Blossom of the Samurai Read online

  Blossom of the Samurai

  By Sedonia Guillone

  Sword and Silk: Book Three

  The samurai’s only true master is his heart….

  For seven years while training for his life as a samurai, Toho Morimasa has been away from Aoki, the beautiful actor who helped him to heal from the trauma of his parents’ brutal murders. Now, nightmares that Aoki is in trouble plague Toho’s sleep, and he makes the journey back from Edo to Kai, no longer wanting to be away from Aoki’s side. Once there, Toho meets the very real source of his nightmares and vows to honor and protect Aoki. When his beloved Aoki is brutally assaulted, will Aoki survive long enough to understand that the love Toho has for him is the love he too has been craving his whole life but doesn’t feel he deserves?

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Cast

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  More from Sedonia Guillone

  About the Author

  By Sedonia Guillone

  Visit Dreamspinner Press

  Copyright

  For Mitch, always and forever

  Acknowledgments

  THANK YOU to Natalie Norment who answered my FB post about suggestions for the best possible title for this story.

  Cast

  Toho Morimasa – A young ronin samurai

  Aoki – A kabuki actor

  Sho – A blind masseur, Toho’s adoptive father

  Hirata Morimasa – A ronin samurai, Toho’s other adoptive father

  Sozaemon – A ronin

  Genji – A kabuki actor

  Daisuke Minamoto – A ronin samurai

  Peony – A housemaid in Aoki’s household

  Prologue

  Edo, Japan, mid-eighteenth century, during the Tokugawa Shogunate

  AOKI HAD known two days he could call the saddest of his life.

  The first was the day his poverty-stricken parents had been forced to contract him to the traveling theater troupe that took him away when he had barely reached his tenth year.

  The second was today, twelve years later, when another separation loomed before him, challenging the pain of the first.

  Although the three figures seated on the tatami across from him, sipping the tea he’d served them, were not his blood and kin, he loved them at least as dearly as he could love any parent, brother, or sister. And today, as soon as they had finished their farewell meal, they were leaving Kai, en route to Edo, where their long-lost families awaited their return.

  Sho, the anma—blind masseur—was the one Aoki had met first. Intimately so, as Sho had once been a customer, back in the “teahouse,” before Aoki’s acting career had afforded him the success and income to purchase the little town house in which they now sat. Back then, Aoki had never met a man as kind, gentle, and sensual as Sho, and had been very taken with him. Sho had always given him a little extra payment to store away so that he could free himself as soon as possible from the kagema house, become his own master, and be free to wait for the samurai of his dreams. Sho held a special place in Aoki’s heart as one of the truest friends he could ever hope to have.

  Hirata, a ronin samurai, sat to Sho’s left. A ruggedly handsome man, Hirata had been Sho’s childhood friend. The two men had been separated as children when Sho’s blindness forced him to be apprenticed and sent away to learn his trade. But Hirata had searched ten years to find Sho and they were reunited, swearing an oath that nothing would part them again, not even death. Aoki had been a bit jealous of Hirata at first, but Hirata won him over in a short time with his passionate devotion to Sho and by the way he embodied Bushido, the samurai code of honor and conduct. And if anyone knew there were many samurai who did not practice Bushido, it was Aoki. Get a man naked and alone, and you quickly learned whether he was noble or not.

  However, Aoki’s sadness was greatest at the imminent departure of his third guest. Little Toho. If Toho could stay, Aoki could find a way to bear the separation from his new family. But Toho—once a peasant boy whose birth parents had been murdered nearly two years before—was now Sho and Hirata’s adopted son, on whom Hirata had conferred his status as samurai. Toho needed to meet his samurai family and undergo the training that would help him fulfill his position in society.

  “Aoki-san….” Sho’s voice gently cut into Aoki’s silent grief. Sho’s sightless eyes appeared to stare at the floor. “I am so sorry we must leave you. We would bring you with us, if we could, of course.”

  Aoki set down the teapot and rested on his heels in traditional fashion, palms delicately on the tops of his thighs. He did his best to play the charming host even though his very heart was breaking. “I know. And I certainly would go with you, if I could.” He glanced at Toho, who sat, face downturned, much the way he’d appeared the day Sho had brought Toho to meet him. Aoki couldn’t help remembering that day.

  “Toho needs someone who can be nurturing,” Sho had said. “I thought of you, Aoki-san, because even though you’re a man, I know how gentle and caring you are, the way a kind woman would be.” With that, he’d encouraged Toho to come forward. Toho had, hesitantly at first because of the trauma he’d suffered, but as soon as Aoki had knelt before him, smiled, and offered him sweets, the friendship began.

  Back in the present, Aoki’s heart squeezed again. His arms ached to embrace the child, whose love and trust in him had blossomed just as Sho had predicted. But Toho had not been the only one to benefit from their friendship. Aoki never expected the tenderness and protectiveness welling up in him to bond him and the boy so deeply. “To-chan,” he said softly.

  Toho lifted his gaze and as always, captured Aoki with those deep set, striking dark eyes, the perfect shape of half-moons under arched brows. By Toho’s gaze alone, Aoki could see he would make a fine, honorable samurai. Aoki reached out his arms to him.

  Without a word, Toho rose and took the few steps to close the space between himself and Aoki. He let Aoki wrap him in an embrace and rested against him, his face buried in the fall of Aoki’s long hair. Toho loved Aoki’s hair, loved to run his hand down it and feel it against his cheek. Aoki could always feel Toho remembering what he’d lost yet also healing because he had that same nurturing back, even if just a little bit. Aoki sighed, now feeling Toho’s hands fist his kimono. He closed his eyes a moment and rested his cheek against the boy’s head.

  Toho’s anguish came through in the clench of his fingers on the linen. “I’ll come back to you, Aoki,” Toho said. “I promise.” Already his voice carried the determined passion and devotion both his fathers had. Only months ago, Toho had been a traumatized silent mess. Under the care of his fathers and—Sho and Hirata both often said—Aoki’s nurturing love, the child had healed by leaps and bounds and the samurai had begun to emerge.

  Warmth surged through Aoki’s chest, and he squeezed Toho closer. “I’ll be very happy on that day, To-chan. I’ll wait right here for you.” He refrained from adding how lonely he’d be without his three dearest friends. In spite of his success on the kabuki stage and the beautiful little home he now had, without the love of his friends to warm it all, the world felt cold and empty. But he didn’t want to burden them with his grief. Sho and Hirata had both been away from their families for many years and the journey ahead of them would be difficult enough, especially with a troubled child in their care. Aoki did not want to add to their concerns. He wanted to be for them what they had been: a source of support and care.<
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  After several quiet moments, Sho stirred. “We must be off, Aoki-san. We have a long journey ahead.”

  Aoki nodded. He tried not to cry but when Toho squeezed him hard, his tears rolled freely. He wanted to reassure Toho, to tell him everything would be all right, but he wouldn’t lie to the boy. There was no way to know such a thing. He’d been separated from his own parents a long time ago and had suffered so much aching loneliness from missing them. All he could do was return Toho’s embrace while his tears wet the top of the child’s dark head. When he heard Sho retrieve his cane and the two men begin to rise, he gently disengaged Toho from his embrace and wiped his wet cheeks. “Oh my,” he said in a sniffly voice. “I must look a mess.”

  But Toho fixed him with that newly emerging look of strength he now had. “You could never look a mess, Aoki-san,” he said in his fierce child’s voice. “You’re my beautiful big sister.”

  Aoki laughed through his tears. “Thank you, my dearest.” Then he thought of something. He reached for the tie in his hair, pulled it out, and handed the length of black ribbon to Toho. “Take this, To-chan, to remember me.”

  Toho gazed up at him. Then he reached up and yanked the tie out of his own hair. “We’ll trade, Aoki-san, and I’ll wear yours all the time until I’m able to bring it back to you.”

  Aoki forced himself to smile. “That’s a perfect idea.”

  Sho and Hirata had to wait while Aoki redid Toho’s hair. To their credit, they didn’t scold Toho. They both understood the horrible losses the child had already endured, watching his parents brutally murdered by a gang of killer ronin, and so allowed Toho his last moments with the friend who’d helped bring him back to emotional health.

  Gathering up the boy’s hair to the crown of his head, Aoki wrapped the length with his ribbon until the end fanned out like a beautiful ebony tea whisk. Then he lowered his hands. “There. Perfect.” He expected Toho to get up, but the boy held out his hair tie.

  “Put this in first, please, Aoki-san.”

  More tears escaped Aoki’s eyes. He accepted the tie wordlessly and wrapped it around his long length of smooth hair. Only then did Toho rise, his little face a mask of sadness. He stood, staring at Aoki, and in the next second, threw himself at Aoki, squeezing him tightly. “I’ll come back to you, Aoki-san,” he said, his voice muffled by the soft material of Aoki’s kimono. “I promise!”

  Aoki returned the embrace. His very heart ached. “I’ll be right here, To-chan,” he said, closing his eyes and treasuring their last moments together. “I’ll be right here.”

  Chapter One

  Nearly eight years later….

  TOHO DREAMED again about Aoki. It was the same dream he always had. Aoki’s beautiful face with its delicate features smiled down at him. Warmth sparkled in Aoki’s eyes, a gaze full of love and sweetness, dark liquid pools in which Toho felt enveloped, wrapped in safety and unending compassion. Aoki’s long hair curled and flowed, tresses that gleamed like liquid ebony with sunlight glinting off them. Toho smiled up at him, as if Aoki were the warm sun, bathing him while he slept. He could feel the teasing brush of Aoki’s hair on his cheeks. Aoki held out his arms, inviting a protective embrace. Aoki’s embrace had always made him feel as if he’d be all right.

  Only this time the dream changed. Aoki’s smile faded. Distress filled his eyes and caused his already pale complexion to turn the color of graying storm clouds. Lines ringed his eyes and deepened across his smooth forehead. His reaching arms flailed and he began to fade, as if made of mist. Toho gasped and reached out to him, clutching desperately. He got handfuls of Aoki’s kimono, but Aoki slipped from his grasp. The more Toho reached, the more Aoki faded. Until he was gone.

  Toho fought for breath. His chest heaved. What he’d thought were Aoki’s sleeves in his tight fists was, in reality, his own bedding. He sat up. Sweat made his kimono cling to his torso and odd tingles coursed over his skin and through his thigh and calf muscles. While the ghostly whispers of the nightmare ebbed away, he raked a shaky hand through his hair. With a long breath, he lay back and stared up at the ceiling. The faintest light of dawn stole through the window slats. The brazier had burnt out during the night, allowing hints of the crisp autumn air to cool his sweaty skin.

  On the other side of the brazier, his fathers stirred on their futons. He listened, hoping he hadn’t woken them. They worked hard and needed their rest. He’d have been happy to stay in one of the dojo’s sleeping rooms with his father’s students, but neither Hirata nor Sho would allow that. They were fiercely protective.

  Toho took another deep breath. Usually he awoke from his dream feeling refreshed, calm, and happy. Not today. Something was wrong. Aoki was in trouble. Toho felt it in his bones. Guilt flashed through him as it did each time he dreamed of his friend. He’d not yet kept his promise to Aoki to return to him. Both his fathers had made him promise to wait until the first day of his eighteenth year. Well, that day was drawing close, but if his nightmare had any truth in it, then he couldn’t wait until then. Aoki might be in trouble.

  A shadow loomed over Toho. In the next breath, Sho was kneeling beside him. His father could move as silently as a cat or a ninja.

  “Toho, are you unwell?” Sho, who’d been trained in the arts of acupuncture and herbal healing as well as massage, picked up Toho’s wrist. Immediately, Sho’s fingertips pressed into his pulses.

  “I’m fine, Father. Just a bad dream.”

  Sho nodded and continued his careful listening. When Toho was a child whose parents had been brutally slain before his very eyes, Sho was the one person in whom he’d been able to take refuge. He couldn’t expect Sho simply to give up his protective ways and let go just because Toho was now a grown man. And yet, he had never quite gotten used to Sho’s razor-sharp perception. There was no keeping any secrets from his father. Sho listened another moment to Toho’s pulses and then set his hand down. “You dreamed about Aoki-san again?”

  Toho sighed. “Yes. But this one was different. It wasn’t good. Something was—”

  “Toho, are you all right?” Hirata came over and knelt beside Sho. His dark gaze fell on Toho. Hirata too fussed over him too much sometimes, but after what Hirata had recently revealed to Toho about his own past, Toho could easily forgive him his overprotectiveness.

  “Toho had a nightmare. About Aoki-san,” Sho told him.

  Toho sat up. “In my dream, nothing really happened but Aoki-san looked so troubled, so frightened. That’s never happened before. Maybe he needs me to go to him. I did promise I would return to him. And….” Toho hesitated before finishing. “I’ve missed him so badly.” When he looked up, both his fathers’ brows were furrowed, as if Sho and Hirata knew at once what he would say next. “Please, let me go to him. Let me keep my promise.”

  Sho and Hirata were silent. Toho felt their tension in the very air, and his heart sped up. “We’ll go with you,” Sho said.

  Toho felt a wave of shame, something he hadn’t expected. For some reason, he’d always assumed that when he returned to Aoki, he would do so as a proud samurai, not the damaged peasant boy he’d been when he and Aoki parted. How could he do that with his two fathers, both accomplished swordsmen, surrounding him? “But Father, how can I ever prove myself to you if you are always protecting me?”

  Finally Sho cleared his throat. “You expected to make this journey alone? If it’s about keeping your promise to Aoki, then what does it matter if we’re with you?”

  “And since when would you need to prove yourself to either of us, Toho?” Hirata said. “You’re our precious son.”

  Toho bowed his head again. The cool air in the room had dried his sweat and he pulled his kimono tighter, squaring his shoulders. “I want Aoki to… be proud of me.”

  “I have no doubt Aoki would be proud of you if you showed yourself with us beside you,” Sho said. “Just to set eyes on you again and see what a fine young man you’ve grown to be would fill him with joy.”

  Toho’s back muscles c
lenched. Both his fathers had proven their strength and merit as swordsmen and as human beings. Why did they insist on depriving him of his chance? “But Aoki adores samurai. Even as a child I noticed his preference, we spent so much time together.” Toho even remembered the little alcove at the entrance of Aoki’s home, across from the tokonoma, the altar that held the statue of the Buddha, where a weapons rack provided storage for the swords of samurai who came to call on Aoki. Samurai loved Kabuki actors, especially Aoki, who was exceptionally beautiful and graceful.

  “Aoki loved you before you were ever a samurai,” Sho said, his voice tight. “Before Hirata ever adopted you, you were Aoki’s special boy.”

  “Sho-chan,” Hirata said, his hand on his partner’s shoulder. “In all fairness to Toho, I do understand what he’s saying. I can understand how Toho would wish to prove himself. After such a prolonged absence, he’s worried that Aoki will hold him to a new standard.”

  The furrow in Sho’s brow deepened. “And what indications has Aoki given in his letters of such a change in attitude? Every time he’s corresponded with us, he sends only love and well wishes and hope we’ll all see each other again before too long.”

  Toho looked down. He had no answer. Sho was right, of course. Aoki had never expressed anything to him except complete love and acceptance. It was he who’d changed. As he grew older and his body became a man’s body, he’d noticed the change in his thinking and feeling. He was no longer that little boy Aoki had loved and helped to heal. Aoki had never met Toho the samurai.

  “Toho.” Sho broke the silence. “Please, understand my position. No matter how old you are, how skilled you are, you’re my little boy. I’m not a samurai. I don’t think as a samurai. You don’t prove your worth as a human being by living the laws of Bushido.” Sho sighed, his brow deeply furrowed. “You’re asking me to let go. To let you go… to let you… grow up.”