by Jeannie Lin
He needed to make sure River was protected before he left. She was in more trouble than her brother now. He cursed Ru Shan for putting his sister in so much danger. There was no way to shield her against a charge of conspiracy and treason. Li Tao did not tolerate disloyalty on any level.
“Is there someone you can go to?” he asked.
She nodded and started to speak a name before stopping herself. “There’s a friend in town that will help me.”
He smiled ruefully. “Your brother always knew how to gain allies.”
Ru Shan was out there, building up the rebellion. The situation had become dangerous for all of them: Ru Shan, River and himself, as well.
“Chen, I apologize for asking that of you...last night.” She hesitated, but went on. “I don’t want you to face my brother.”
There was nothing left in her, but raw and naked honesty. He loved her for it. He would always love her.
“Nothing is certain,” he replied. “Ru Shan might end up killing me should we meet.”
“I don’t want that either.” Her resolve broke. She pressed a hand to her mouth as if she could hold back the tears.
Chen crushed her to him so she could bury her face against his chest. He couldn’t go with her, and it destroyed him. He wanted to defy country and honor to stay by her side, but if he didn’t report back, Li Tao would send the others. Two or four or forty of their brethren from the Rising Guard, all of them fervently dedicated to bringing Ru Shan’s death.
“It won’t come to that if I can stop it,” he said, his lips brushing her hair. He didn’t know if she believed him, but it was all he could promise.
He and River were meant to walk different paths. The only way to keep her safe was to continue to serve Li Tao. The warlord had to believe he was hunting for Ru Shan.
River broke away and pulled out a paper hidden in her sash. “Don’t open this until I’m far away. Swear you won’t.”
Before he could answer, she raised onto her toes to kiss him. She slipped the letter into the fold of his robe. Her fingers brushed the spot over his heart. This was farewell.
“I swear,” he said as she stepped back.
She turned and hurried down the path, never looking back. He watched her long after she disappeared around the river bend.
He never should have made that promise. It was a damn, stupid oath. She’d looked so vulnerable, face tilted to him, his lips warm as they held on to the memory of her touch. He was certain that the message contained something irrevocable. It would destroy her father and her brother. It might destroy him, as well. When he read it, he’d have no choice but to act.
So he waited a day with the folded paper tucked inside his robe. Burning against his breast. First thing the next morning, in a cold bed at the inn, he’d opened it.
The brushstrokes bled on the page and he finally had the answer she wouldn’t give him.
I also dreamed of you.
CHAPTER SIX
River knew who was upon the horse the moment he came over the rise. Chen had sought her out. For the last three months, she and Father had lived far away from the main roads and cities of the province. It was safer that way. She didn’t know where Ru Shan was either. That was also safer.
If Chen had found and challenged Ru Shan, she didn’t know what she would do. There was no such thing as a good death in her eyes. It was all loss and pain. Her father would never recover and she...she had already decided to bury her heart. Yet against her wishes, it came to life at the first sight of the swordsman.
She walked to the edge of the path and held her breath. She couldn’t go to him until she knew. His gaze fixed onto her as he neared. Her heart caught in her throat as Chen dismounted and even when he stood before her, it was as if a veil still clouded her eyes, separating them. His presence was both beautiful and terrifying.
“Is he dead?” she whispered.
Chen paused, taking her in from head to toe as she had done him. “Ru Shan is not dead. At least not that I know of.”
She could breathe again, but she kept her hands clenched at her sides to keep from reaching for him. There were still too many questions. “What is that?”
Chen had pulled out an official-looking pamphlet from his saddle pack, but he lowered it to his side as if it were unimportant.
“Do you still dream of me, River?”
She blinked furiously. It was the sunlight, she told herself. It was too bright. “Why did you come here? Are you still hunting Ru Shan?”
“I searched for him,” he admitted. “I followed news of him into the mountains. There was a skirmish somewhere in the south, but your brother escaped.”
He came closer and she allowed it. She was too caught between hope and fear to move. Chen held up the pamphlet again.
“A pardon. Governor Li has declared that the debt between the two of them is settled.”
She took the decree from him and read through it. “Can this be a trick?”
“Li Tao can be harsh and brutal, but he doesn’t believe in deceit.”
“The governor would rather kill his enemies as public examples,” she said contemptuously.
“Sometimes these matters can only be handled warrior to warrior. Only Li Tao and Ru Shan can understand what has happened.”
“Then Ru Shan is safe? We don’t have to hide any longer?”
He nodded and she nearly collapsed with relief.
“I wouldn’t have taken Ru Shan’s life,” he told her. “I knew I couldn’t do it the moment we parted. I wanted to see you again, even if it was only in another life, and I knew the forces of heaven wouldn’t allow it if I went against what I knew was right.”
The weight of a hundred stones lifted from her. She’d known he wasn’t a coldhearted killer. “I was so afraid. I thought of you every day, wondering.”
Chen was finally there beside her. The barriers lifted away and the sight of him filled her, pure and uncorrupted.
He looked beyond her to the window of the cabin. Father had pulled back the curtain to stare out at them. “Is that the elder Master Yao? I’ve always wanted to meet him and pay my respects.”
“Father will be very happy to hear that Ru Shan has been pardoned,” she replied.
They started toward the door, side by side. She was no longer the sheltered girl by the river, but being close to Chen brought back those days of hope and longing. She could dream again.
“I didn’t just come to talk about Ru Shan,” he admitted. “There is something else I’ve been meaning to ask your father.”
“Oh? What can that be?” She looked away, coy and uncommonly pleased.
He reached out to take her hand and all the pieces of heaven and earth came together. Chen smiled at her for the first time since he’d returned, a true smile full of promise and happiness.
“It’s about his daughter.”
* * * * *
An Illicit Temptation
Sometimes a story just flows from your mind onto the page. This is not that story.
I must dedicate this story to my husband, who was busy setting up a nursery and buying a minivan while I was hospitalized and attempting to type up this new story. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to Shawntelle Madison and Amanda Berry for offering emotional and writing support during a very trying time. I wouldn’t have been able to finish if you weren’t with me every step of the way. Thank you to Bria Quinlan and Stephanie Draven for lending your tough love and critical skills to the final product. Special thanks goes out to Alvania Scarborough and Sandy Raven for their input on horses and horsemanship. I’ve only ridden a horse once and he didn’t particularly like me.
Author Note
“An Illicit Temptation” continues from where My Fair Concubine ended and shows a journey into Khitan in Inne
r Mongolia, a land that at the time was considered by the Tang Dynasty to be savage and primitive. It was easy to see parallels to the American West and interactions with Native American tribes. For this reason, I think of Dao’s journey as a “Tang Dynasty Western” akin to the stories of frontier romance in historical Westerns.
The research for this short story nearly equaled the amount I collected for My Fair Concubine. This time was at the cusp of change for Khitan culture. The Khitans largely had an oral tradition until the later part of the Tang Dynasty, when they united under an emperor and formed their own autonomous empire under the Liao Dynasty. Unlike many other peoples who were consumed by the Chinese, the Khitan were dedicated to preserving their culture even as they adopted many Han customs.
I tried to recreate Khitan culture from a blend of information from later Khitan writings, brief references in Tang records and used Mongolian culture to fill in the gaps. I hope the steppe emerges as a wild and untamed land with its own sense of power and beauty. A perfect place to discover love!
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
CHAPTER ONE
Tang Dynasty China, 824 AD
Pretending to be a princess wasn’t any hardship. Dao hadn’t grown up in a palace, dressed in silk and jewels. She didn’t miss her cot in the Chang family’s servants’ quarters. Now there were no more clothes to mend, floors to sweep, chamber pots to empty. The only thing required of her was that she recline inside a gilded palanquin while the wedding procession made its way through the steppe toward the Khitan central capital. She even had an army of her own attendants to wait on her. No hardship at all...another day of it and she would go mad.
Dao stabbed her needle through the eye of the crane she was embroidering. The afternoon was lazy and warm as the palanquin rolled over the wild grass of the northern plains, lulling her to sleep with the rhythm. It seemed that was all she did on this journey: embroider or nap.
With a snap of her wrist, she pulled the curtain aside. A square of sunlight opened up revealing the endless green of the steppe and cloudless sky beyond. Khitan tribesmen on horseback surrounded the procession to serve as her escort. She was in an exotic land and she was squandering the experience in meager glances through this tiny window.
She searched among the riders. “Kwan-Li!”
Kwan-Li was tasked with bringing her to Khitan to be married to the khagan, the chieftain over all chieftains of this land of nomadic tribes. The khagan was without a wife so the two empires had negotiated for a peace marriage.
Kwan-Li was astride a horse at the head of the procession and absorbed in conversation with one of the tribesmen. Despite his responsibilities, she didn’t have to repeat herself before he broke away to ride up alongside the window. Princesses gave commands and others obeyed. Dao still felt a foolish little thrill whenever it happened.
Kwan-Li was tall and looked more like an imperial soldier than a statesman. He wore the traditional deel, the heavy folded tunic favored by the nomads, except his was fashioned from a vibrant blue brocade. A broad yellow sash wrapped around his waist, highlighting a lean, masculine frame. His features were strong, almost harsh, with a distinctiveness that she couldn’t quite place.
“Princess An-Ming,” he acknowledged, his expression stern.
The court had also seen fit to bestow an imperial name upon her. It meant Bright Peace and she quite liked it. The name sounded very princesslike to her ears unlike her own name, which simply meant Peach. She was so very tired of being plain.
“I want to ride,” she said.
He blinked once. “Now?”
His eyes had the sharpness of an eagle’s with gold flecks within them that caught the sun.
“Yes, now,” she said simply, pleasantly.
The procession continued to move along. He kept pace with her as he took in the caravan of wagons transporting gifts from the imperial court as well as an army of attendants to take care of her every need.
“It’s nearly time for us to stop and rest, isn’t it?” she asked.
She could see from the uncompromising line of his jaw that it wasn’t.
“The princess might find it more suitable to practice at the end of the day when the sun is low,” Kwan-Li suggested coolly. This was what a refusal sounded like from the very proper diplomat.
“I’m not afraid of a little sunlight. Have a horse ready for me when we next stop for rest.”
Dao let the curtain fall back in place, ending the discussion. When she stepped out of the palanquin an hour later, the Khitans were tending to the horses while her attendants erected canopies set on bamboo poles to shield the party from the sun while they had their tea and refreshments.
A tent was erected for her privacy. Moon, her personal attendant, helped Dao change out of the light silk hanfu into the sturdier deel. The tunic was long, reaching almost to her ankles, and was lined with fox fur at the collar. Dao tried not to fidget as she watched Moon secure the clasps. Not two months ago, Dao had been in the girl’s place, dressing and tending to her own mistress.
Pearl had been more than her mistress. They shared the same father, though the two of them had never acknowledged that they were related by blood. Pearl’s mother was First Wife while Dao’s mother was a household servant who was never even a concubine. Pearl had been chosen by the imperial court to go to Khitan, but when she ran away with her lover, Dao had taken her place.
Marriage to a chieftain was a better future than she had ever hoped for. It didn’t matter that her husband was much older than her or that she had to leave her home behind. These were small sacrifices. She was very fortunate, she had to remember that.
When Dao emerged from the tent, the caravan was in the process of repacking. Kwan-Li oversaw everything with quiet efficiency. He had the respect of the nomads and spoke their language with impressive fluency. She could see why he objected to the small delay she had caused. There was nothing simple about managing all the wagons and trunks and people.
Ruan, the eldest of the Khitans, was waiting with her horse, saddled and ready as she had commanded.
“Old Wolf,” she greeted him.
“Dragoness,” he returned cheerfully.
Ruan had been given the nickname due to a wolf attack that had left ragged scars across the right side of his face. He was old, grizzled and surprisingly good-natured, making frequent use of what remained of his smile. As one of the few tribesmen who spoke Han, he’d quickly become her favorite.
It was Kwan-Li, however, who came to help her onto the saddle. She braced her foot into his hands and had to grab on to his shoulders as she wobbled. The sudden press of his body against hers startled her. He was made of hard, unyielding muscle. As he lifted her, their eyes met briefly and her face flushed with heat. Princesses shouldn’t get embarrassed so easily, should they? His expression was serious, his movements brusque. After a few moments of struggle and indignity, she was able to seat herself. Kwan-Li lifted himself onto his horse with a natural grace that she envied.
“Stay beside me,” he instructed.
Dao held her back straight and tried to relax into position, determined to show him she wasn’t entirely incompetent. It was said the children of Khitan could sit on horseback before they could walk. If she was to live among them, she had to be able to do something even the youngest among them found to be second nature.
Kwan-Li guided her toward the center of the line and rode beside her as the caravan started moving once again in its endless trek across the planes. Dao had grown up in the city where distance was measured by wards and divided by gates. Out here there were no walls, no streets, and the grassland seemed to go on forever. An
expanse of blue sky hovered over them and a cool breeze swirled around her. There was something meditative about the rhythm of the horse beneath her and the feeling of being suspended between heaven and earth. No boundaries existed.
“You’re displeased,” she said when Kwan-Li remained silent and brooding. Yes, brooding was what it was, the way he stared into the distance and purposefully avoided even looking at her, though they rode side by side.
“Of course not, Princess,” he said.
“What’s the loss of one hour in a month-long journey?”
“Indeed.” A terse pause followed. “Princess.”
She wouldn’t go so far as to call him rude. He was the court’s appointed official and treated her with deference, yet he had always been distant toward her. Almost cold in nature. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted this appointment. It was common knowledge in the imperial city that Khitan was a wild, uncivilized land.
“I can demand you explain yourself,” she said lightly, only teasing in part. He was one of the few people who would speak openly to her on the journey. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood when all she wanted to do was enjoy the touch of the breeze on her face.
Kwan-Li met her gaze. A flicker of defiance lit in his eyes. It lent something daring and exciting to him and her heartbeat quickened. She looked away, searching for something to lighten the air between them.
“Such barbarian customs they have here,” she murmured, watching one of the nomads place his fur cap over his head.
“Barbarian?” Kwan-Li echoed stiffly.
“It seems odd to shave the top of your head like a monk, but then leave the sides so long,” she mused.
“It is to open themselves to the grace of the sun,” he explained.
Alarm crept into her voice. “Will I have to do the same?”