Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 7

in silence. What he said made perfect sense, and he felt all the more of a fool for not having seen it himself. He was nothing more than the lamb being led to slaughter. Not that he could ever be considered so innocent, but in this case, he was. Or if not innocent, then naïve. But his knowledge of the politics here was only cursory, so he never would've been able to guess a maneuver like this. Whereas Kazuhiro was in the heart of the political struggles, living them every day of his life.
    Now he fully understood Barrett's plan. In Barrett's mind, however this turned out would be a win for him. It was a completely sound plan…from Barrett's perspective. Now he understood even more why the samurai had fought so hard to protect him. If he was killed, even not by Kazuhiro or his men, the result would be the same in Barrett claiming it was Kazuhiro.
    So while Kazuhiro clearly wasn't going to follow through on Barrett's murderous expectations, now he needed to decide what he would do.
    Kazuhiro's voice pulled him from his thoughts.
    "You seem surprised."
    "I am." Jonathon paused. "And I'm not. To be honest, I'm not sure what to make of any of it."
    Kazuhiro nodded, but stayed quiet.
    Jonathon looked toward him again. "Then since you have no intention of doing business with me, and it seems you don't want to kill me, what are your plans with me?"
    Kazuhiro's gaze roamed over him in the intense and intimate way as before. As he met Jonathon's eyes, the same soft, warm smile came to his lips. "I haven't decided."
    Jonathon's heart hammered heavy and quick. His cock fully filled with the hopes the flirtatiousness he thought he'd heard was true.
    Kazuhiro turned forward, his expression and voice carrying a serious tone as he spoke again. "But you have my word that I will keep you safe."
    Jonathon bowed his head, whispering, "Thank you, Lord Takezaki."
    Kazuhiro had just spoken a word he'd longed to hear and experience for more years than he cared to remember; safe. He never would've expected to hear it in this place, a country thousands of miles from all he'd ever known, and yet the calm certainty that Kazuhiro said it made him believe it.
    ****
    Sleep slowly drifted from Jonathon. He stretched out and opened his eyes, finding himself on…the floor? Why was he sleeping on the floor? His sleep sluggish mind finally caught up with him. Because that's where his bed was, the warm futon beneath him. They'd arrived in Kyoto at daybreak, and he thought he'd never seen a city so beautiful.
    He rolled onto his back, closing his eyes to see his memories clearer. They had stood on a hillside overlooking the city. Kyoto was surrounded by the forested mountains. Rivers shimmering in the early morning sun wove around it. The dark tile roofs of the wood homes and buildings reflected the sun. Even from his far vantage, he'd seen a great temple built into the side of a mountain, held there with massive timbers, as it watched over the city and her people. A light mist blanketed the city, making it appear as though it were raised from a dream.
    When they rode down into Kyoto, the scents of earth and forest gave way to wood smoke and cooking. The fragrant smells of tea and rice, the pungency of grilled fish, all made his stomach rumble. People scurried out of their way, many dropping all they were doing to bow in respect to the samurai, though Jonathon still caught the curious looks directed toward him.
    When they reached the section of the city containing the homes of the daimyo, he was in awe. He'd seen many beautiful homes before, many large mansions, but even the most elegant seemed to pale next to the sweeping, graceful architecture of the lords' homes. Lord Takezaki's included.
    A tall, wood wall enclosed the estate. Passing through the gates, they came into a courtyard, where to the right was a long, single-story timber building; the barracks, as Kita had informed him. The stables were to the left. In the center, was the main house. Like the barracks, it was one story, but taller, with a sharply peaked, black roof that made it the height of a two-story. It wasn't as utilitarian in appearance as the barracks, the whitewashed walls lined in dark timber beams. A veranda wrapped around the perimeter. Warm lantern light seeped through the rice paper windows.
    Kazuhiro had left him in the care of his servants, who guided him inside, though not before he removed his boots in the entryway. Inside, the walls and floors were wood, all polished