Blackthorne took in her long legs and the sinuousness of her walk until she disappeared. He felt Mariko’s eyes watching him closely and looked back at her. “No,” he said blandly and shook his head.
She laughed. “I thought it might be difficult—might be uncomfortable for you, to have her just as a traveling companion after such a special pillowing.”
“Uncomfortable, no. On the contrary, very pleasant. I’ve very pleasant memories. I’m glad she belongs to Lord Toranaga now. That makes everything easy, for her and for him. And everyone.” He was going to add, everyone except Omi, but thought better of it. “After all, to me she was only a very special, glorious gift. Nothing more.
“She was a gift, yes.”
He wanted to touch Mariko. But he did not. Instead he turned and stared up at the pass, not sure what he read behind her eyes. Night obscured the pass now. And the clouds. Water dripped nicely from the roof. “What else did the Captain say?”
“Nothing of importance, Anjin-san.”
Their journey to Mishima took nine days, and every night, for part of the night, they were together. Secretly. Unwittingly Yoshinaka assisted them. At each inn he would naturally choose adjacent rooms for all of them. “I hope you do not object, Lady, but this will make security much easier,” he would always say, and Mariko would agree and take the center room, Kiku and Gyoko to one side, Blackthorne to the other. Then, in the dark of the night she would leave her maid, Chimmoko, and go to him. With adjoining rooms, coupled with the usual chatter and night sounds and singing and carousing of other travelers with their swarms of ever-present, anxious-to-please maids, the alert outward-guarding sentries were none the wiser. Only Chimmoko was privy to the secret.
Mariko was aware that eventually Gyoko, Kiku, and all the women in their party would know. But this did not worry her. She was samurai and they were not. Her word would carry against theirs, unless she was caught blatantly, and no samurai, not even Yoshinaka, would normally dare to open her door by night, uninvited. As far as everyone was concerned Blackthorne shared his bed with Chimmoko, or one of the maids in the inn. It was no one’s business but his. So only a woman could betray her, and if she was betrayed, her betrayer and all the women of the party would die an even more vulgar and more lingering death than hers for so disgusting a betrayal. Then too, if she wished, before they reached Mishima or Yedo, all knew she could have them put to death at her whim for the slightest indiscretion, real or alleged. Mariko was sure Toranaga would not object to a killing. Certainly he would applaud Gyoko’s and, in her private heart, Mariko was sure he would not object even to Kiku’s. Two and a half thousand koku could buy many a courtesan of the First Rank.
So she felt safe from the women. But not from Blackthorne, much as she loved him now. He was not Japanese. He had not been trained from birth to build the inner, impenetrable fences behind which to hide. His face or manner or pride would betray them. She was not afraid for herself. Only for him.
“At long last I know what love means,” she murmured the first night. And because she no longer fought against love’s onslaught but yielded to its irresistibility, her terror for his safety consumed her. “I love thee, so I’m afraid for thee,” she whispered, holding on to him, using Latin, the language of lovers.
“I love thee. Oh, how I love thee.”
“I’ve destroyed thee, my love, by beginning. We’re doomed now. I’ve destroyed thee—that is the truth.”
“No, Mariko, somehow something will happen to make everything right.”
“I should never have begun. The fault is mine.”
“Do not worry, I beg thee.
At length she pretended to be persuaded and melted into his arms. But she was sure he would be his own nemesis. For herself she was not afraid.
The nights were joyous. Tender and each one better than before. The days were easy for her, difficult for him. He was constantly on guard, determined for her sake not to make a mistake. “There will be no mistake,” she said while they were riding together, safely apart from the rest, now keeping up a pretense of absolute confidence after her lapse of the first night. “Thou art strong. Thou art samurai and there will be no mistake.”
“And when we get to Yedo?”
“Let Yedo take care of Yedo. I love thee.”
“Yes. I love thee too.”
“Then why so sad?”
“Not sad, Lady. Just that silence is painful. I wish to shout my love from the mountaintops.”
They delighted in their privacy and their certainty they were still safe from prying eyes.
“What will happen to them, Gyoko-san?” Kiku asked softly in their palanquin on the first day of the journey.
“Disaster, Kiku-san. There’s no hope for their future. He hides it well, but she . . . ! Her adoration shouts from her face. Look at her! Like a young girl! Oh, how foolish she is!”
“But oh, how beautiful,
