Hello! Sorry for the delay. I really was busy, and the story needed a MAJOR
overhaul. Thanks for all the questions by the way, they help to clarify
the direction this story is taking.
Muchos gracias, senora Firuze Khanume.
I never believed the time would come that I'd say this; you have a DESCRIPTION-intensive chapter to read. ^^ Hope you enjoy.
.............
"Wait until the cherry blossom festival, Misao. All should be in readiness by then. I will come for you, I swear it."
What exactly did Yukishiro Enishi mean by that? Misao did not have a clue.
However, Shiroyuki Shinichi kept his word, and did not make efforts to see Misao the rest of the winter. Misao would rather have had it that he was not too faithful to the promise, however. She missed the handsome face and the grand demeanor of her friend. She missed the walks through the woods and the wonderful conversations. Conversations she would never, ever, have with Aoshi-sama.
She HAD tried to reason with her Aoshi-sama, tried to make him understand that Enishi was a new person now, that dealings with the criminal world were over and done with. But the man would not be moved from his decision. Was he just concerned about her? Or was he jealous? Did he actually have anything even remotely close to love for her, that he could BE jealous?
His face gave no answers.
Alone in her room, she pulled at her braid in confusion. What was the point in loving a man who did not return the love she gave? Maybe the man was even irritated at all her displays of affection, but was too much of a gentleman to complain. Two years after all the events in Tokyo and Kyoto, and still Aoshi treated her like a little sister. Why then didn't he just say, plain and outright, 'Look, Misao, I am only a big brother to you, and I have no romantic feelings for you.'? That could have stopped her from pushing and tugging at him all the time.
It was hard to keep up the guessing game for so long. Misao felt in his eyes and actions that she was more than a little sister to him, but for goodness sakes why can't he SAY it?! So at least she could tell Enishi, and all of this romantic weirdness from him would cease.
Definitely, banning her from Enishi is NOT the way Aoshi could tell her he loves her. At least Enishi took pains to tell her he loved her, treated her extra nice, even kissed her. But did that mean SHE loved him in return? She liked his company, yes. She appreciated his friendship, yes. She enjoyed the time when her lips met his. But did she LOVE him?
Um...maybe....sorta kinda....guess so.....50/50?......could I call a friend?.....from next door, to explain this crazy situation better?!
The days passed, and winter turned to spring.
As was the tradition, kimonos came out from storage for the sakura festival. After most of a morning's wrapping and tugging, Misao was bedecked in a beautiful pink ensemble, tied around the waist with a purple silk obi, finished off with high wooden sandals. Her hair was removed from the regular braids, brought up to a tasteful bun close to her head, then decorated with flowers. A little powder covered her face, some dabs of rouge colored her cheeks, and a touch of red filled her lips.
Anyone who saw her everyday would have second thoughts if this really was Makimachi Misao. Even Aoshi stared in wonder at the little beauty before him. This was a completely different, completely new, young woman. As the Aoiya's residents filed out to the street, almost everyone stopped and stared at the transformation in the boyish ninja.
Imagine the impression on a certain young man, as he intently watched the young lady from a safe distance. He chuckled as she grumbled at her high sandals and faltered through her restricting kimono. He smiled as other young men sought her attention, men who normally would ignore her. He smirked, as the man she desperately wanted to please, summarily kept his eyes away. He gazed as she looked in his direction, and displayed her full splendor.
He found himself faltering, he who never faltered. He found his heart pounding, he who was sure he had no heart. He found his breaths rapid, he who had utmost calm when he chose. He found his hands shaking, he whose hands were steady and sure.
Finally he saw her stand alone in a crowd. Her comrades had gone ahead to see a street performance. She had taken time to stop at a stall.
His brain and his whole nervous system were in tune and at their highest sensitivity, knowing each thought, feeling each goosebump, hearing each heartbeat, experiencing each emotion.
He slowly walked to where she stood, and quietly tapped her shoulder.
She turned around.
At first she had trouble knowing who the young man was. He looked like every other young man who had noticed her. He wore the traditional hakama and gi, both dark blue. Under the gi he wore a white collared shirt. His feet were covered in the traditional socks and sandals. His eyes had the same dreamy look that the other men had. Then she noticed the tousled locks, half hidden under a cloth cap. White as the snow still on the mountains.
She, too, was amazed at the transformation. It was the first time she had ever seen him without foreign-style pants, and still he was the epitome of style. Everything was just...RIGHT, just perfect. Of the young men who had taken notice of her, this young man was the best-dressed of them all. She let her eyes wander from the tip of his geta to the top of his cap, just to be sure that he was truly standing before her. It was him, it was him, all of him.
Her own heart was pounding. Her knees were shaking inside the kimono. The rouge masked the blush that rose to her cheeks. Her tongue was lost and useless before the young man.
Without a word, he took her hand, gave it a warm kiss, looked up at her eyes, and smiled. She in turn bowed respectfully and beamed at him.
He held out a hand to her, in an unspoken plea for her to follow. She nodded, and accepted the offered hand.
He whisked her away silently, through happy streets filled with colorful stalls, through narrow streets filled with trash, through broad streets filled with people. They walked at an even pace, but she felt like they breezed through, or rode a cloud. He felt like he was walking on air with her, even as he pushed and shoved through the crowd. They saw nothing and heard nothing, but the presence of each other, and the tight bond their hands held together.
Soon she found herself walking through the door of his mansion, still holding his firm hand. He escorted her up the stairs to the wide terrace.
In the middle of the terrace, a medium-sized table had been prepared, covered with succulent dishes. The best tofu in Kyoto. Grilled sea bream. Fine Chinese green tea. Excellent cuts of tuna and mackerel. Several servings of other seafood. Beside the table on two sides were mats covered in silk, for two people to sit on. Near the table a small light was provided, not bright enough to obscure the night but sufficient to illuminate the beautiful dinner.
He led her to sit on one of the mats, then seated himself opposite her on the other. The light brought out the glow in both their faces, slightly embarrassed at being together, but enjoying every second.
"Bon appetit," he greeted, with a wave of the hand to the spread.
"Nani?"
"It's just a French expression, it basically means to have a good appetite, to eat well. Itadakimasu!" he smiled.
The food tasted as good as it looked. She could only imagine the expense her friend had to incur, to prepare this grand meal.
Underneath the beautiful kimono and the fancy makeup, he learned that she had not changed. She was still his bubbly and cheerful friend, and she talked and talked about her past few weeks. She pouted as she mentioned the okashira. She lit up as she recalled the times she saw him in the market.
"And did you know that I bought a Japanese translation of that book of yours?" she reported. "Cost me a pretty penny, too! I got to reading it, and tried to remember those days we sat by the sofa and you read aloud. I understood better some of the things you were trying to tell me, but seriously, you do a better translation!"
Absolutely nothing could get this young woman down for long, he noted. She made the best of a bad situation, and faced her trials with a smile.
"But what have you been doing all this time, Enishi-san? Always being a good boy and avoiding me...."
"Plans, making plans," he answered simply.
He waited until they were both finished eating, then stood up and held out his hand again. "Come. I'll show you what I've been doing these last few weeks."
He led her to the bedroom.
A million sane and insane thoughts ran through Misao's shaken brain as she shuffled beside him.
Whatever exactly those thoughts were, they all vanished when she saw the bed itself. Above it were two trunks, of the same size and make, obviously newly bought. Enishi walked to the dresser and retrieved a set of keys. As she stood at the foot of the large bed, he approached one of the trunks, took out a key, and turned the lock. He gestured for her to come closer.
The trunk was full of clothes, a woman's clothes. Of American and European make. He took out the dress on top, an exquisite traveling frock, ivy green with a slight touch of plaid running through the fabric. As he spread it out, she knew that it was specifically made for her. She stood aghast. This was only one dress. There were at least ten more inside the trunk.
He took something from the nearby bedstead. He then showed it to her, fanned out in his hand. Two large pieces of cardboard.
"Tickets to board a steamship, leaving Tokyo Bay next week. We are going to Paris."
"P-P-Paris?! Paris, in France?!"
The poor young lady could only stammer. France was in Europe, France was in the opposite side of the world, France was---dreadfully far away from Kyoto....
"It's not like it's the first time I'm going there. I have contacts, I will have a place there for you....."
"For m-m-me? What does this all mean, Enishi-san?!"
He put down the dress and the tickets, and walked closer and closer to her. "I said I would come for you, and now I have. In the trunk there are clothes enough and to spare for the transpacific trip. We then take the fastest train across America, then ride a transatlantic ship from New York to Paris."
She walked backward and backward, until her back knocked against the door. This was not the Enishi-san she was used to. This was close to the --- Enishi --- she held in contempt.
The psychopath.
"Waiting outside is a carriage, ready to take us to the train station, for the first trip to Tokyo tomorrow morning. Everything is in place. Everything has been thought of." He laid a hand on the door beside her sweat-filled face, and leveled his eyes with hers. "You'll come with me to Paris. I'll make you a lady of society, looked upon with respect. I'll show you what it is to live among the elite. I will make you mine."
"And if I say no?"
"You cannot POSSIBLY say no, Misao! The business could live on its own now, so I can leave it to respected employees, and they will run it the way I have, and still make money..Now please say you will come with me, Misao!" His words were desperate, and rapid.
Despite the trepidation Misao felt at that moment, she also felt that something was dreadfully wrong with this operation. No way Shiroyuki Shinichi, no way Yukishiro Enishi was doing this, just because of an overpowering affection for a woman. There must be something else to this plan, Misao calculated. She would get to the bottom of it.
"You are running away from the law," Misao directly and bravely accused, "and you are taking me with you so I won't squeal. All of this, is a large scam to get the Oniwabanshuu into your favor, so they won't help the police."
"NO!"
It was now Enishi who walked backward, as Misao, hands akimbo, took the aggressive stance. "I work undercover, and I can think like you in some respects. You know that the police are after you, and they have some evidence against you, so you decided to run while the going was good."
"I know I'm still on the wanted list, but they have no reason to arrest me. I don't know what evidence those wretches have, but they are false! I have nothing to hide, I have nothing to answer for anymore!!"
"You are not telling me the truth!"
Suddenly his eyes glowered in anger, and he lifted the young woman by the neck. "Look, weasel, you do not want to make this harder for yourself. I would have wanted that you willingly come with me in that carriage to the train station. But as you are putting up a fight, I could just as easily drug you unconscious and take you there myself."
"Just you dare," she gagged, "and I will personally have you arrested, for kidnapping!"
The warning stunned him for a few important seconds, enough time for her to chop at his wrists and make him release her.
She slapped him hard across the face.
"A gentleman does not run away from his problems. A gentleman faces them with an honorable mind and a brave heart. A gentleman does not force a situation to run his way. A gentleman uses each situation that comes his way to his best advantage. And I thought Yukishiro Enishi was a gentleman!"
A few tense moments of silence. A grandfather clock rang the stroke of midnight. The young woman, a few strands of hair astray, breathed heavily, in frustration and in confusion. The young man held an injured cheek and injured pride.
"There is no other reason," he quietly spoke with bowed head. "If there is any other reason---it is to take you away from HIM. That is all. Maybe if you forgot about him, you would finally.....love me...." He fell into silence again.
"I would have wanted to go, if you must know, Enishi-san," she slowly broke the stillness. "But it would bother my conscience terribly if I left, running from problems and without the blessing of my friends. Someday, when you and I are both ready, when everything is just right, I'd welcome a chance to see the world outside Japan."
She took his hand and tugged at his arm. "For now, a trip to the library would be fine. I've missed that book of yours!"
"You are beyond knowing, weasel," he shook his head with a defeated smile.
"Makimachi Misao desu yo!"
"Hai, hai."
Snuggled in the sofa, Enishi began to absentmindedly read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, in French, without bothering to translate. Because of the fiery yet beautiful woman beside him, all his plans and dreams of a new life in a new land with a new lady have completely shattered. Let him have at least the satisfaction of going to France in his words and in his imagination.
He wanted to board a Nautilus of his own, fill it with books and memories of the world, and lose himself in it, under the oceans. Nobody would miss him, anyway, nobody. Not even this woman beside him. She would live her life, apart from him, and she would be happy. Not so with him. He would always be alone.
Enishi heard the grandfather clock chime the second hour of the new day. Misao had dropped off the sleep, tired from all the excitement of the day. Her head leaned on his shoulder, and he heard her quiet breaths at his arm. There was no trace of fear or apprehension. It was the peaceful sleep of a little girl beside someone she trusted.
He could not resist looking at that peaceful face. Soon his free hand released the book, and began to caress her smooth cheeks, and to feel the delicate curves. It came to the top of her head and down to the bun of her hair. Instinctively, almost impulsively, he gently removed the pins and flowers, one by one. He finally took out the comb, and her long tresses tumbled down, like a new waterfall.
If she only said yes.....If she could only be his....If only she could be with him forever.
He wanted to do more, much more. There was no one left in the house; all of the servants were in their quarters, far away from the library or the bedroom.
His hand came up again to her face, and slowly went down to her chin, and lower to her neck. His hand felt the opening of the kimono. He desperately wanted the chance to look deeper and farther into her, to know her completely, to feel her through him.......
Then her words stopped him again.
I thought Yukishiro Enishi was a gentleman.
NO, he was not a gentleman. He only had an insatiable appetite for her in his heart and soul. He had actually planned to take her away with him, irregardless of who might be affected by this action. He wanted her to be his, and his alone. He wanted to leave this friendless country and bring her, his only friend, with him to a new country, hopefully with new friends. No, he was not a gentleman.
But she thought he was a gentleman. She believed him to be a gentleman.
He rose up from the sofa, and rested her tired head on a pillow. He walked to the bedroom and retrieved a blanket. He returned to the library.
He became aware of her full form, elegantly curved in her slumber. Her slender feet, her firm calves, her smooth thighs, her lithe arms. By the gods, he wanted to feel them close to his own. He only had to untie the obi, ever so slowly.....
But she began to mumble in her sleep. "Shinichi is a gentleman, Aoshi- sama! Don't worry about me!"
It was Shinichi who was the gentleman, not Enishi, he thought. Such blind faith in a man. He, who never trusted anyone, could not comprehend such blind faith.
He draped the blanket on her. "Sleep well, my dear," he murmured, and kissed her on the forehead.
Then he made his way to the terrace, and placed his hands on the railings. There he waited for the sun to rise over the mountain.
At the first sign of light, a carriage rolled to a halt in front of the Aoiya. The okashira was waiting at the door.
A man stepped out, carrying a large bundle wrapped in a blanket. Without a word of recognition or permission, he stepped into the house, carried the bundle up the stairs to the second floor, and laid the bundle over a prepared futon. He exited the building as wordlessly as he came.
But first he stopped before the okashira. He took off his cap and made himself known.
"I could have taken her from you last night.....Remember that. Sayonara."
He mounted the carriage, and disappeared with the rising sun.
..........
Give me a little credit. This is the first time I've written a chapter with mostly descriptions. It was harder to write than even "separation" (the Battousai chapter) for Nine Months.
Everyone, say "thank you" to Firuze Khanume. The story hopefully will be a much better read that what I first planned, thanks to a very timely review from her. It is very tough to go against the grind, and not make Enishi psychotic. Thanks to her intimate knowledge of our white-haired friend, my thinking got rewired in the right direction. Firuze-nee-san is right. An admiration for Yukishiro Enishi is an acquired taste, but once you have it, you can't seem to lose it!
Almost everyone's questions have probably been answered by this chapter.
Nia-Me and Midori write together?! Oh..dear me, I'm not worthy!! White and Black isn't even ΒΌ as well done as White Tiger Jade Concubine---but enough of that, Firuze-nee-san told me never to compare myself with Midori. If can even get a review out of her, I'd be a very very happy writer! But she does know that I'm writing this thing. ^^
Itadakimasu---overall greeting before eating
Nani-what?
Geta-Japanese sandals
Muchos gracias, senora Firuze Khanume.
I never believed the time would come that I'd say this; you have a DESCRIPTION-intensive chapter to read. ^^ Hope you enjoy.
.............
"Wait until the cherry blossom festival, Misao. All should be in readiness by then. I will come for you, I swear it."
What exactly did Yukishiro Enishi mean by that? Misao did not have a clue.
However, Shiroyuki Shinichi kept his word, and did not make efforts to see Misao the rest of the winter. Misao would rather have had it that he was not too faithful to the promise, however. She missed the handsome face and the grand demeanor of her friend. She missed the walks through the woods and the wonderful conversations. Conversations she would never, ever, have with Aoshi-sama.
She HAD tried to reason with her Aoshi-sama, tried to make him understand that Enishi was a new person now, that dealings with the criminal world were over and done with. But the man would not be moved from his decision. Was he just concerned about her? Or was he jealous? Did he actually have anything even remotely close to love for her, that he could BE jealous?
His face gave no answers.
Alone in her room, she pulled at her braid in confusion. What was the point in loving a man who did not return the love she gave? Maybe the man was even irritated at all her displays of affection, but was too much of a gentleman to complain. Two years after all the events in Tokyo and Kyoto, and still Aoshi treated her like a little sister. Why then didn't he just say, plain and outright, 'Look, Misao, I am only a big brother to you, and I have no romantic feelings for you.'? That could have stopped her from pushing and tugging at him all the time.
It was hard to keep up the guessing game for so long. Misao felt in his eyes and actions that she was more than a little sister to him, but for goodness sakes why can't he SAY it?! So at least she could tell Enishi, and all of this romantic weirdness from him would cease.
Definitely, banning her from Enishi is NOT the way Aoshi could tell her he loves her. At least Enishi took pains to tell her he loved her, treated her extra nice, even kissed her. But did that mean SHE loved him in return? She liked his company, yes. She appreciated his friendship, yes. She enjoyed the time when her lips met his. But did she LOVE him?
Um...maybe....sorta kinda....guess so.....50/50?......could I call a friend?.....from next door, to explain this crazy situation better?!
The days passed, and winter turned to spring.
As was the tradition, kimonos came out from storage for the sakura festival. After most of a morning's wrapping and tugging, Misao was bedecked in a beautiful pink ensemble, tied around the waist with a purple silk obi, finished off with high wooden sandals. Her hair was removed from the regular braids, brought up to a tasteful bun close to her head, then decorated with flowers. A little powder covered her face, some dabs of rouge colored her cheeks, and a touch of red filled her lips.
Anyone who saw her everyday would have second thoughts if this really was Makimachi Misao. Even Aoshi stared in wonder at the little beauty before him. This was a completely different, completely new, young woman. As the Aoiya's residents filed out to the street, almost everyone stopped and stared at the transformation in the boyish ninja.
Imagine the impression on a certain young man, as he intently watched the young lady from a safe distance. He chuckled as she grumbled at her high sandals and faltered through her restricting kimono. He smiled as other young men sought her attention, men who normally would ignore her. He smirked, as the man she desperately wanted to please, summarily kept his eyes away. He gazed as she looked in his direction, and displayed her full splendor.
He found himself faltering, he who never faltered. He found his heart pounding, he who was sure he had no heart. He found his breaths rapid, he who had utmost calm when he chose. He found his hands shaking, he whose hands were steady and sure.
Finally he saw her stand alone in a crowd. Her comrades had gone ahead to see a street performance. She had taken time to stop at a stall.
His brain and his whole nervous system were in tune and at their highest sensitivity, knowing each thought, feeling each goosebump, hearing each heartbeat, experiencing each emotion.
He slowly walked to where she stood, and quietly tapped her shoulder.
She turned around.
At first she had trouble knowing who the young man was. He looked like every other young man who had noticed her. He wore the traditional hakama and gi, both dark blue. Under the gi he wore a white collared shirt. His feet were covered in the traditional socks and sandals. His eyes had the same dreamy look that the other men had. Then she noticed the tousled locks, half hidden under a cloth cap. White as the snow still on the mountains.
She, too, was amazed at the transformation. It was the first time she had ever seen him without foreign-style pants, and still he was the epitome of style. Everything was just...RIGHT, just perfect. Of the young men who had taken notice of her, this young man was the best-dressed of them all. She let her eyes wander from the tip of his geta to the top of his cap, just to be sure that he was truly standing before her. It was him, it was him, all of him.
Her own heart was pounding. Her knees were shaking inside the kimono. The rouge masked the blush that rose to her cheeks. Her tongue was lost and useless before the young man.
Without a word, he took her hand, gave it a warm kiss, looked up at her eyes, and smiled. She in turn bowed respectfully and beamed at him.
He held out a hand to her, in an unspoken plea for her to follow. She nodded, and accepted the offered hand.
He whisked her away silently, through happy streets filled with colorful stalls, through narrow streets filled with trash, through broad streets filled with people. They walked at an even pace, but she felt like they breezed through, or rode a cloud. He felt like he was walking on air with her, even as he pushed and shoved through the crowd. They saw nothing and heard nothing, but the presence of each other, and the tight bond their hands held together.
Soon she found herself walking through the door of his mansion, still holding his firm hand. He escorted her up the stairs to the wide terrace.
In the middle of the terrace, a medium-sized table had been prepared, covered with succulent dishes. The best tofu in Kyoto. Grilled sea bream. Fine Chinese green tea. Excellent cuts of tuna and mackerel. Several servings of other seafood. Beside the table on two sides were mats covered in silk, for two people to sit on. Near the table a small light was provided, not bright enough to obscure the night but sufficient to illuminate the beautiful dinner.
He led her to sit on one of the mats, then seated himself opposite her on the other. The light brought out the glow in both their faces, slightly embarrassed at being together, but enjoying every second.
"Bon appetit," he greeted, with a wave of the hand to the spread.
"Nani?"
"It's just a French expression, it basically means to have a good appetite, to eat well. Itadakimasu!" he smiled.
The food tasted as good as it looked. She could only imagine the expense her friend had to incur, to prepare this grand meal.
Underneath the beautiful kimono and the fancy makeup, he learned that she had not changed. She was still his bubbly and cheerful friend, and she talked and talked about her past few weeks. She pouted as she mentioned the okashira. She lit up as she recalled the times she saw him in the market.
"And did you know that I bought a Japanese translation of that book of yours?" she reported. "Cost me a pretty penny, too! I got to reading it, and tried to remember those days we sat by the sofa and you read aloud. I understood better some of the things you were trying to tell me, but seriously, you do a better translation!"
Absolutely nothing could get this young woman down for long, he noted. She made the best of a bad situation, and faced her trials with a smile.
"But what have you been doing all this time, Enishi-san? Always being a good boy and avoiding me...."
"Plans, making plans," he answered simply.
He waited until they were both finished eating, then stood up and held out his hand again. "Come. I'll show you what I've been doing these last few weeks."
He led her to the bedroom.
A million sane and insane thoughts ran through Misao's shaken brain as she shuffled beside him.
Whatever exactly those thoughts were, they all vanished when she saw the bed itself. Above it were two trunks, of the same size and make, obviously newly bought. Enishi walked to the dresser and retrieved a set of keys. As she stood at the foot of the large bed, he approached one of the trunks, took out a key, and turned the lock. He gestured for her to come closer.
The trunk was full of clothes, a woman's clothes. Of American and European make. He took out the dress on top, an exquisite traveling frock, ivy green with a slight touch of plaid running through the fabric. As he spread it out, she knew that it was specifically made for her. She stood aghast. This was only one dress. There were at least ten more inside the trunk.
He took something from the nearby bedstead. He then showed it to her, fanned out in his hand. Two large pieces of cardboard.
"Tickets to board a steamship, leaving Tokyo Bay next week. We are going to Paris."
"P-P-Paris?! Paris, in France?!"
The poor young lady could only stammer. France was in Europe, France was in the opposite side of the world, France was---dreadfully far away from Kyoto....
"It's not like it's the first time I'm going there. I have contacts, I will have a place there for you....."
"For m-m-me? What does this all mean, Enishi-san?!"
He put down the dress and the tickets, and walked closer and closer to her. "I said I would come for you, and now I have. In the trunk there are clothes enough and to spare for the transpacific trip. We then take the fastest train across America, then ride a transatlantic ship from New York to Paris."
She walked backward and backward, until her back knocked against the door. This was not the Enishi-san she was used to. This was close to the --- Enishi --- she held in contempt.
The psychopath.
"Waiting outside is a carriage, ready to take us to the train station, for the first trip to Tokyo tomorrow morning. Everything is in place. Everything has been thought of." He laid a hand on the door beside her sweat-filled face, and leveled his eyes with hers. "You'll come with me to Paris. I'll make you a lady of society, looked upon with respect. I'll show you what it is to live among the elite. I will make you mine."
"And if I say no?"
"You cannot POSSIBLY say no, Misao! The business could live on its own now, so I can leave it to respected employees, and they will run it the way I have, and still make money..Now please say you will come with me, Misao!" His words were desperate, and rapid.
Despite the trepidation Misao felt at that moment, she also felt that something was dreadfully wrong with this operation. No way Shiroyuki Shinichi, no way Yukishiro Enishi was doing this, just because of an overpowering affection for a woman. There must be something else to this plan, Misao calculated. She would get to the bottom of it.
"You are running away from the law," Misao directly and bravely accused, "and you are taking me with you so I won't squeal. All of this, is a large scam to get the Oniwabanshuu into your favor, so they won't help the police."
"NO!"
It was now Enishi who walked backward, as Misao, hands akimbo, took the aggressive stance. "I work undercover, and I can think like you in some respects. You know that the police are after you, and they have some evidence against you, so you decided to run while the going was good."
"I know I'm still on the wanted list, but they have no reason to arrest me. I don't know what evidence those wretches have, but they are false! I have nothing to hide, I have nothing to answer for anymore!!"
"You are not telling me the truth!"
Suddenly his eyes glowered in anger, and he lifted the young woman by the neck. "Look, weasel, you do not want to make this harder for yourself. I would have wanted that you willingly come with me in that carriage to the train station. But as you are putting up a fight, I could just as easily drug you unconscious and take you there myself."
"Just you dare," she gagged, "and I will personally have you arrested, for kidnapping!"
The warning stunned him for a few important seconds, enough time for her to chop at his wrists and make him release her.
She slapped him hard across the face.
"A gentleman does not run away from his problems. A gentleman faces them with an honorable mind and a brave heart. A gentleman does not force a situation to run his way. A gentleman uses each situation that comes his way to his best advantage. And I thought Yukishiro Enishi was a gentleman!"
A few tense moments of silence. A grandfather clock rang the stroke of midnight. The young woman, a few strands of hair astray, breathed heavily, in frustration and in confusion. The young man held an injured cheek and injured pride.
"There is no other reason," he quietly spoke with bowed head. "If there is any other reason---it is to take you away from HIM. That is all. Maybe if you forgot about him, you would finally.....love me...." He fell into silence again.
"I would have wanted to go, if you must know, Enishi-san," she slowly broke the stillness. "But it would bother my conscience terribly if I left, running from problems and without the blessing of my friends. Someday, when you and I are both ready, when everything is just right, I'd welcome a chance to see the world outside Japan."
She took his hand and tugged at his arm. "For now, a trip to the library would be fine. I've missed that book of yours!"
"You are beyond knowing, weasel," he shook his head with a defeated smile.
"Makimachi Misao desu yo!"
"Hai, hai."
Snuggled in the sofa, Enishi began to absentmindedly read Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, in French, without bothering to translate. Because of the fiery yet beautiful woman beside him, all his plans and dreams of a new life in a new land with a new lady have completely shattered. Let him have at least the satisfaction of going to France in his words and in his imagination.
He wanted to board a Nautilus of his own, fill it with books and memories of the world, and lose himself in it, under the oceans. Nobody would miss him, anyway, nobody. Not even this woman beside him. She would live her life, apart from him, and she would be happy. Not so with him. He would always be alone.
Enishi heard the grandfather clock chime the second hour of the new day. Misao had dropped off the sleep, tired from all the excitement of the day. Her head leaned on his shoulder, and he heard her quiet breaths at his arm. There was no trace of fear or apprehension. It was the peaceful sleep of a little girl beside someone she trusted.
He could not resist looking at that peaceful face. Soon his free hand released the book, and began to caress her smooth cheeks, and to feel the delicate curves. It came to the top of her head and down to the bun of her hair. Instinctively, almost impulsively, he gently removed the pins and flowers, one by one. He finally took out the comb, and her long tresses tumbled down, like a new waterfall.
If she only said yes.....If she could only be his....If only she could be with him forever.
He wanted to do more, much more. There was no one left in the house; all of the servants were in their quarters, far away from the library or the bedroom.
His hand came up again to her face, and slowly went down to her chin, and lower to her neck. His hand felt the opening of the kimono. He desperately wanted the chance to look deeper and farther into her, to know her completely, to feel her through him.......
Then her words stopped him again.
I thought Yukishiro Enishi was a gentleman.
NO, he was not a gentleman. He only had an insatiable appetite for her in his heart and soul. He had actually planned to take her away with him, irregardless of who might be affected by this action. He wanted her to be his, and his alone. He wanted to leave this friendless country and bring her, his only friend, with him to a new country, hopefully with new friends. No, he was not a gentleman.
But she thought he was a gentleman. She believed him to be a gentleman.
He rose up from the sofa, and rested her tired head on a pillow. He walked to the bedroom and retrieved a blanket. He returned to the library.
He became aware of her full form, elegantly curved in her slumber. Her slender feet, her firm calves, her smooth thighs, her lithe arms. By the gods, he wanted to feel them close to his own. He only had to untie the obi, ever so slowly.....
But she began to mumble in her sleep. "Shinichi is a gentleman, Aoshi- sama! Don't worry about me!"
It was Shinichi who was the gentleman, not Enishi, he thought. Such blind faith in a man. He, who never trusted anyone, could not comprehend such blind faith.
He draped the blanket on her. "Sleep well, my dear," he murmured, and kissed her on the forehead.
Then he made his way to the terrace, and placed his hands on the railings. There he waited for the sun to rise over the mountain.
At the first sign of light, a carriage rolled to a halt in front of the Aoiya. The okashira was waiting at the door.
A man stepped out, carrying a large bundle wrapped in a blanket. Without a word of recognition or permission, he stepped into the house, carried the bundle up the stairs to the second floor, and laid the bundle over a prepared futon. He exited the building as wordlessly as he came.
But first he stopped before the okashira. He took off his cap and made himself known.
"I could have taken her from you last night.....Remember that. Sayonara."
He mounted the carriage, and disappeared with the rising sun.
..........
Give me a little credit. This is the first time I've written a chapter with mostly descriptions. It was harder to write than even "separation" (the Battousai chapter) for Nine Months.
Everyone, say "thank you" to Firuze Khanume. The story hopefully will be a much better read that what I first planned, thanks to a very timely review from her. It is very tough to go against the grind, and not make Enishi psychotic. Thanks to her intimate knowledge of our white-haired friend, my thinking got rewired in the right direction. Firuze-nee-san is right. An admiration for Yukishiro Enishi is an acquired taste, but once you have it, you can't seem to lose it!
Almost everyone's questions have probably been answered by this chapter.
Nia-Me and Midori write together?! Oh..dear me, I'm not worthy!! White and Black isn't even ΒΌ as well done as White Tiger Jade Concubine---but enough of that, Firuze-nee-san told me never to compare myself with Midori. If can even get a review out of her, I'd be a very very happy writer! But she does know that I'm writing this thing. ^^
Itadakimasu---overall greeting before eating
Nani-what?
Geta-Japanese sandals