His grip on her turned bruising. “No, you’re not.”
Her eyes flew to his, surprise there, perhaps at his vehemence.
“Niamh, I do know what it’s like. More than you can imagine.” Kiyo studied her tormented expression, and he knew he’d never be able to protect her if she couldn’t let this guilt over her brother go. Fear welled in him as the words he knew she needed to hear climbed toward his tongue. He was about to confide something he’d never told anyone. But Conall was right. This was about the big picture, and to save everyone, Niamh needed to be saved. And apparently that was his job now.
He let out a breath that was annoyingly shaky. “My mother was the only person in this world I cared about.”
Niamh’s body stiffened with alertness and her eyes focused. He had her entire attention.
“She was called Kume Fujiwara. The Fujiwara family had money and status. My Japanese grandfather was a powerful rice broker in the mid-nineteenth century. Even though Japan was changing rapidly at the time with industrialization, my mother’s family still had great influence in their class of society. Kume was seventeen years old, it was 1872, and my grandfather had hopes of a great match for her because she was very beautiful.” His voice trailed off as he remembered her.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” Niamh replied, their eyes locking. “You must look like her.”
The compliment caused him to swallow hard. He had his mother’s eyes and coloring, but the rest of him was his father.
“That year an American doctor came to Osaka,” he continued, carefully keeping the emotion out of his voice. “William Morris. He was the second son of a wealthy East Coast industrialist who had enough money to doctor wherever he wanted to. He was fascinated by Japan. All things Japan. Including my mother. He fell in love with her. They fell in love with each other and she fell pregnant. My father wanted to marry her. That’s what my mother told me.” He remembered his time in the States and all he’d learned there. “And I found out enough to know that she wasn’t lying. William would have married her if he was a stronger man. But not only did my mother’s father refuse the suit, the Morris family threatened to cut William off if he didn’t return, alone, to America immediately. My mother wanted to elope, but William was weak and he returned to his family.” Bitterness he couldn’t contain leaked into his words, and his breath caught as Niamh pressed a comforting hand to his chest.
Right over his heart.
There was no pity in her eyes. Just understanding. And compassion.
His heart already beat too hard, too fast. Sweat beaded on his temple but he forced himself to continue. “I grew up very close to my mother. We were each other’s only friend. It was the two of us against a harsh society. Although she wasn’t sent away, the Fujiwara blamed her for bringing shame to the entire family. My grandfather was cold and indifferent toward us. I called him Sofu. I wouldn’t dare call him anything less formal. The same for my grandmother who I referred to as Sobo. Sobo was worse than Sofu. She was physically abusive to both me and my mother.”
Niamh’s fingers curled into his T-shirt.
He lowered his gaze. He wouldn’t be able to continue if he kept looking into her eyes. “One afternoon”—his voice grew rough with the memory—“my mother returned home from an errand and she’d been beaten. I thought perhaps Sobo had lost her temper over something and attacked her. She walked with a cane and had no problem swiping my mother with it. Mother wouldn’t talk to me about it. For weeks after, she was melancholy. Not even I could comfort her.” He stalled, trying to gather the calm to confide the next part. “One morning, I went to her and I found her dead in her room. She’d cut her wrists.”
“Oh, Kiyo,” Niamh whimpered.
He couldn’t look at her.
He could hear the tears in her voice, and if he looked at her and found tears in her eyes, he’d lose his calm.
“Sobo told me the truth then. A group of men who knew of my mother’s reputation had beaten her and gang-raped her.”
“Oh my God.”
Rage still filled him. Rage that would never leave no matter how much time passed. “Sobo said Mother had brought it on herself by acting the whore for the American.”
“That old bitch.”
The rage receded somewhat and Kiyo finally looked at Niamh. Her anger was exactly what he needed. It calmed him more than her tears could. “Yeah, she was. And with my mother dead, Sofu felt no obligation toward me anymore. He lied and told me he was taking me with him on a business trip to Tokyo. I’d lost my mother. I was desperate to believe that perhaps her death had changed Sofu for the better.