Falling Through Glass (7 page)

Carefully, Emmi finished up and stood, making certain not to tip over the pot or let the hem of the kimono fall in it. She peeked around the screen then stepped out. Luckily, Yamanami was still sleeping, and if he wasn’t, at least he had the decency to pretend to be.

Emmi lay down on the futon again but knew she’d never fall back to sleep. Her brain buzzed with a million and three questions, the first being—how was she ever going to get back home when she wasn’t even quite sure how she’d gotten here?

She sat up and crinkled her nose. A breeze blew through the tiny window set high in the wall outside the cell, and the smell it carried reminded her of the chamber pot’s existence. Bad enough that the place stank from the male prisoners’ waste, but she really didn’t want anything of the sort to be closer to her than necessary.

Yamanami had gone out last night to relieve his own bladder. Emmi didn’t recall him unlocking the outer door before exiting, so it might remain unlocked now. She could go out, leave the pot, then come back and wait to be formally sprung. After all, it wasn’t as if she was a criminal prisoner or anything.

Emmi retrieved the chamber pot carefully, moving slowly so as not to spill it. She tiptoed between the futon and the sleeping samurai leader, hoping he didn’t decide to stretch out his legs. She stepped over him without any disaster and breathed a quick sigh of relief. Emmi inched to the door, not wanting to draw the attention of those criminals down the way.

Almost home free
! Emmi thought, testing the door by nudging it with her foot. It gave way a bit, and she shifted sideways to push it open with her shoulder.

The door flew open just as Emmi shifted her weight. Emmi pitched outward, and the pot flew out of her hands, right into the center of Hijikata Toshizou’s chest. He roared an obscenity so loudly Emmi was sure it woke half of Kyoto.

She fell to her knees partly as a sign of apology, partly to pray he wouldn’t slice her head off. Gaining an ounce of courage, she glanced up and winced. The tissue she’d used as toilet paper had deposited itself right in the center of his low obi.

Emmi bent her head to the ground and apologized profusely in Japanese as best she could. She begged his forgiveness, adding that she was a complete fool who didn’t deserve his mercy.

“Can’t you do anything right?” he shouted.

Emmi bit back the tears and shook her head, thinking he was addressing her until she heard the other vice-commander speak.

“It was an accident, Toshi. An accident.”

“Was it an accident her cell wasn’t locked?”

“She’s a harmless girl—”

“And that could very well be what the rebels want us to think! She wouldn’t be the first spy sent to try to murder us in our sleep.”

With that he spun around and stalked off, flinging the wet tissue from his obi to the ground.

Yamanami touched Emmi’s shoulder. “You can get up now, Maeda-dono.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

“It is nothing you did. It’s me. He finds fault with everything I do these days.” He paused and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Come with me. I’ll show you where you can wash, and I’ll try to find you some clean clothing.”

* * * *

Alone in the bathhouse, Emmi stood and stared at the supplies she had been given. One of the items reminded her of the long table runner her mother brought out on Thanksgiving. The other was a small sewn cloth bag filled with something almost rice-like. Evidently these were the bath towel and soap, since there was nothing even remotely resembling a real towel or soap in sight.

Emmi undressed, then filled the nearby wooden bucket with some of the tub water. She dipped in the scratchy little soap substitute and scrubbed it over her skin before climbing into the large wooden tub to soak. She submerged herself to her chin, wincing at first as the hot water slid over her skin. Once settled, she closed her eyes and tried to relax, though it was next to impossible to keep her mind from spinning with an endless stream of unanswerable questions.

Finally the warmth of the water and the pleasant scent of cedar from the tub worked its magic, and all the hows and whys of her situation drifted to the far reaches of her mind. On the brink of dozing off, Emmi jerked her head up. Reluctantly, she climbed out of the soothing warmth. She dried herself as best as she could with the pitifully thin towel and donned her bra and panties before pulling on the blue men’s kimono Yamanami had given her. She used the narrow obi like a bathrobe belt. She was just reaching for the skirt-like hakama to place over it when the outer door opened.

“What is taking you so long?” Kaemon demanded.

“None of your business!”

Emmi watched his gaze fasten on to her chest, and she wanted very much to slap him—until his expression changed to a mixture of confusion and fear.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to put this on,” Emmi said, shaking the hakama pants. “Wait outside.”

“What are you doing with your kimono that way?”

“What way?”

He pointed again, appearing quite agitated that Emmi wasn’t getting the clue. She looked at herself again, and it finally hit her. She’d thrown the kimono on like she would a bathrobe. She had the right side overlapping the left, the traditional Japanese way to dress a corpse prior to a funeral.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t paying attention,” she said, turning away to open and adjust the kimono. She stayed with her back to him and stepped into the hakama, trying to pull up both the front and back sections at once.

How in the hell did her father and Uncle Jake slip these things on and get the long ends tied like it was a piece of cake? This was ridiculous. When she grasped the front ties the back fell, and vice versa. What she wouldn’t give for a nice pair of jeans about now!

“Let me,” Kae grumbled, coming up behind her.

Emmi sucked in her breath when his large, rough hands swept across hers as he took hold of the ties from the front section. He fastened them around her waist, then reached down and took hold of the hakama back. He slid it up and tucked the kimono inside, brushing against her rear as he did so.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Kae said quickly, although he stepped closer still as he began to wrap the long back ties of the hakama around her waist and fit them into a precise square bow at the front.

Emmi tried not to notice the way he allowed his arms to linger around her waist after he finished tying the hakama. She thanked him in a whisper and wondered if she was imagining the attraction between them.

Nope, not imaging a thing, she thought when he drew her back against him.

He kissed her neck. His lips were a warm and inviting prelude to the way he slid his tongue up the side of her neck and nibbled on her ear.

Had that odd whimper just come from her? Did it even matter?

Kaemon coaxed her around and drew her nearer, into a slow kiss. Emmi wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed closer. Giving in to his expertise, she let the play of his lips and tongue unleash a flood of sensation that she’d never fully experienced.

She’d been on dates. She’d been kissed, but not like this. Never like this.

Daylight flooded the bathhouse, and Kaemon and Emmi jumped apart. The scary man from last night—Saitou—stood in the doorway, struggling to conceal his amusement. He cleared his throat.

“Hijikata-san wants to see you both in his quarters.”

“Thank you, Saitou-san,” Kaemon said, bowing.

Emmi did likewise and took a long deep breath in an effort to slow the thudding of her heart. When she straightened, Kaemon was staring at her. His deep, dark eyes burned with an intensity that both frightened and attracted her.

Without a word, he tore a thin strip from the towel-like cloth and tucked the end into the waist of his hakama. Using his fingers as a comb as he had the night before, he smoothed through her damp hair and drew it up into a high ponytail similar to his own. He wrapped the cloth strip around her hair to secure it in place.

“Now you’ll appear to be my servant.”

“Hey!”

“Would you rather look like my courtesan?”

A servant or a hooker? That was a no-brainer. Emmi shook her head and followed him outside, slipping into the sandals left for her, also courtesy of Yamanami-san. At least people were generally smaller in this time, and she wasn’t stuck trying to wear huge men’s shoes that would fit someone like her father or Jake.

Emmi kept looking toward the ground. She tried to ignore the pointed glances and suppressed snickers of the men milling around the compound. Emmi’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment when Captain Harada approached and clapped Kaemon on the back, leaning in to whisper something about the bathhouse.

For all their fame in the history books as dedicated warriors, the Shinsengumi bunch wasn’t that far removed from the jocks back home who liked to tell tall tales in the gym locker room.

“Shouldn’t your unit be on patrol, Captain Harada?” Hijikata Toshizou called loudly from the porch of the building across the way.

“Understood, Hijikata-san!”

Emmi glanced at the vice-commander and followed Kaemon toward him slowly, not anxious to be in the ever-irritated man’s presence.

Chapter Eight

When they stepped inside the vice-commander’s quarters, Emmi bowed far lower than Kaemon. After all, when confronted with angry men who brandished sharp, dangerous objects, it seemed wise to push aside one’s modern pride and grovel.

Especially after one had dumped a pot of pee on them.

However, Emmi didn’t expect the oppressive silence that sprang up between Kaemon and the older man. This reminded her very much of some Wild West showdown at high noon on the main street of Dodge City.

The tension grew oppressively thicker until finally Hijikata said, “Who do you serve, Fujiwara-san? For whom would you give your life in battle?”

“I serve the emperor as you do, through Governor Matsudaira-sama.”

Emmi glanced at the two men still staring each other down. She hoped this would end soon, mainly because her modern, American-born legs and ankles were beginning to go numb from sitting in the traditional kneeling seiza position. She really should have paid more attention to her father’s and Jake’s mind-over-matter meditation lessons.

At last the standoff ended when Kaemon took a small, silk-wrapped bundle and slid it across the tatami mat. “Accept my apologies for the inconvenience caused you. I would be honored to have this accepted in return.”

He bowed, and Emmi did likewise because it seemed the best thing to do.

Hijikata’s reply was a curt “Hn” sound, but Emmi was quick to note that he wasted no time in scooping up the bundle, which made a distinctive metallic clink.

“I trust this will be your last such imposition, Fujiwara-san?”

“Hopefully,” Kaemon said, offering a quick bow of his head. “Thank you again for your help.”

The forced politeness of the words hit Emmi hard, and she was not at all pleased to see the gleam of superiority in Hijikata’s hard gaze.

The older man merely nodded, and, thankfully, Kaemon took his leave and Emmi trailed behind. A young man who’d been waiting outside handed Kaemon a cloth sack with something wrapped in paper. It might be her mirror. She hoped it was. Kaemon slung the strap of the sack over his chest and positioned it so the weight hung across his back.

Biting back a ‘Take it easy with my ticket home, bud,’ Emmi hobbled along behind him until the pins and needles subsided in her feet and ankles. She stopped when she saw the kindhearted vice-commander, Yamanami Keisuke, a short distance away and veered off in his direction.

Kaemon was halfway to the front gates before he noticed that Emiko had gone to speak with Yamanami-san. Kae could see the immediate effect her presence had on the older man. He always seemed preoccupied and morose, but when Emiko spoke to him he stood straighter, and a rare smile curved his mouth. When she placed a swift kiss on Yamanami’s cheek, the man fairly shone with a fleeting moment of happiness.

Kae knew exactly how he must feel.

He forced his memory to stop replaying their kiss when his body responded. Perhaps he had been wrong in his conclusion the previous night. Perhaps she wasn’t simply a temptress sent to leech secrets and information from him. Maybe she was some type of demon with the power to enchant and capture the souls of men.

Emmi rushed back toward Kae and said, “I’m sorry, but I had to say goodbye and thank him for being so kind to me.”

“It’s all right,” Kae said, heading toward the gates once more.

Something odd or almost sad lingered in the depths of the samurai’s eyes, and Emmi rushed to keep up with his quick pace. He seemed quite surprised when Emmi gripped his haori to stop him.

“Are you sure something isn’t wrong? Back there you looked…I don’t know, like a lost little boy.”

Kaemon said nothing but turned away quickly. He kept walking, taking long strides so that Emmi had to hurry to keep up with him. Lovely. Just what she needed—she’d left the lair of one big, bad wolf only to be stuck with another.

“Where are we going?” she asked when they had to stop and step aside as two large wagons loaded with bulging rice sacks blocked the street.

“To the military governor.”

“But I don’t know anything about anything military.”

“What you know or don’t know is not the issue. We have to go because Hijikata has his spy watching to see that we arrive at the offices of the governor.”

Emmi whipped her head around. “Spy? Who? Where?”

“It doesn’t matter, but there is one nearby,” Kaemon said, beginning to walk again. “I know Hijikata, and I know I’d send someone to check my story if I were him.”

Emmi sighed to herself and kept trotting along with her attention focused on keeping up with the cranky samurai as he led her through every side street and grungy back alley in Kyoto. Just her luck—she was in the company of a man who was tall for the era, a man who had a long, fast stride and took full advantage of it.