a man I hated.

“You must be more of a woman than any woman he has known if you wish to still the song of the nightingale in his heart.”

She overheard us.
Instead of being angry with her, I accepted the native trait of listening through paper doors as a show of friendship.

Watching her tying the package with a red-and-white cord, a strange, desperate abandon came over me, a recklessness I
couldn’t control as it became clear to me what I had to do. I told Nami to unwrap the blue silk kimono.

I said, “Tell Shintaro I request that he dine with me tonight.”

I grinned and she looked at me through her lovely dark eyes as if I were a curious honeybee about to sting, then she left with a low bow and twist of her mouth I’ve no doubt was a smile.

He became impatient with my lingering at the rice bowl, trying as I was to finish every grain, signaling to him I wished no more. Shintaro took the bowl from me with one hand and with the other he cupped my breast through the blue silk kimono, tracing perfect circles around my nipple until it hardened, then he did the same with the other, his eyes never leaving mine. I didn’t move when his hand tugged at the soft material hiding my thighs from him and he let out his breath when the touch of bare skin met his fingers. I wasn’t wearing the native undergarment, something I could tell pleased him by his grunt of approval. His hand was quick and urgent, his meaning clear when he slipped his fingers between my legs. I resisted and pulled back, though I felt dizzy with desire.
No, not yet.
Remembering Nami’s words, I had to make him want me more than he’d wanted
any
woman.

He had come to me as a man with whom I’d shared a silken futon, an erotic coupling. Poetry. I still cannot get over the wonder of him on that night, his dark eyes brooding with mystery, a wildness about him that tantalized me, a smell of manliness that inhabited the room blending with the muskiness of the night air and clearly saying that sexual pleasure was on his mind. Not the informal meal Nami had prepared of rice and mushrooms, gingko nuts, chestnuts and plump boiled shrimp swimming in a sweet sesame sauce. He ate quickly
then downed sake after sake, filling my cup then his own, breaking tradition as he was wont to do when it pleased him.

I, on the other hand, wanted more than sex, desperate as I was to brand my image upon his soul. I swayed my shoulders, pushed out my breasts, licked my lips, then drizzled the rice wine down my cleavage. I was there for his pleasure, all of me offered to him, moving in a graceful dance as though I was created to be desired by him alone. He grunted, spoke little, then pushed his hand, palm down, up my thigh, taking his time, watching my face when my buttocks contracted, then grinning at me. I heard him lamenting about the hunger of a man obsessed, his thirst satiated only when he pierced the locked door…

The sensuality between us wasn’t all that we enjoyed, considering the playful delight we engaged in when in each other’s company. No guilt, no sense of taboo. We were a man and a woman, not samurai and sinner. Tomorrow he intended to send me back to my husband, but tonight he was mine to conquer for I saw myself as a woman in control of her fate. ’Tis a deep sigh I hear from you, dear lady reader, as if you are beginning to understand the magic Shintaro held for me as you yourself fall under his spell. With every move he made toward me, I became more aroused until I leaned over and kissed his lips, wanting to taste him, knowing this was not something he expected.

I have scant experience in the art of kissing, seeing how this plain Irish lass was not favored with beaux, but I never dreamed anything could be so sensually beautiful as his mouth, his soft, warm lips parting against mine without nudging from me. I could not catch my breath when his tongue nuzzled and sucked at me greedily, searching for my soul he was, his breath heavy with the scent of sake and tasting of his fervor to explore me. His warrior hands that wielded two
swords, strong and experienced, moved over the blue silk wrapping my body as we kissed and I clung to him with a fierceness I hadn’t known the first time he held me. Then I was craving the newness of being close to him, teasing, pulling back before letting go. Now I hungered for him, wishing, praying, desiring him to strip me naked. I dare say Shintaro possessed that same hunger, his mouth pulling away, his breath hot in my ear when he whispered, “Why did you summon me here? Have the gods no mercy?”