The Dragon Earl

by Jade Lee

  Both men answered—Christopher and Jie Ke—both tak­ing offense. "Of course!"

  She smiled, startled for a brief moment by the identical re­sponse by these two vastly different men. "Then I shall ride."

  "Evelyn!" Christopher snapped, but she shook her head.

  "I will cover ground more quickly than you. This way I can make sure that all is prepared at home." She looked wor­riedly at Jie Ke's swollen face. "Will you require a doctor?"

  He shook his head. "Zhi Min knows the best remedies for broken bones."

  She gasped. "Truly? Oh my." She had not realized there were broken bones. He had been walking as if in pain, but—

  Jie Ke grinned. "I am merely teasing. Nothing so dramatic. Zhi Min, however, will indeed know just what to do."

  Evelyn nodded, vasdy relieved. Then she turned to Marcus, who was watching Jie Ke with narrowed eyes. "Please stay at our home for the night, sir. It is much too late to travel back to London now."

  Marcus blinked. "Why, I don't mind if I do. Are you sure you have room? Christopher said the house was full up."

  "Lord and Lady Greenfield left this morning. I shall have their chamber prepared for you." She smiled warmly, then hopped up onto the mare before Christopher thought to stop her. Or perhaps speed was not the issue, because when she looked down, he had the reins still gripped tightly in his hands.

  "Your behavior is quite beyond the pale, Evelyn. I cannot understand what you are thinking," he murmured.

  She looked down on him. Her eyebrows arched, and she spoke in her most countesslike tone. "My behavior does not require your understanding." Then she jerked the reins out of his hand. "I shall see you at home directly."

  She had time for one last look at Jie Ke. Her worry must have shone in her eyes, because he smiled reassuringly at her. "Go. I will be fine," he said.

  She had little choice now; she had just made a point of riding. Before she could double-think herself again, she kicked the horse and was away.

  One thought followed her as she rode. It was a simple thought, one that she had ruminated on before, but never with such anxiety. Just what did men do when away from the con­straints of women and polite company? Especially men who seemed to be mortal enemies.

  Jie Ke climbed into the carriage with a muffled groan. His entire body ached from the beating he'd just received. And it was nothing compared to what he knew was coming. Fortu­nately, his cousin wouldn't attack with fists. The man used words to destroy. As a child he'd used his words to devastating effect on servants and other children alike. Jie Ke shuddered to think what was coming from the adult Christopher.

  Fortunately, Jie Ke had learned a few defenses of his own. Still, he tried to forestall the coming confrontation by closing his eyes and pretending to sleep. That never worked with Zhi Min, but perhaps Christopher was more polite.

  Or less observant. "Evelyn tells me you intend to foreswear the title."

  Jie Ke didn't respond.

  "Don't pretend to sleep. I shall be obliged to punch you in the ribs if you continue."

  Jie Ke sighed. Christopher had always been a smart child. And rarely polite. "That would be cruel. I am already in­jured."

  "You have ruined my wedding, claimed my birthright, and are trying to seduce my bride. A few blows to the ribs are the least that you deserve."

  "Unless I am the earl. Then that was my wedding, you were the interloper, and Evelyn is her own person to give as she wills." Jie Ke finally opened his eyes. "What do you want, Chris?"

  His cousin did not answer for a moment, his eyes narrow­ing with hard anger. Beside them, Marcus shifted but did not speak. He clearly had no wish to be in the carriage during a family spat. Christopher displayed great trust in him to allow such a conversation in his presence.

  "I rather think it's what you want that is important," Christopher finally drawled. "What will it take to make you disappear forever?"

  Jie Ke stared at his cousin while a war went on inside him. Jie Ke the Monk wanted nothing more than to leave this wretched country forever. He longed for the serenity of his temple home. Jacob the Man wanted something entirely dif­ferent: a woman, a house, a life he was only now beginning to remember.

  The carriage bounced over a rut, jarring his ribs, and Ja­cob gasped at the pain. It cut through his thoughts, stripping away everything but agony. He stayed in that place for a mo­ment, knowing nothing but torment. Even his names—Jie Ke and Jacob—were burned away. And when the pain re­ceded, when he could draw breath again, he opened his eyes and saw Marcus.

  Marcus had a pleasant face with a nose broken too many times and eyes narrowed in concern. Jacob smiled to ease the man's worry, but then the inevitable questions began. Was this the man who'd had his family killed? Was this the person who casually ordered his father gutted like a fish?

  He closed his eyes, not wanting to think like that again. At least in China, he knew the bandits were dead. He had seen to that. And so in China, he felt safe. In China, he felt in control. But here? In England, every man he met had him wondering: Is this the man? Should I kill this man?

  A man at peace inside is always the better fighter. Zhi Min's words echoed in his head. You enjoy the fight, Jie Ke. Why? Do you know why you are so very angry?

  "Because I still want them dead," Jie Ke answered.

  "What?" Christopher's voice was sharp and tight.

  Jacob the Man looked at his cousin and felt rage boil through him. This was the man who had stolen his life, planned to wed his woman and take his tide. This was his cousin whom he could kill with a single blow from his open hand. How easy it would be!

  Do you know why you are so very angry?

  Zhi Min's words brought sanity and some measure of con­trol. No answers, just a monk's sanity. He didn't really want to kill his cousin. And Christopher's death would solve noth­ing. So he tucked his fury away. Piece by piece, he buried it deep inside until Jie Ke the Monk stepped to the fore.

  "I have a bargain for you," Jie Ke said, though Jacob the Man screamed with fury. "I came back to England for one true reason. I told myself it was because of grandmother. I said I was only here because the abbot ordered it. I said many things, but the truth only now becomes clear."

  Christopher's lips twisted in a disdainful grimace. "Money?"

  "Revenge. Justice. You choose."

  Christopher's eyes widened in shock. "You hate me that much? For what?"

  Jacob the Man howled at his cousin's stupidity. How could he not understand? How could he not see? But, of course, how could anyone see? Even Jie Ke had suppressed his blood-lust, channeled it into other things, fought hard to hide it from everyone, including himself. And so he calmly leaned forward despite the pain in his ribs and he began to explain.

  "Someone murdered my family," he said. "Someone paid men to track our party and then kill the Earl of Warhaven and his family. Find out who, and I will give you whatever is mine to give."

  His cousin controlled his reaction, but Jacob was watching closely. Chris's gaze froze in place and his breath stopped be­fore he leaned back and waved with a casual gesture. "I thought bandits killed your family."

  "It is your family, too," Jacob reminded him. "And it was bandits. But they were paid by someone to slaughter every­one in our party."

  "Really? What makes you say that?"

  Jacob turned away, forcing himself to look into the past. How ironic that he had to search for his monk's calm—he had to be Jie Ke—in order to speak of something so very un-monastic as revenge.

  "I was with Zhi Min when the attack occurred," he said softly. "His father was our guide, and Zhi Min and I were close in age. We became friends." He swallowed, guilt and anger churning inside him. "We weren't supposed to be away from the caravan, but we were boys and very near what was reputed to be a haunted hill. We sneaked out to see a ghost. We came back to find. . ." His throat closed. He couldn't breathe.

  "Bandits," Chris said, his voice flat. "Bandits killing every­one." His tone wasn't unk
ind, but there was enough audible disbelief that Jie Ke's anger surged.

  "Not everyone at first," Jie Ke snapped. "The men were slaughtered. Zhi Min lost his father at the same time I did." He forced a breath into his lungs. The air seemed to burn as it went in, but he was able to keep talking. "We heard the screams. Up on that stupid hill, we heard the screams. At first we thought it was ghosts. Zhi Min realized the truth first. He knew about bandits and killing. I had never even heard men die before."

  They were rounding a corner leading up to the manor. Jie Ke hadn't noticed where they were, but Christopher appar­ently did. With a grimace, he abruptly rapped on the ceding and pushed open the trap.

  "Take a tour though the countryside," he ordered the driver. "I'll tell you when to turn around." Then he sat back down in silence. Like a tree awaiting the storm, he seemed calm, proud, and unshakable.

  Jie Ke forced himself to continue. He owed his parents this much. "It happened so fast. The women were the only ones left by the time I got there. I wanted . . . I tried . . ." He shrugged. "Zhi Min is a few years older than I am. He dropped me to the ground and held his arm over my mouth. He said if I made a sound, we would die for sure." He blinked, then turned his head away, pretending to find interest in something out the window.

  "What of the women?" Chris pushed, his tone hard.

  "I didn't understand their language. It was in a Chinese country dialect that I didn't have a hope of following. But Zhi Min heard. He said they were paid to slaughter every­one."

  Beside him, Marcus huffed. "But that means nothing! You didn't even understand their language. To take the word of a boy, a mere—"

  Jie Ke swung back, fury blazing through his body. "You doubt the word of a Xi Lin monk?"

  "We doubt that my uncle's family was a victim of anything but bad luck and . . ." Christopher's words trailed away.

  "And stupidity," Jie Ke finished for him. Or perhaps at this moment, he should think of himself as Jacob—as a son, not a monk. "I remember the words your father bellowed before we left England for China. I remember Uncle Frank said we would all die at the hands of bandits or worse if Papa took us."

  Christopher's gaze did not waver. "How unfortunate that it was true."

  "Not misfortune. Planned and paid for by someone in En­gland."

  "Oh, I say!" inserted Marcus. "That is going well beyond the pale, to accuse—"

  "They were going to rape the women," Jie Ke pushed out. "They had my mother. . . She was stretched out, and her clothes . . ." He could not say this aloud. He had never said it aloud.

  "Yes, well, that happens sometimes with bandits," Marcus said softly. "No need to go into detail."

  Jie Ke shook his head. "Their leader stopped them. I didn't understand the words, but Zhi Min . . . he told me later. The leader said they were paid to kill, not rape. No rape. And so he did it right then. A knife across her throat. Marie was next. Then all the rest. No rapes, just swift and brutal death."

  Jie Ke had to close his eyes then. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The sounds echoed in his head and clogged up his nose and throat. His tears were long since dried up, and yet sometimes emotions hovered on the edge of his calm. If he allowed himself to step even an inch outside of his monk's calm, he would scream and never stop.

  He barely heard Christopher's words at first. His cousin spoke neutrally with the expected denials Jie Ke had no inch-nation to hear. But Chris had a way of speaking that required one to listen.

  "We shall assume what you say is true, that you are Jacob and that these bandits were paid to attack the caravan. There is no evidence that someone in England could arrange such a thing. Good God, they were bandits! Brigands have their own laws."

  Jie Ke didn't open his eyes. Confession was better done in darkness. "When I was old enough, I left the temple for a while. I found the bandits. The leader was already dead, but there were others. Every one of them said the same thing: there had been no plans to attack the caravan. Zhi Min's father had already paid the right fees to ensure safe passage. Bad business to go back on deals with a local like that."

  "So why did they?"

  Jie Ke looked up, the memory stark in his mind. "Because they were paid to. In English gold."

  "You saw this gold? Some accompanying note? You talked with this bandit leader?"

  Jie Ke shook his head, his gaze seeking his cousin's. "I saw nothing of the payment. It was long gone. But I verified everything I could in China. The money came from En­gland. Someone here paid a fortune to have us killed."

  Marcus snorted. "It's too far-fetched. The only one with motive would be your father, Chris. He may be a damned pig at times, but that hardly makes him a murderer."

  Jacob roared inside, but Jie Ke was in control of the mo­ment and remained absolute in his silence and his calm. The burn from his bruised ribs helped in this matter. Meanwhile, Christopher and his friend continued to talk.

  "There are others capable of murder," Chris finally said, his voice low. "Not all the estate went with the title. My uncle had business dealings and the like, plus a mistress. She was a well-traveled gel, if I recall. French or some such. Claimed she'd been to China." There was a pause while he peered at Ja­cob, his expression as blank as that of any Xi Lin monk. "You want me to drag her before you? Let you question her in a big dramatic event and thereby add more sympathy to your cause?"

  Jie Ke stared hard at his cousin and realized that right here was the reason for his journey back to England. Not for his ancestors, not because of the abbot's orders, but to do this.

  "Swear to me, Chris. Swear on . . ." What would be most important to his cousin? "Swear on Evelyn's life that you will pursue the crime against my family—your aunt and uncle. Swear that you will find the one responsible and mete out justice. Swear this and I will leave. Tomorrow, if need be."

  Christopher did not react, but Marcus did. He leaned for­ward, his eyes narrow. "Quite the thing to swear upon his fiancée's life. What if he does not find the culprit? What if there is none? What if you are wrong about the whole damned thing?"

  "I am not wrong!" he bellowed. He was Jacob now, all fury and anger and pain.

  "My cousin Jacob would never hand this task over to an­other man." Christopher's voice was hard and bracing. It was enough for Jie Ke to tuck his spoiled, angry childhood away.

  "Jacob had his revenge," he said softly. "In China, I did what I had to do. Or so I thought. But it is time for me to pass the task to you now, if you will take it."

  "Why?"

  Jie Ke looked at his cousin, but his thoughts were turned inward. How did he explain this choice to a virtual stranger? "Do you know what it is to live with hatred? To look into every man's eyes and wonder: Is this the man who killed my family?" He held up his hands. "Show me that man and I will kill him before he draws his next breath. But I cannot find him. This is England, and I don't even know how to look." He swallowed, thinking of his rages, of his need to fight when the fear became too great or the question in his head pressed too hard. "The search is destroying me."

  Christopher took his time answering. His gaze was hard and unforgiving, but there was thought behind the anger. "And if I don't agree?"

  He shrugged. "Then I cannot leave England. We will con­tinue as we are. The lawyers squabble while we dally in Eve­lyn's home."

  Jie Ke took a breath and nearly warned the man, almost said that Evelyn was nearly lost to him, but Jacob would not allow it. The angry possessive boy he had been still wanted to claim something of his former life. That something was Evelyn, and he would not give his rival any advantage with her.

  "I should have gone to Gretna Green," Christopher groused to no one in particular.

  "And I should not have gone to China."

  Christopher's eyes narrowed. "You really don't want it, do you? The money, your country, a home here—you want to throw it all away to eat with sticks and wear that ridiculous robe."

  "What would you give for peace in your heart? For your mind to be quie
t and your soul to have wings to touch the di­vine?"

  Christopher straightened in his seat. "I have peace and all that! I know who I am!"

  Jie Ke forced himself to bow. He ducked his head in all hu­mility and tried to speak from the heart. "Then you are truly blessed."

  Marcus snorted. "You are mad."

  Jie Ke had no response to that. And besides, what the friend thought was of no consequence.

  Christopher grimaced. "You have told me every-thing? What of the bandits? Do you know their names, where they came from? Did any of them speak English? The tiniest detail could change everything."

  Jie Ke nodded. "I will tell you everything I know. Zhi Min as well."

  "And then you will leave?"

  Would he? Could he leave Evelyn behind? Yes. He had to. What had passed between them was only an interlude, a mo­ment in the moonlight for them both. Even if he could give up his life at the monastery, he could not ask such a thing of her—to travel to China. He knew he could not ask her to give up everything she loved, just as he knew he could not give up the new homeland he had acquired.

  "I will leave the very next morning," he swore.

  "Then I will do everything in my power to find the mur­derer, who slaughtered my uncle's family."

  Jie Ke nodded, truly feeling a jolt of respect for his cousin. It didn't matter that Christopher couldn't bring himself to admit that Jie Ke was indeed Jacob; his choice of wording in that re­spect had been very careful. But no, it didn't matter—the bur­den had shifted. Jacob's responsibilities to his ancestors had been passed to one who would follow through. The relief and the peace that came from that decision was like waking from a nightmare. For the first time since he was ten years old, he felt like he could draw a breath free from guilt. The anger re­mained, but it was fading. The seething fury boiled less fiercely. Did he dare hope that it would soon recede altogether? It could. It would, especially once he was back in China.

  In short, Jacob was finally done in England. Jie Ke was now free to return to the temple and take a monk's vows. All that was left was to tell Zhi Min. And Evelyn.