The Dragon Earl

by Jade Lee

  chinese monks disrupt earl's wedding! illicit kisses!

  furious bridegroom!

  what will the bride do next?

  She closed her eyes and prayed that was not the case. But how could her quick-whispered plea to God hope to com­pete with two hours of Chinese monks' prayers? Oh bloody hell! She rubbed both fists against her eyes. She was tired and not thinking clearly. And she still did not have an answer to her most pressing question: why, oh why, had she kissed him?

  Crash!

  A noise! She rushed forward and pressed her ear to the door. She heard male voices speaking in Chinese—one was loud and clearly agitated, the other was lower, calmer, and little more than a low rumble of sound. Through the wood, she couldn't tell who owned which voice, but it didn't matter. They were not praying. Which meant she could in­terrupt.

  She knocked on the door. When it wasn't immediately an­swered, she knocked again much more forcefully. Christo­pher would be returning any moment now, and she did not want him to find out she'd been pacing outside the room all morning. She was about to knock a third time when the door was jerked open by Jie Ke. He grimaced when he saw her.

  She swallowed, her eyes absorbing every detail of his ap­pearance. His body seemed tense, his face pulled tight, and his upper body was just as beautifully sculpted as she remem­bered. He wore his monk's robe, but only over one shoulder. That left a clearly defined triangle of muscled torso directly before her eyes. Lean and rippling right in front of her. No doubt about it, he was a beautiful man.

  "Yes?" he said. His voice was short, clipped, and yet the power of that one word sent a tingle of excitement down her spine.

  "Er . . ." She blinked. "I heard a noise—a crash. Like some­thing broke."

  "It is nothing."

  She looked over his shoulder to see the other monk grin­ning. He lifted up a wooden bowl. "His alms bowl," the Chi­nese monk said. "Nothing broken. We know better than to leave anything fragile around when Jie Ke meditates."

  "Of course," she said, though she didn't understand at all. "But I thought you were praying."

  "We are!" Jie Ke snapped.

  "It is one and the same," answered the other man.

  Evelyn nodded. "Oh, I see," she lied. A heavy door closed somewhere on the first floor. It could easily have been Christo­pher returning. She had to end this quickly. "I.. . um... I thought perhaps we could assist you with your bags, since you're leaving now."

  Jie Ke arched an eyebrow. "Leaving? We are not leaving."

  She felt her stomach clench, her worst fears confirmed. "But we made a bargain." Down the hall, one of the maids topped the stairs. A hurried glance to the side showed Evelyn that the girl was cleaning the railing as slowly as possible as she listened to every word. Evelyn dropped her voice to a forceful whisper. "Fifty pounds was our bargain! Fifty pounds and you would leave." She almost spit on his robes. "And you call yourself a monk. Haven't you any shame?"

  She saw his face darken with color. "I told you," he re­peated firmly. "I am a monk. I cannot help it that you do not understand what that means!"

  "It means you don't steal people's money and he to them!" she shot back, completely fading to moderate her tone.

  "I stole nothing!" he shot back. "All our money has been given to your abbot."

  "Reverend!"

  "Reverend, then!"

  "So, why aren't you leaving?"

  He glared at her, his face the picture of a man completely incredulous. "We are monks!" he repeated firmly. "We do not barter. We take money as gifts to the temple. Or your church." Then he abruptly straight-tened, folding his arms across his chest. "And why would I leave? I am the earl. And your future husband!"

  Her mouth dropped open. Her body trembled with fury. "Not yet, you're not! And you told me you would leave!"

  "I told you I would take honorable prayer money. I said nothing of leaving. I have never, ever said I would leave."

  She almost called him a liar and tore his lying tongue out right then and there, no matter how many maids were listen­ing. She had never met anyone who could challenge her sense of propriety so quickly! Except, of course, honesty forced herself to think back. Had he actually said he was leav­ing? Or had she said it? "You lied," she persisted. "You made me think we had a bargain."

  He sighed. The sound was heavy and loud. It actually echoed in the hallway, and she was sure the maid heard. "I am a monk," he said. "We do not bargain. Your ignorance of that may be excused, but you did not ask what I meant. You did not ask to learn, you merely told me what I would do without regard to who and what I am. That is willful blind­ness and stinking arrogance. Even the Christian God finds that sinful, and yet you ask if I have no shame." He shook his head, as if she were unworthy of even God's understanding.

  "That's not true!" she cried, though in her heart she won­dered.

  Could he be right?

  "I am a monk," he repeated. "I need to meditate." Then he shut the door, leaving her outside.

  Chapter Five

  Jie Ke shut the door a split second before his best friend be­gan mocking him.

  " 'I am a monk'!" chorded Zhi Min. "You are a loud and smelly fart!"

  "Shut up. I am a monk." Jie Ke settled back onto his cush­ion and tried to compose his thoughts. I am the mountain. Iam a mountain.

  His friend's snort of laughter interrupted him. Jie Ke ex­ploded off his cushion, his fists flying. "I am a goddamned monk!" he shouted.

  Zhi Min defended himself. They were well matched in their skills, neither having truly bested the other in years. Pro­vided Jie Ke never crossed that invisible line into madness. If that happened, he didn't know who would prevail. He didn't want to find out. Unfortunately, the furniture always suffered. By the time they fell apart in sputtering exhaustion, the nightstand was in splinters and the water bowl upended on them both. He would have to find some money to replace that, he realized. But they had just given up everything to the Reverend Smythe-Jones. Jie Ke sighed and wondered when he would next go into the ring to gain money. Though he didn't object to a monk's enforced poverty, it did make cer­tain things awkward. Especially in England where no one had the ingrained reverence for a man in saffron robes.

  Jie Ke let his dripping head fall back against the bed frame, his grin already fading. Normally a tussle like that buoyed his spirits for an hour at least. Not this time. It was another long moment before he realized he was staring at the shut bed­room door and thinking again of his wife-to-be.

  "So the English boy has discovered girls."

  Jie Ke's gaze cut hard back to his friend. "I have known women before. I have . . ."

  "Watched and touched yourself? That is not the same thing as stopping dead in the midst of your morning train­ing." Zhi Min leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in . . . laughter? In challenge? "We were right in the middle of a fight and you stopped to kiss her. How did that make you feel, English boy?"

  "Shut up," Jie Ke shot back, doing his best to appear righ­teous. "I was doing what the abbot told me to do: honor my parents, marry the girl vowed to me. Besides, I had already beaten you and was bored," he lied.

  Zhi Min wasn't fooled. He never was, but he also rarely argued when Jie Ke resorted to stupid lies. Without so much as a breath to compose himself, Zhi Min shut his eyes in meditation. When had he returned to his meditation pose? His hair was still sodden and yet there he was, legs folded, hands relaxed, body composed and at ease. Jie Ke, on the other hand, was still sprawled against the bed, water dripping into his eyes.

  How did he do it? They were the same age, or near enough. How did Zhi Min manage to be serene, while Jie Ke merely faked it—and faked it badly? Was that part of the secret rite of transition? Was that the power that was bestowed when an ap­prentice monk ascended to full status? Was that the secret that Zhi Min had experienced a decade ago while the English boy Jie Ke stood outside and wondered? He still wondered, since the abbot refused to let him take full vows.

  "Have you ever tupped a gir
l?" Jie Ke abruptly blurted. "I know you thought about it with that one. I don't remember her name, but you were with her many nights alone. I re­member that. How did it feel? What was it like?"

  Zhi Min didn't even open his eyes. "Tup your own woman and find out."

  Jie Ke looked away. He had done it before, and it had been horrible. The first time had been a woman who'd wanted to experience a white man. She'd caught him behind a market stall, shoved him against the wall and begun opening his robes. It had been fast, brutal, and he'd felt like an idiot when she threw him onto his back then dropped herself on top of him. When it was done, she'd sniffed and declared that tup­ping a monkey would have been better. The shame had been like a black stain on his heart ever since.

  Then there were the other women. He hadn't believed that his one experience was the reality, but with every street­walker, every woman out for the novelty of a white man, his heart had grown colder, his humiliation more real. He'd seen Zhi Min with a woman. Jie Ke didn't know what they did, but he'd seen the glow that suffused the two of them for a time. He saw it sometimes in others, too, so sex had to be bet­ter than what he'd experienced. Unless something funda­mental was lacking in him that made him unable to feel the total joy of man and woman. But he did not want to confess that to his friend, so he straightened his spine and spoke with a pompous air. "Monks do not tup."

  "Husbands can," Zhi Min replied.

  "I am a monk."

  "You are a fraud." Jie Ke's friend opened his eyes, his gaze disturbingly calm as he sliced Jie Ke open with his words. "Neither English nor Chinese, neither a monk nor a husband. Find yourself and you will find your power."

  Without thought, Jie Ke grabbed his alms bowl and hurled it at his friend with all his might. "I have plenty of power."

  Zhi Min did not flinch. The bowl wasn't intended to hit him, anyway, but to zoom straight past his nose. Zhi Min remained statue still nonetheless, and the bowl clattered against the wall to land upside down on the floor. Zhi Min replied, "Imagine how much power you could have if you knew who you were."

  Jie Ke huffed. "I am a monk of the Xi Lin Temple." Then he closed his eyes. I am a mountain. I am mounting. I am mount­ing Evelyn, who spreads her thighs so sweetly. . . . "God damn it!" he exploded in English. Then he folded his arms and glared at his friend. "I can't do this here. I need to be back at the temple."

  "A monk's temple is his heart. No other thing is required."

  Jie Ke shifted onto his knees as he crawled closer to his friend. "I need to be back at the temple so that I can take my vows. Come on, Zhi Min, I have done all I can here. Let us go back home."

  His friend opened his eyes, but there was a strange look in­side, one Jie Ke had never seen. Zhi Min's entire aura became abruptly mysterious, dark, and echoed with infinite power. As if he needed merely to reach out in order to cup the universe in his hand. "Is that an official request to be evaluated?" he said.

  Jie Ke reared back. "What? Does it have to be recorded in a tablet? Reported to the abbot?"

  "Yes, and yes."

  Jei Ke blinked, his spirit completely stunned. Fortunately, his mind kept working, puzzling out all the hidden traps. Zhi Min loved to add traps. "Do I have a limit on the number of times I can ask to return home?"

  "A limit? With you, always." Zhi Min's lips curved in to a shadow of a smile. "Else we are pestered to death. Remember what you did to Brother Xin Mao?"

  "He doesn't count. He was already crazy." Jie Ke picked up his alms bowl and set it carefully, respectfully, aside. "Besides, you can't just decree a limit because you want to."

  "Three requests. No less, no more."

  His bowl put away, Jie Ke leaned back against the wall and allowed his bare feet to flop out in front of him. Then he shifted again, this time to push his back against the wall. "And if I ask a fourth time?"

  "You will not ever be allowed to return to the temple."

  Jie Ke sobered and stared hard at the other man. Even though they had lived most of their lives together—ever since that awful day when he was ten—there were times when Zhi Min seemed completely alien. Why would his best friend threaten to expel him from the temple? And it was a real threat, too. Zhi Min always followed through.

  He would have to sort through the details to reason out what was required. Zhi Min was the abbot's official represen­tative on this trip, and therefore had to be treated with all due reverence and a certain amount of pomp. Jie Ke gave an in­ternal shrug. If Zhi Min wanted a bit of pomp, that was a small price to pay for freedom from this ridiculous task.

  "Fine," he huffed, "you want to play at being power-ful, so be it. Reverend monk, please bear witness that I have fulfilled my task as requested. I have returned to my homeland, done all that I could to reclaim my lost tide, even attempted to claim my bride. I have disrupted the wedding, thrown their lives into chaos, and remembered my heritage. I have done all this because the abbot demanded it as my final task. It is done now, Brother Zhi Min. Please do not force me to hurt these people anymore. Therefore, I request. . ." He couldn't resist adding a slight sneer to his voice. "I most humbly beg your holy indulgence, permission, and company in the return to the Xi Lin Temple. Once there, I ask that you stand by my side as I take my holy vows."

  Zhi Min's head dropped to his chest as though he was in deep contemplation. Jie Ke watched closely. He sensed no dishonesty in his friend, or even mischievousness. His pro­nouncement would be made in true holy character as befit­ted a Xi Lin monk. Which meant that Jie Ke could direct his attention to packing up their things and saying good-bye to this frigid English weather forever.

  "Do you feel as if you have done all you can to embrace your English heritage?" Zhi Min intoned.

  "Yes, Brother Zhi Min."

  "That you have donned their garb, eaten their food, and re­claimed all that your parents would value? And having fully experienced what they might wish, you have made a man's choice in taking another path?"

  "Yes, Brother Zhi Min," he returned solemnly. But then Zhi Min stared rather pointedly at his monk's robe. Jie Ke frowned and looked down, forced into deeper thought. "I have!" he snapped. "I grew up here, remember? I dressed and ate as one of them for ten years. Actually, eleven years, since I still wore my English clothes at the temple. Or I did, until you stole them."

  "They smelled of dog piss," Zhi Min responded lightly.

  "And it was the right thing to do," Jie Ke acknowledged. "I could not fully accept my new life without releasing the trappings of the old."

  Zhi Min didn't respond, and Jie Ke sat there waiting. And waiting. In the end, he exhaled with frustration. "So, can we return to the temple now?"

  "No, Apprentice Jie Ke, we cannot. You have not re­claimed any of what your ancestors value. You have not even tried."

  Jie Ke exploded up from his place on the floor, turning to face his best friend. Games were all well and good, but he would not allow a boyish prank to keep him from his life's call­ing. "Zhi Min, what is the matter with you? I've come here. I've done all that I can."

  "You have not—"

  "I have hurt these people, all because you insisted." He leaned forward, fighting to keep the fury from his voice. "I've done all I can to reclaim the tide, but Uncle Frank will fight to keep it. And he'll win because he has the friends and the solicitors on his side—and because I don't want it. Let them go on with their lives, Zhi Min. And let me continue on my path."

  Zhi Min frowned, clearly as frustrated as Jie Ke. "What of the woman, Jie Ke? She is the one you were supposed to marry. Do you not long for her?"

  Jie Ke straightened, pulling his arms down near his hips in a powerful stance. "I have kissed her, and I do not want her," he lied. Then he lifted his chin and focused on meeting his friend eye to eye, challenging him. If he wavered even the smallest bit, then Zhi Min would see. He kept his gaze steady even though it was hard to forget the texture of her mouth against his, the way she seemed to cling to him, her body taut with excitement.

  Zhi Min gr
imaced as he pushed up to his feet. It was the first show of ill humor that Jie Ke had seen from him all morning, perhaps all week. And that awkward, saddened ex­pression was aimed at Jie Ke. "The abbot gave specific instruc­tions, Jie Ke. You must be English for a time. Then, when I am satisfied—"

  "I have been English!" Jie Ke cried. "You still call me En­glish boy!"

  "Listen to me, Ja-cob." The name sounded strange and very wrong coming from his friend.

  "I am Jie Ke!" He growled. "Out there I will be Jacob, but not here. Not between us!"

  Zhi Min tilted his head to one side. It was a look that said he studied something foreign and strange. "Why not between us? Why not be Ja-cob now?"

  Jie Ke sighed and struggled to explain. "I long for some­thing of home. You and Mei Li are the only thing I have. Do not make me throw that away."

  His friend shook his head. "You are always clinging to the past. In China, you longed for England—"

  "Only as a child!"

  "And in England, you long for China." Zhi Min reached out and grabbed Jie Ke's shoulders, tightening his grip as if he wished to press a message into his skin. "Be here now in this moment, in this place. You will not be allowed to take vows until you can release the past."

  Jie Ke stared back at his friend, trying to hear, trying to learn, but it made no sense to him. Where was he, if not here? When was it, if not now? "Say it differendy, master," he said in his most formal Chinese. "I do not understand."

  "Be Ja-cob completely. What would he do now?"

  Jie Ke shrugged his shoulders, dislodging his friend's grip. "I don't know. It's been almost two decades since I knew anything English."

  "If I were a mandarin's son, I would want all the trappings of my status. The money and tide—"