Blocking the door, Kaoru smiled and stroked her hair. “Don’t be afraid.” He ran his hands down her slight body. “So young. So nice.” A guttural moan escaped him.
“I-I want to go back in the house,” Akiko said, shrinking from his touch.
He untied her sash and tore off her kimono. He flung himself upon her, panting like a dog.
“What are you doing, oji-san? Stop, please!”
Pinned beneath him on the straw, Akiko smelled his sweat mingling with the pungent odor of horse manure. His breath stank of liquor. She struggled, and he slapped her face. “Don’t fight me,” he rasped. “You’ve been asking for this, and now you’re going to get it!”
The hardness at his loins bludgeoned Akiko as he forced her legs apart. She screamed in terror. The straw scraped her skin; his weight crushed her. She’d heard tales of peasant girls, and even female relatives, violated by men of her clan, but had never imagined that it could happen to her. Again she screamed: “Help!”
Kaoru hit her again, harder. “Quiet, or I’ll kill you.” Then he entered her.
Akiko felt a searing pain between her legs, as though he’d driven a sword through her. With Kaoru’s repeated thrusts, the sword plunged deeper. Agony blinded Akiko; she wept silently. Horses stomped and whinnied. The torture went on and on. Then Kaoru cried out. He withdrew, and the pain eased. Through her tears, Akiko watched him rise from her.
“Oh, no,” he said, looking down at his hands, his clothing, the straw. A dark substance covered everything. Dimly, Akiko realized that it was blood-hers. Kaoru said, “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll kill you.” Panic tinged his voice. “Do you understand? I’ll kill you!”
Later Akiko had vague memories of lying half-conscious in the straw until morning came and someone found her; of doctors forcing bitter medicine down her throat. After a while she recovered, but not completely. Between her legs and in her lower abdomen, where she had once felt pleasant stirrings during romantic fantasies, scar tissue obliterated sensation.
Uncle Kaoru remained at the estate. Akiko never reported what he’d done to her. If anyone guessed, no one ever punished him. Akiko spent her days hiding alone in her bedchamber with the shutters closed. Then Kaoru suddenly departed for Tosa Province. Relief lightened the weight of terror that imprisoned Akiko. She ventured into the garden for the first time in two months. As she stood blinking in the sunshine, someone came up beside her.
“Hello, Cousin.”
Instinctively she flinched at the male voice. Then she recognized her sixteen-year-old cousin Shigeru, first son of the daimyo. Though they’d both lived on the estate all their lives, she barely knew him: The future lord of Tosa Province was too busy to bother with girls. Now Akiko saw that this slender youth of slouching posture and soft, moist eyes and mouth possessed none of the masculine brutality that she feared, but his rank intimidated her.
“I saw what happened in the stable,” Shigeru said. “I told my father, and he sent Uncle Kaoru away.” The future daimyo gave her a sly, ingratiating smile. “I just thought you’d like to know.”
Gratitude overwhelmed Akiko. Unbidden, he’d helped her when no one else cared. From that moment, she dedicated her life to Shigeru. She needed someone to worship; he needed slavish devotion. They became inseparable companions, and he the beneficiary of her love. Under his protection, she was safe from other men. He confided his private thoughts to her: his dislike of responsibility; his dreams of a quiet life devoted to pleasure. And he never tried to touch her. Soon she learned his favorite pastime: spying on women.
Ever anxious to please, Akiko helped Shigeru sneak into the women’s quarters so he could watch the women undress and bathe. He would stimulate himself while she acted as lookout. On some level, she understood that he must have noticed her attachment to Kaoru, followed them to the stable that night, and enjoyed watching the attack instead of stopping it. She also understood that he’d seen the advantages of transferring her devotion to himself. Yet she never admitted that Shigeru was using her. She loved him; she needed him. Therefore she must do whatever was necessary to preserve their friendship.
Eight years passed. As Akiko matured, the terrifying prospect of marriage loomed. She couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Shigeru, of living with a strange man who would touch her body. The attack had inflicted permanent physical damage: Her monthly bleeding brought on excruciating cramps; perhaps she could never bear children. However, this possible defect wouldn’t save her. Not a whisper about her injury had passed beyond the immediate family; her parents didn’t want to ruin her chances of an advantageous match.
Then Shigeru’s father died, and he became daimyo. The clan had delayed his marriage in the hope of a union with some powerful samurai clan, but the Miyagi’s minor status attracted no worthy prospects; hence, the clan decided to consolidate its assets by wedding Shigeru to a relative. Akiko’s branch of the family was next in the line of succession, and she its eldest daughter. Shigeru married her.
Akiko was overjoyed. Now she could live forever under the protection of a husband who wouldn’t force any physical attentions on her. “Marriage doesn’t have to change things between us,” Shigeru said.”Let’s just go on like always.”
They altered the household to suit their mutual taste. Shigeru sent most of the relatives and retainers to his estate in Tosa Province. Akiko dismissed most of the servants. When not pursuing Shigeru’s sexual gratification, they preferred poetry and music to entertaining company. During the months he spent in Tosa every year, Akiko pined for him. As wife of a daimyo, she lost some of her fear of men and gained an air of authority, but only when Shigeru was with her did she feel truly safe, or happy.
Now Lady Miyagi heard her husband’s breaths quicken; she pictured his hands stroking himself faster and harder. When Snowflake glanced at her, she signaled for the love play to proceed. Snowflake lay on the floor, legs spread wide. Wren got down on hands and knees, crawling backward over her. She buried her face in Snowflake’s crotch, licking and sucking with exaggerated noise. Snowflake moaned and writhed. Grasping Wren’s buttocks, she pulled her partner’s womanhood down upon her own mouth. Lord Miyagi grunted and gasped. Lady Miyagi knew that his ecstasy was near. Gladness filled her heart.
Though she’d never experienced physical joy herself, she could share her husband’s. Mutual need had wrought a spiritual bond between them. Even without sex, she found the deepest personal fulfillment in their marriage; she felt no need for children. Let Shigeru’s nephew succeed him as daimyo. They were mated souls, like the two swans in the family crest, a self-sufficient pair… or so she tried to tell herself. Once she had thought this union eternal, invincible. Then Harume had entered their lives, that evening last spring.
Lord and Lady Miyagi had been standing on a pier, watching fireworks burst over the Sumida River, amid noisy crowds celebrating the opening of the boating season. Shigeru had pointed out Harume among the shogun’s entourage. Imagining the girl as just another harmless diversion, Lady Miyagi had procured a meeting. How could she have foreseen that Harume would pierce the weakness in their marriage? Discovering that the affair had taken a turn that could divide her from Shigeru had actually made her ill; she’d vomited in the street. Harume had threatened not only her happiness, but her very existence. Lady Miyagi rejoiced in Harume’s death. She was safe once again. Shigeru need never know what had almost happened.
However, the threat had not completely died with Lady Harume. Its specter haunted Lady Miyagi, ready to rise again. And a new menace, in the form of the murder investigation, shadowed her life. Even the news of Lieutenant Kushida’s arrest had not eased her mind.
Now Shigeru’s moans grew louder with the urgency of his need. Lady Miyagi gave another signal to the concubines. Snowflake thrust her pelvis against Wren’s face and screamed. Wren arched her back, closed her eyes, and let out a series of blissful cries. Through the wall came a hoarse shout. Tears of joy stung Lady Miyagi’s eyes. Once again she had served her lord’s desire.
Hearing his footsteps retreat, she rose. Snowflake and Wren disentangled themselves and bowed. “That was excellent,” Lady Miyagi said, then walked down the corridor to Shigeru’s bedchamber.
In the light of a lamp on the table, he lay upon his futon, covered with a quilt, his head pillowed on a wooden neck rest. This was Lady Miyagi’s favorite part of the ritual: when she and Shigeru came together again. She lay on the futon next to his. They never touched. Shigeru was usually half asleep by this time. Lady Miyagi would wait awhile to see if he needed anything, then snuff out the lamp. Eventually she, too, would sleep, secure in their unique love.
But tonight Shigeru was wide awake, his gaze pensive as he stared at the ceiling. Lady Miyagi said, “What’s wrong, Cousin?”
He turned to her. “It’s this murder investigation.” The worry on his face made him look simultaneously older and younger; in his soft, drooping features, Lady Miyagi could see both her girlhood companion and the elderly man
