A few minutes later Troth emerged with a donkey bearing a pack and a crude saddle. It was an unkempt little beast, but looked strong and healthy. Troth took one of his hands and placed it on the donkey’s neck, as if he were blind, and said under her breath, “Mount clumsily.”
He obeyed, making a show of fumbling and struggling to get one leg over the donkey’s back. When he was mounted, his feet just missed dragging on the ground. He suppressed a smile at the thought of what his English friends would think if they could see him now. He’d always been known for the quality of his horses.
Troth took the reins and led the beast into the street. Surprised, he whispered, “Where is your donkey?”
“Only this one.” When he started to protest, she snapped, “Later!”
Reminding himself that she was in charge, he settled down and watched the passing scene. The donkey moved no faster than a man, but they weren’t far from one of the city gates, and soon they left Canton. The road that rolled north was wide and heavily trafficked.
When the suburbs of the city were behind them, Troth turned down a smaller road, barely five feet wide and with little traffic. They wound between rugged, intensely green hills that had been terraced to produce the greatest possible yields. The most common crop was rice, with peasants and water buffalo working in knee-deep water. The landscape had the same slightly unreal loveliness he’d seen in his treasured folio of drawings. The artists of those pictures had been more accurate than he’d realized.
After checking that no one was near, he asked quietly, “Why only one donkey?”
“One donkey to carry an old man would look reasonable, but two would imply prosperity, and that would be bad,” she explained. “Better to appear as people not worth robbing.”
“I take your point, but I really can’t ride the whole way when a lady is walking.”
“I’m not a lady. Remember? People would be shocked to see me ride while my honored grandfather had to walk.”
“And I am not an honored grandfather.” He swung one leg over the donkey’s back and began walking on the side opposite Troth, one hand resting on the crude saddle as if he needed guidance. “During my time in Canton, I’ve been going mad with lack of exercise. I can’t pass up this opportunity to stretch my legs.”
“All right, but if we approach a town or village, mount up again.”
“Very well.” It was relaxing to be in the country again. He studied the hills, keeping his head still so as not to alert anyone to the fact that he wasn’t behaving like a blind man. “The landscape is so carefully cultivated that it reminds me of a park. The scenery is much wilder in England.”
“Tell me what it is like.”
“In the south, many of the roads are lined with hedgerows full of birds and flowers and berries in season. There are woods, and streams that choose their own courses rather than being diverted into irrigation.”
“What about Scotland?”
He began describing the moors: the rugged hills, the fleet deer and shaggy Highland cattle, the wild burns that rushed down from the hills, turning into rainbow-touched cascades after a storm. “It’s a wild and lonely landscape compared to this. I have a home in the Highlands. You’d like it there, I think.”
“I know I would,” she said in a voice laced with longing. “My father grew up in the border country, but he took walking tours through the Highlands when he was young. He planned to retire someday and take me home to Scotland.”
“So you dreamed of the Highlands while I dreamed of Hoshan,” he mused. “Perhaps we were fated to meet.”
“Isn’t the concept of fate more Eastern than Christian?”
“Believing in fate, or luck, is part of human nature, I suspect. Tell me about Chinese religious beliefs. I’ve done some reading, but still haven’t got the three main religions sorted out. Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism—who believes what?”
“Most Chinese follow them all.” She smiled. “The Christian Bible says that ‘the Lord thy God is a jealous god,’ but here we believe that any religion that teaches you to be a good person is worthy.
“There are Three Ways. Taoism teaches that we must follow the laws of nature, and sees spirits everywhere. The greatest figures are Lao-Tzu, the Old Philosopher, and the Eight Immortals. The Tao is yin and yang, opposite and equal, and feng shui, the art of harmonious placement, which creates homes and gardens that nourish the soul.”
“You’re going too fast!” he protested. “I want to know more.”
She gave an enchanting laugh. “Later. The second Way is that of Confucius, the Master. He taught people to respect one another, to cultivate discipline and learning and wisdom, to honor our elders. Chinese society and government are rooted in his teachings.”
“And Buddhism?”
“He was the Enlightened One, who taught that in order to escape the cycle of death and rebirth, we must not be attached to the things of the earth. Giving up worldly desires will lead to peace and wisdom.”
Kyle studied the pure line of her throat, her beautifully cut profile. “I’m definitely not ready to give up earthly desires, but I want to learn more. I’m going to make you talk until you’re hoarse every day of this journey, from Canton to Hoshan to London.”
“After so many years of being quiet, invisible Jin Kang, I shall enjoy having an audience,” she said tranquilly.
He smiled, thinking that already this was a wonderful journey. Perhaps fate truly had brought them together for a purpose, for she was giving him China. In turn, he would give her Scotland.
If it wouldn’t have been out of character for an old grandfather, Kyle would have begun to whistle.
Chapter 16
“Time to get on your faithful steed again,” Troth murmured. “The village on the hill ahead looks large enough to have an inn, and it’s almost sunset.”
“Are all Chinese towns and villages walled?”
“Most of them are. There have been periods in our history when bandits swarmed over the land like locusts and unprotected villages were destroyed.”
Resigned to being carted around like baggage, Kyle mounted the donkey again and their small party climbed the long hill. He noted that the village had been built on a poor, rocky outcropping so fertile land wouldn’t be wasted on buildings. He’d never seen land used so intensively.
Just inside the village gates stood an inn, its function as unmistakable in China as in England. Troth took them through a broad arch into a courtyard where three of the four walls had doors leading into guest rooms, while the fourth was a shed. The air was ripe with the odors of animals and frying fat.
Before Troth had even finished tethering the donkey, a middle-aged woman bustled from the manager’s quarters with a tea tray. As she and Troth conversed, a cup of steaming tea was gently pressed into Kyle’s hand. He raised the cup clumsily to his lips, assuming that even a deaf, blind grandfather should be able to manage tea.
After he’d drunk, Troth took the cup and went inside with the woman while Kyle relaxed on the donkey, cultivating patience. In England he’d been accustomed to servants taking care of life’s menial tasks, but that had changed when he left on his travels. His long-term valet had declined to follow his master to foreign places, and the manservant who’d replaced him had left Kyle’s service in India.
Unable to find an acceptable substitute, he’d decided to manage for himself while he was in Canton, and found that he rather enjoyed the privacy of not having a manservant constantly underfoot. Now Troth was handling every aspect of their journey, and it felt rather odd to return to idleness.
Still, entertainment presented itself. A very small child toddled up to the donkey. As he regarded Kyle with great solemn eyes, he squatted, his trousers opening along the crotch seam as he relieved himself on the soil of the courtyard. Kyle blinked behind his gauze bandage. While the boy’s garment was a very practical design, it would never catch on in London.
Two pretty young women wearing heavy cosmetics pattered up on bou
nd feet. Probably they were prostitutes, since the inn would be a good source of business. One took the child’s hand and led him away, but the other stayed and surveyed Kyle.
Apparently reaching a favorable conclusion, she patted Kyle’s knee—no, above the knee; her hand was sliding up his thigh. As she rattled off a cheerful question, he froze, embarrassingly aware that his body was responding to her practiced caress. Was this a local custom that his guide had neglected to explain?
Troth stormed from the inn, barking gruff imprecations at the prostitute. Unintimidated, the girl answered back, and a sharp exchange occurred. It ended when the girl smiled wickedly and trailed a provocative hand down Troth’s arm. Then she minced away, hips swinging in invitation.
Muttering oaths, Troth led the donkey across the courtyard and helped Kyle down with a viselike grip on his elbow. The bedroom opened directly off the courtyard and was dominated by a platform bed. Kyle glanced around as she returned to the donkey for their baggage. Furnishings were sparse and the small, high windows were covered with paper that admitted only a dim light, but he’d stayed in worse places.
After Troth came in, kicking the door shut behind her, he asked softly, “What was that business in the courtyard all about?”
She dumped the baggage unceremoniously by the wall. “Wasn’t it obvious? That hound-begotten slut was looking for customers.”
“That I guessed, but the discussion between you seemed rather prolonged.”
“I told her you were too old to traffic in trollops and that she insulted your dignity,” Troth said acidly. “After which she informed me that you most certainly were not too old, and she’d service you for free because of her great reverence for her elders.”
“What a hospitable nation this is!” Kyle said, amused by the absurdity.
Troth gave him a dagger glance. “Should I call that harlot in so you can take advantage of her generosity?”
“Of course not. But I’m…impressed”—he began to laugh—“at how far the Confucian ‘honor one’s elders’ philosophy is carried.”
Troth leaped at him and clamped a hand over his mouth. “For heaven’s sake!” she hissed. “Do you want to bring everyone in this inn down on us? Anyone who hears will know you’re no invalid grandfather.”
His laughter vanished as she pressed against him. Through the gauzy bandage, he could barely see the outline of her features, but the warmth of her body was palpable. The lingering arousal caused by his encounter with the prostitute kindled into fierce need, not for any woman, but for this one. He cupped her cheek, smooth as warm silk. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and far, far longer since he’d desired one as much as he desired Troth.
Body took over from brain and he bent to kiss her. The brims of their straw hats collided and hers fell back onto the floor. Dangerous, dangerous folly, but her mouth was so sweet, so welcoming. As the kiss deepened, he slid his hands downward, feeling the supple strength of her back, the warm curve of her hips as he drew her close.
For a blissful moment she melted against him. Then she pulled away, her eyes wide and dazed. “I…I must stable the donkey. And food. I’ll get food.” She scooped her hat up and bolted from the room, pulling the brim low to hide her face.
Blood pounding, he sank onto the edge of the bed. How could he have been so stupid? The trip had hardly begun, and already he had succumbed to temptation.
It would be child’s play to seduce her, but he was a man, not a child, and seduction of an innocent was profoundly dishonorable. Only a scoundrel would take advantage of her inexperience. In Britain she would have a chance to be the woman she longed to be. Intimate involvement with him now would interfere with that irrevocably.
He was skilled in self-control, and certainly that was the right course with Troth. Why did it have to be so damned difficult?
Troth brushed down the donkey with shaking hands. Gods, but it had been hard to leave Maxwell! She had wanted nothing more than to draw him to the bed so that he could teach her of the mysteries between man and woman. But that embrace had happened too abruptly. Instinct told her that there must be more between them than passion, or a bedding would leave them awkward and guilty: she’d feel awkward, and he’d feel guilty. In any case, the timing was wrong.
By the time she finished grooming the donkey, the beast was sleeker than it had ever been in its lowborn life. She left the stable, which was an open shed to the left of the main entrance. The gate was closed now that night had fallen, and a single wavering torch illuminated the courtyard.
Luckily, only a few rooms of the Inn of Heavenly Peace were occupied tonight, which meant that she and Maxwell would have some privacy. They were becoming skilled at conversing in voices so low that no one more than a few feet away could hear, but a momentary lapse could have serious consequences.
She stopped by the kitchen and collected the tray of food she’d ordered earlier from the innkeeper’s wife. When she returned to the room, she saw with a pang of regret that Maxwell had made a pallet on the floor for her. Obviously he’d recovered from his earlier passion.
After she entered he dropped a heavy wooden bar into the brackets on each side of the door so they were secure. Then he began unwinding the bandage. “I’ve wanted to take this off for hours.”
She tried not to stare as the familiar features emerged from behind the dusty gauze. Gentle, doddering grandfather disappeared, replaced by a man in the prime of his strength. When he removed the wig and ran his fingers through his hair to loosen it, she wrenched her gaze away before she could make a complete fool of herself. “A good thing no one can see in, Grandfather. Just remember that while the rooms on both sides of us are empty, sounds will carry far in the night.”
He lit the small oil lamp in the center of the low table as she transferred the dishes from the tray to the table. It was humble fare, rice and a mixture of chopped vegetables flavored with ginger, along with a teapot and utensils. This was the real China, just what he’d wanted. She sat cross-legged by the table, searching for a neutral topic. “In the north, where winters are cold, the beds are built of brick so that small fires can be built underneath for warmth.”
He folded himself down on the side of the table opposite her. “This could be useful in England. We have hot-water bottles for the feet, but they cool quickly.”
“My father used to talk wistfully of the cool mists of Scotland. He never mentioned hot-water bottles.” Glad that no strain lingered from what had happened earlier, she poured tea for them both and prepared to enjoy the simple food and Maxwell’s company.
Awkwardness returned at bedtime. Suppressing a yawn, Maxwell said, “I’m ready to retire. Good night.” Then he sat on the pallet and pulled off his shabby shoes.
“I’ll sleep on the floor.”
He set the shoes neatly by the wall. “No.”
“The bed is more comfortable,” she protested. “You should have it whether you are grandfather or lord.”
“Outside this room, we are in China and I will do as you say. But when we are in private, you are a lady and I am a gentleman,” he said firmly. “And a gentleman always gives the best place to the lady.”
In Macao she’d seen how Europeans were elaborately protective of their womenfolk, as if the females were made of glass, but such behavior was so alien to Chinese custom that even the idea discomforted her. “I will not be able to sleep if you are not comfortable.”
He rose and gave a graceful bow. “Alas, my lady, my conscience shall torment me horribly if I sleep on the bed. You must agree to my wishes if you don’t wish to be cruel.” He offered her his arm. “Let me escort you to your place of rest.”
His courtly manner brought a smile to her face. Feeling like the lady he called her, she placed a light hand on his arm. “I yield to your gilded tongue, my lord, but I fear that I shan’t sleep a wink.”
He gazed down at her, humor bright in his eyes. “I’m tired enough to sleep on sharp stones, so you might as well get a goo
d rest, too.” He escorted her the half dozen steps to the bed, then left her with another bow. “Shall I put the lamp out?”
“Please.”
He pinched out the flame. In the near-total darkness she heard him strip off the outer layer of his clothing before he lay down on the pallet. She removed her own outer garments, then stretched her tired body on the lumpy mattress that covered the bed.
Though she ached with tiredness, she couldn’t relax, and not only because of her discomfort at having superior accommodations. She lay staring upward, acutely aware that he was only a few feet away. Memories of his embrace were painfully vivid.
Why had she foolishly pulled away? Partly it had been her sense that it was too soon, but also, she realized, there had been some fear—of the act itself, of the unknown, of Maxwell, who fascinated her but was in many ways a powerful, enigmatic stranger.
Now, too late, she cursed herself for her misgivings, for he had hungered for her as much as she had wanted him. If she’d been a little braver, she might be lying in his arms now. The knowledge made her ache with emptiness. Such a moment might not come again, for he was no randy lecher who’d bed anyone, and she was hardly woman enough to lead a disciplined man astray.
As the minutes stretched interminably, she wondered if she should make an advance tonight, while memory of their kiss still lingered. Though she would risk humiliating rejection, that would be better than knowing that she had not even tried.
She was tired, so tired, of waiting and wanting.
Not having quite enough courage to act boldly, she decided to leave it to fate. His breathing was slow and steady. If he was asleep, she would try to sleep herself. But if he was awake…She murmured, “My lord?”
“Yes?”
The sound of his deep voice sent a jolt of determination through her. She slipped from the bed and stretched out beside him on the pallet. Laying a tentative hand on his chest, she said haltingly, “You desired me earlier. I…I am here now.”
The China Bride Page 11