Shock parted Okaru’s lips. “What-why-?”
As Ukihashi gazed down at Okaru, her expression turned to disgust. “Merciful gods, you’re less than half his age.” The anger in her eyes flared. “You stole my husband!”
“No,” Okaru said in a faint voice. “I didn’t-”
“Don’t pretend to be so innocent,” Ukihashi shouted. “You seduced him. But he’s as guilty as you are.” Fists clenched, she spat her words into Okaru’s face. “Because of him, I’ve come down in the world. Once I was as pretty as you are, but look at me now!” She flung out her arms. She wore ragged gloves, her fingers bare. Her face had dry, scaly patches of skin; her lips were cracked and raw. Her padded coat was faded, stained, ripped, and leaking feathers.
“I’m sorry.” Okaru looked so ashamed that Masahiro felt bad for her. “But, you see, Oishi had already divorced you by the time he met-”
Ukihashi slapped Okaru’s face. “You evil little whore!”
Okaru yelped in pain. Ukihashi grabbed the front of her robe, hauled her to her feet, and shook her, spewing curses. “Help!” Okaru cried.
Masahiro rushed to Ukihashi and tried to pull her off Okaru. But Ukihashi was stronger than she looked. Hauling Okaru across the room, she towed Masahiro along.
“Stop!” Reiko ordered.
Ukihashi dragged Okaru out the door and began hitting her. “Thief! You couldn’t get a man of your own, so you took mine!”
She shoved Okaru. The girl screamed, fell off the veranda, and landed in the snow. Ukihashi wrenched free of Masahiro, pounced on Okaru, and clawed at her eyes. Okaru struggled, crying, “Leave me alone, you crazy woman!”
Men watching over the fence cheered. The inn’s other guests came out of their rooms to see what was happening. The proprietor rushed over and said, “She climbed the fence. I couldn’t stop her.” He wrung his hands as the two women fought. “Will someone please break it up?”
Masahiro waded into the snow. Ukihashi had Okaru on the ground under her knees. He pulled on Ukihashi while she mashed snow into Okaru’s face. Okaru squealed. Ukihashi turned on Masahiro and shrieked, “Stay out of this!”
She punched his face. He yelled as the blow exploded against his nose and propelled him backward. He landed on his buttocks in the snow. Hot, salty-sweet blood trickled down his throat and spilled from his nostrils. He heard his mother call her guards. They rushed in and tore Ukihashi away from Okaru. It took three men to hold Ukihashi while she struggled and screamed and the spectators cheered. Okaru sat up, coughing and spitting out snow. Reiko and Chiyo hurried to Masahiro.
“Are you hurt?” Reiko asked anxiously. “Oh, your nose is bleeding!” Chiyo offered a handkerchief. Reiko pressed it against his nose. “Tilt your head back. Come inside.”
As he obeyed, he saw Okaru turn her head in his direction. His face went hot with embarrassment. That he’d tried to protect her and had his nose bloodied by an old woman! And now he was being treated like a baby.
“Leave me alone,” he said gruffly. “I’m all right.”
Chiyo helped Okaru to her feet and into the room. Masahiro tried to shrug off his mother as she continued fussing over him. Reiko removed the handkerchief long enough to see that blood was still oozing from his nose. “Stay still. Don’t be so impatient.”
Masahiro couldn’t bear to look at Okaru. He couldn’t help looking. She smiled at him while she wiped her face and hair with a towel. Embarrassment turned to humiliation.
Lieutenant Tanuma appeared at the door. “Lady Reiko, what do you want us to do with that woman? Should we let her go?”
“No,” Reiko said. “I want to talk to her.” She turned to Masahiro. “Keep your head back and keep pressing on your nose with the handkerchief.”
“Should I come with you or stay with Masahiro?” Chiyo said.
“You can go,” Okaru said. “I’ll be here.”
When his mother and Chiyo left, Masahiro panicked. He’d fought in battles and faced death like a man, but he was terrified to be alone with Okaru. What would he say to her? Masahiro clutched the handkerchief against his nose and stared desperately at the ceiling, as if he could find the answer written there.
Okaru knelt beside him. He glanced sideways at her. She smiled again. Masahiro realized how stupid he must look. He tilted his head down and cautiously sniffed.
“Has the bleeding stopped?” Okaru asked.
“I think so.”
“That’s good.”
Shyness tied Masahiro’s tongue. This was the first conversation he’d ever had with Okaru, and he couldn’t think of how to keep it going. He took the handkerchief off his nose.
“There’s blood on your face.” Okaru went to a basin of water, dipped in a cloth, and wrung it out. “Here, let me.”
Masahiro sat rigid, afraid to move, while she dabbed his cheeks and lips. Okaru was so close to him that he could hear her soft breathing and smell her sweet, fresh scent. Afraid to stare rudely at her face, he cast his gaze downward. He saw the loose neckline of her kimono and the hollow between her breasts. A thrill swept through him. He felt a rush of pleasure, and a strange, urgent need. His heart began to pound so thunderously, he was afraid Okaru would hear it. He longed to touch her, but he was terrified of what she would think if he did.
“There.” Okaru sat back on her heels and studied him. “Your nose is swollen. Does it hurt?” She gently touched his nose.
Masahiro said, “Yes. I mean, no.” Her fingertips were as soft and cool as flower petals, but they seemed to burn his skin.
“Thank you for rescuing me,” Okaru said.
He frowned, wondering if she was joking; but her expression was serious. “I didn’t rescue you,” he was forced to admit. “My mother’s guards did.”
“If not for you, that woman might have killed me before they came.” Okaru smiled. “You’re my hero.”
All Masahiro could do was look at the floor and blush so hotly that he felt as if he were on fire.
13
Hirata followed Chikara to a room in the barracks where the Hosokawa clan retainers practiced martial arts. Wooden swords and spears hung from racks. The bare wooden floor was marred by scuffs, nicks, and gouges. Polished steel mirrors were mounted on one wall. Chikara stood in the center of the room, his arms folded, a safe distance from Hirata.
“I’ve heard of you,” Chikara said, his voice unsteady but belligerent. “You’re the famous fighter. Well, you don’t scare me.”
“That’s good,” Hirata said, “because I’m not here to hurt you.”
Chikara looked askance at Hirata. He reached for the swords he usually wore at his waist, but his hand closed around empty air. He glanced at the weapons on the racks, realized that they were wooden and Hirata’s blades were steel, and discarded the idea of fighting.
“A good choice,” Hirata said. “You’re wiser than a lot of men twice your age.”
Chikara peered at Hirata, wondering if Hirata was making fun of him. Hirata solemnly returned his gaze. Chikara asked, “What do you want with me?”
“I want you to tell me about the vendetta.”
“What about it?” Chikara asked warily.
“Why did you wait so long to go after Kira?” This wasn’t a minor issue that Hirata wanted to clear up so that he could set the record straight. Twenty-two months was a long time. A lot could have happened besides the forty-seven ronin stewing about their master’s death and fixating on revenge. Maybe something else had gone on, which could affect the supreme court’s decision-and Sano’s and Hirata’s fate.
Chikara tilted his head. “Isn’t it obvious why waiting was a good idea?”
“Suppose you tell me, and I’ll decide whether it is,” Hirata said.
Chikara hesitated for a moment that was fraught with his reluctance to obey and his fear of the consequences of disobeying. “All right.”