Samurai Game (Ghostwalkers, #10)(72)

What the hell was he doing? He should have carried her off like a caveman. He could persuade her to marry him. Wine. Sex. Candlelight. Yeah, he could manage that. But asking stone-face swordsmen for permission? They were probably laughing at his predicament. He would be if Azami was his sister.

Sam took a breath and knocked on the door before he talked himself out of it—a polite knock when he wanted to pound until the door broke down and he just demanded they hand her over to him. He wasn’t going away without her. If she thought about it too long, she’d change her mind. What sane woman wouldn’t?

The door swung open slowly and Eiji’s broad frame filled the doorway. He stared at Sam without expression, his dark eyes thoughtful. “May I help you?”

If the man was a team member, Sam would have told him to can the crap; after all, they knew exactly why he’d come. He gave a slight bow instead and tried a tentative smile.

“Please excuse my attire; I had no other clothes with me.” He nearly groaned. That had been a little reminder that he’d gone into battle, but maybe not such a good idea. He’d been wounded. They might think he wasn’t a good enough soldier to protect their sister. “The matter is urgent or I wouldn’t have disturbed you so late. I wish to speak to you and your brother.”

Eiji studied him a moment longer and then stepped back, his robes flowing around him as he did, using that same fluid motion Sam recognized in Azami. The apartment was lit with candles rather than the harsher lights overhead. A Go game was laid out between two chairs on the smaller coffee table, and clearly they’d been playing. He couldn’t help but notice that a long samurai sword lay inches from Daiki’s fingertips, enclosed in the ornate scabbard.

Daiki rose and gave that studied, perfect bow that made the two men seem as if they were traditional warriors of old. “I had hoped that your wounds were not so bad,” he greeted. “Thank you for looking after Azami.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief and allowed himself a smile. “I think it was mutual.”

Daiki waved him toward a chair. Sam nearly groaned. Not another chair. He could get in and out of one, but he looked like an old man doing it. He took a deep breath and took the plunge.

“I don’t know how this is done in your family, so I’m just going to get right to the point. I would like your permission to marry Azami. I know I’m not much to look at and I’m in a high-risk job, but we’re . . . we . . . fit. I’ll make her happy. I know I will.”

“Her happiness is not of paramount importance,” Daiki said. “Her safety is our first priority. Azami would throw herself in front of a bullet for the ones she loves.”

Sam heard the dark warning in Azami’s brother’s voice. Daiki Yoshiie was definitely a man of confidence. He talked with great intelligence, his voice cultured and smooth, yet he moved like the whisper of the wind. The man would hold his own in any fight—if you ever saw him. Their father had trained them in the way of the samurai and it had become their way of life. They chose to put the principles into business, but nevertheless, they could use them just as easily if needed to defend themselves.

“As would I,” Sam said. He didn’t know what else to say. Daiki told him the truth about Azami and Sam knew it was true. There would be no stopping what he knew was central to her character any more than they could stop the need to protect those he loved in him. He was certain that simple statement was a test to see his reaction. Azami was Azami and there was no changing her, nor would he want to do so.

“She is her own woman. I will protect her with my life and love and value her for all my days.” He felt silly saying the truth aloud to strangers even if the men were Azami’s brothers.

Daiki studied his face for a long time before he stepped forward and opened his palm. “This ring was made by our father for the man who would see beyond the past and bring her happiness. You are her choice.”

The ring was small, delicate like Azami, but intricate, just as her personality was. The blossom of a thistle nestled in the middle, surrounded by thorns. Along the band was etched a detailed samurai sword. The work had been done by a master craftsman. Sam stared down at that tiny symbol of a man’s commitment to a woman and knew that the artist had been equally gifted and detailed when it came to making weapons.

“I would have liked to have met your father,” he murmured.

Daiki bowed as he placed the ring in Sam’s hand. “He would have liked to have met you.”

Sam closed his fingers around the ring, a strange soaring sensation in his heart.

“My father found my brother and me in the street just as he did Azami. Several nights a week would we walk on those streets with him. When he found her, she was surrounded by those who would have used her for the child sex trade. They knew him and knew he would have fought to the death for her. He saw her bravery, right there in that horrible alley, the light in her eyes, the courage she possessed. She has a spirit no monster could slay. That’s what my father saw in her, and he knew a man would come along who would see that same spirit. I’m glad it is you.”

Sam bowed slightly. “Where is she?” He could barely get the words out. He needed to see her. Right then. Right now. He had expected her to be there, but he knew little of the traditions of her family.

“I believe she has gone to your home to welcome you,” Daiki answered.