BOOK II. Long Road Home

Chapter 28

Macao, China

Spring 1832


Bleakly Troth slipped unchallenged from Feng-tang and made her way across country, keeping to narrow roads and the smallest villages, sleeping rough to avoid attention. Her one ambition was not to be identified as the Fan-qui's accomplice; imprisonment would prevent her from fulfilling the charges Kyle had laid upon her.

Not daring to travel through Canton, where she might be recognized, she circled west and walked the extra eighty miles to Macao, using fatigue to numb her grief. It was a blessed relief when finally a fishing boat carried her the last stretch across the channel to the island city that was the only place in China where Europeans could live.

She felt a poignant sense of homecoming as she walked along the Praya Grande. Macao was home in a way that Canton had never been. On the streets were people of every race known to man, and mixed-blood faces that resembled her own. Her life would have been very different if she'd been taken in by a Macanese merchant rather than Chenqua after her father's death. Perhaps she'd be married and have children now.

But she never would have known Kyle, and instead of a happy marriage, she might have been forced into prostitution and an early death. Best not to question fate. She found a quiet corner and took Kyle's ring from the money belt, sliding it onto her left hand and clenching her fingers to ensure that it wouldn't slip off. Her wedding ring.

A few inquiries took her up the hill to Gavin Elliott's residence. It was close to the house she'd been born in, with a similar wide veranda and spectacular views over the city and the Pearl River. Praying that Elliott hadn't left Macao on a trading voyage, she rang the bell.

The porter who answered took one look at her ragged, filthy garments and said, "Begone, boy. We'll have no beggars here."

She caught her breath as she recognized the old man who had been her father's porter. Since he had some understanding of English and Portuguese, it wasn't surprising to find him in another European household. Taking off her tattered straw hat, she said, "That's a poor sort of greeting, old Peng."

His jaw dropped. "Miss Mei-Lian?"

"Indeed." She moved past him into the house as if she were still the young mistress. "Is the Honorable Elliott in residence? I must speak to him."

Peng bobbed his head. "Aye, you're in luck. Another two days and he'll be off to Singapore. I'll tell him you're here."

"Announce me as Jin Kang. That is how he knows me."

Peng raised his brows at the masculine name, but went off obediently. Within a minute Gavin Elliott raced down the steps three at a time. "Thank God you're back, Jin! You're weeks overdue. Where is Maxwell?"

Throat tight, Troth gestured him into the drawing room and shut the door so they had privacy. " Lord Maxwell is dead."

Elliott's face paled. "Dear God in heaven. I had a bad feeling about the trip, but I'd convinced myself I was worrying unnecessarily." He stalked to a window and stared out, his hands clenched tightly behind him. "What happened?"

Voice faltering, she described how Kyle's identity had been accidentally revealed, and his arrest and execution. Saying the words out loud for the first time made his death seem real in a way it hadn't before. This was not a bad dream she would wake from.

"At least… it was quick." Elliott muttered a blistering oath. "So bloody unnecessary! I don't think Maxwell understood how much he could be hated because of the color of his skin and the shape of his eyes."

That was true. Despite his aristocratic upbringing, Kyle had taken a rare and unbigoted pleasure in the world's diversity.

Elliott turned away from the window and regarded her with bleak eyes. "What of you, Jin? Maxwell told me that your father was a Scottish trader, Hugh Montgomery, and that you were born here in Macao. Do you still want to go to England?"

"I must. I promised Kyle to personally take the news of his death to his family."

Elliott's brows rose a little at her use of the familiar name. In a burst of defiance, she untied her queue and shook her hair loose the way her husband had liked it. "Kyle said you hadn't known Hugh Montgomery left a son. That's because he didn't. My father left only a weak, worthless daughter named Troth."

"Sweet Jesus." Elliott stared at her. "All of these years, you were disguised as a man? Unbelievable-and yet now that I look at you, I wonder why I was ever fooled."

"People see what they expect to see." Except those like Kyle, who looked closer. "I was of no use to Chenqua as a female, so Troth Montgomery vanished."

"Just as today, Jin Kang vanishes."

She relaxed a little, grateful for how quickly he'd grasped the dilemma that had ruled her life for so many years. "There's more, Mr. Elliott."

She raised her left hand to reveal the Celtic ring. "Kyle married me in prison the day before he died. I thought he was mad, but he said that a mutual pledge was all that was required in Scotland. I don't know if it was legal, but it was what he wanted."

"And what you wanted also, I think?" Elliott said gently.

His perception crumbled the willpower that had held her together in the weeks since Kyle's death. She began to cry, great, agonized tears that racked her body. She spun away, humiliated at her complete loss of control, but unable to check her wrenching sobs.

Warm arms encircled her as if she were a child. "You've had a damnable time of it, lass," Elliott murmured. "But you're safe now."

Strange how much differently he treated her now that he knew she was a woman and half-Scottish. Though he'd always been courteous and respectful of Jin Kang, to Troth Montgomery he gave the kindness of a big brother. She burrowed into his arms, crying for the loss of a rich, vital life that had so much to offer the world. For the loss of the man she'd loved, and had hardly begun to know.

When her tears finally ran out and she drew away, she saw that Elliott's eyes were damp. He'd lost not only a partner, but a friend.

Turning practical, he said, "I'll order refreshments-you look as if you haven't eaten for a week. Tea, or something stronger? "

"Tea. And any kind of food." Wearily she sank into a deep chair as he rang for a servant and ordered a quick meal for his guest.

He took the chair opposite. "Forgive me for the impertinence, but might you be carrying a child that could be Maxwell's heir?"

"No." She closed her eyes. The night she'd discovered that, she'd curled up in an anguished ball and wept until dawn. "Unfortunately."

"I'm sorry-but it makes your situation easier," he said pragmatically. "Maxwell's family is unlikely to challenge the marriage if you aren't a threat to them. Even if they do prove difficult… well, I'm willing to accept you as his heir, which means you own a quarter of Elliott House."

Her eyes snapped open. "I… I never thought of that."

"You've had more important things on your mind. Even if the Renbournes refuse to acknowledge you as Lady Maxwell, your share of Elliott House should provide you with enough income to live comfortably. More than comfortably, if I have my way."

"It…it seems too much when we were married for less than a day."

"Maxwell married you to insure your future. Don't feel that it's wrong to accept what he wanted to give." Elliott eyed her speculatively. "I'm planning on opening a London office. If you're a partner and living in England, you can have a strong voice in running it. You know things about China no Fan-qui ever will."

She covered her eyes with her hands, not prepared for this new world opening in front of her. It was hard to grasp that she, who had been a minor hong employee, was now a partner in a powerful American trading company.

Guessing her thoughts, Elliott said, "This must all be a shock, but you'll have five or six months to prepare yourself for the role of the widowed Lady Maxwell. Just take everything one step at a time."

One step at a time. "I… I must have European clothing made. All I have is what I'm wearing."

"And the sooner that's burned, the better. I know a seamstress who specializes in clothing for European women. She'll take care of you."

A servant arrived with a tray of food and a pot of tea. Elliott sipped a cup while Troth ate. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. When she finished, she said, "Peng mentioned that you're off for Singapore in two days."

Elliott frowned. "I'm afraid so. I can delay perhaps another day, but no longer."

"There's no need for you to change your plans on my account." She gave a wintry smile. "I'm used to managing for myself."

"But you don't have to now. That's why Kyle married you."

Close to tears again, she poured more tea. "The most important thing for you is to arrange for his body to be retrieved so he can be buried in England. I think it's best to go to Mr. Boynton, since he's head of the East India Company's Chinese operations."

"A good idea-he has more influence with the viceroy in Canton than any other European. I'll go this afternoon and tell him the whole story. Since Maxwell was a British nobleman, the Company will cooperate fully." Elliott frowned. "Does Chenqua know what happened?" When she shook her head, he said, "You'll have to tell him."

He was right, of course. She'd mentally tried to compose a letter during the long walk from Feng-tang. Though she hadn't liked the role Chenqua chose for her, he'd acted honorably as head of his household and her guardian. She owed him gratitude for all he'd done. And, though she'd always feared him a little, she also felt respect and affection. "I will write him before I leave Macao."

"You'll stay here, of course, even after I'm gone." Elliott frowned thoughtfully. "There's an English ship in port now. It will be sailing for London early next week. Just long enough for you to take care of necessary business and acquire a wardrobe."

The sooner, the better. She yearned to escape China and its ghosts. Rising, she asked, "Is there a guest room ready? I'm very tired."

"Of course." He rang for the comprador, who ran the household, then escorted her to the drawing room door. "Anything you want, you have only to ask."

She gave him an uneven smile. "You're very kind. Kyle provided for me well when he married me out of pity."

Elliott raised her chin with one hand and studied her face, surprising warmth in his eyes. "He didn't marry you from pity, Troth Montgomery."

After that cryptic remark, he turned her over to the comprador, then left for the Company's headquarters. Grateful that Kyle's death was no longer her burden alone, Troth went to her room and fell onto the bed without stripping off her filthy garments.

She slept for twenty hours.


Though Troth had lived in the household of a powerful man for fifteen years, she'd never had that power exercised on her behalf. Over the next days, Elliott organized her life with dizzying speed and efficiency. By the time he left for Singapore, a day later than planned, her voyage to London had been booked and her wardrobe was well under way. He also arranged a letter of credit on his London bank, explaining that the money was simply profits due to Kyle. She felt well cared for indeed.

The seamstress clucked disapprovingly when Troth insisted on dark colors and sober styles for her Fan-qui wardrobe. Though she was a bastard who had lived a highly irregular life, she would look respectable when she visited Kyle's family.

Her private obligations were the hardest. The first was to compose a letter to Chenqua in which she explained her actions and Lord Maxwell's death. Though she begged his forgiveness for her disobedience, she did not suggest returning to Canton and her old life. She'd paid too high a price for freedom to relinquish it now.

Then she visited the Protestant cemetery where her parents were buried side by side. A peaceful, walled enclave, it was as much garden as burial ground. Her father had helped buy the land and establish the cemetery, which had been badly needed since the only other Christian burial ground was Catholic, and neither the Catholics nor the Chinese had wanted to accept Protestant bodies.

Hugh Montgomery hadn't expected to be buried here himself, though. He'd spoken sometimes of the lowland kirk his family attended, and the fine view it had of the Scottish hills. Nonetheless, she sensed that he was content to lie in the exotic land where he'd spent most of his adult life. "Good-bye, Papa," she whispered as she laid flowers on his grave. "In your honor, I swear to visit Scotland. I… I wish you were going with me."

Her beautiful mother had been nominally a Christian, but in true Chinese fashion she'd also worshiped the gods she'd been raised with. To her, Troth said, "I've had a tablet inscribed with your name and Papa's, and I shall honor it all my days. Your spirit will not hunger or thirst in the afterlife."

She lit sandalwood incense sticks and left them to burn down by the headstones, along with an offering of oranges. Then she left the cemetery, knowing she would never see it again.

Last of all, she walked along Macao's small peninsula until it narrowed to a hundred-yard width called the Stalk of the Lotus. There she was stopped by the wall into China. Called the Barrier, it had been built to prevent Europeans from setting foot on Chinese soil. By her own choice, she was irrevocably cutting herself off from the land of her birth. She gazed at the wall for a long time before turning away.

So be it.

Chapter 29

« ^ »

Feng-tang, China

Summer 1832


Today Kyle would be executed… again. He prayed that this time it would be real.

He'd been prepared to die under the prefect's guns, and it had been a shock to find himself still standing as the smoke drifted away. Numbly he wondered if he'd been mortally wounded, but was too injured to feel pain.

Then he looked at Wu Chong and saw the cruel satisfaction in the old man's face. Damnation, the matchlocks hadn't been loaded with bullets, only powder and wadding! The execution had been Wu Chong's vicious, sophisticated form of mental torture.

Kyle was still standing by the wall, rigid, when the plump merchant, Wang, came up to him and bobbed his head apologetically.

"Wu Chong consult soothsayer. Inauspicious time for execution of Fan-qui. After new moon, sentence will be carried out Chinese-style."

"A beheading?"

"Very swift, painless," Wang assured him.

Kyle would rather have been shot.

Hanging on grimly to the shreds of his dignity, he stalked back to prison surrounded by guards. Outside his cell, several of them took the opportunity to work him over with expert punches before shoving him into the damp straw.

Three weeks until the new moon.


To keep himself from going mad, he devised exercises to maintain his body. For his mind, he methodically worked his way through his Cambridge courses, starting with the Michaelmas term of his first year. Philosophy, mathematics, the classics in Latin and Greek. Surprising how much a man could remember when he had nothing better to do.

He tried to avoid memories of Troth and home, for they were far more painful than reciting bits of the Odyssey. But he couldn't control his dreams. At night Constancia lay beside him, warm and loving, or Troth, sweet and true and passionate. Or he was fishing with Dominic, or riding the hills of Dornleigh with his sister and father.

Waking up was a return to hell.


He was sure the second execution would be real. Beheading, after all, was the preferred Chinese method, and their executioners were said to be very expert.

The prospect of decapitation was peculiarly unpleasant, despite Wang's assurances that it would be painless. This time it was harder to keep his face impassive when he was taken into the courtyard. His bristling, untamed beard helped conceal any failures of control.

When forced to kneel in front of the headsman, he thought of Hoshan and the serenity he'd experienced there. His hammering heart almost drowned out the beating of the drums that marked the raising of the sword.

Cool air brushed his face as the blade sliced by to bury itself in the ground a scant inch in front of him. He half expected a second blow to fall just when he would begin to believe he'd been spared, but Wu Chong was subtler than that.

Once more Kyle was marched back to his stinking cell. It was wretchedly hot. The monsoon season had begun and water trickled down the walls constantly as the rains alternated with suffocating humidity.

Every night Kyle made another scratch on the wall and wondered how long it would be until the prefect tired of his game, and ended it once and for all.


The third execution was scheduled as a hanging in another one of Wu Chong's bows to Western custom. Kyle no longer cared, for malaria had struck. As he'd guessed at the beginning, the prison was a breeding place for pestilence, and the rude health that had protected him throughout his travels was no longer enough.

He recognized his ailment when chills started in his lower back, radiating throughout his body until he shook with cold despite the tropical heat. Dispassionately he watched his fingers turn dead white and his nails take on a bluish cast. Even milder forms of malaria could be lethal without treatment.

Chills were followed by burning fever. Desperately he rubbed his face against the wet walls, frantic for cooling as muscle tremors brought on pain so deep his bones ached. The guard who delivered his meals prodded him with a boot before leaving him to his fate.

Twelve hours after the first symptoms, the fever ebbed and he had a short period of mere misery. Having seen malaria in others, he took advantage of the time to eat his rice and drink as much water as possible. Often malaria struck in daily attacks as regular as clockwork, and he needed to maintain his strength for the next bout.

The chills returned at noon and the ghastly cycle began again: chills, dry fever, sweating, over and over. He lost count of the days because he was too ill to scratch the wall. Sometimes when shaking with cold he imagined Troth beside him, warming him with her body. Or when he panted with fever he thought he felt her cool hands on his face, until he returned to the horror of the cell.

He had to be carried out to the crude scaffold, though he managed to stand upright as the rope was put around his neck. Three times was the charm; a few miserable minutes and his suffering would be over. Sorry, Dom, for breaking my promise to come home.

But the hangman was an amateur and the execution a sham. Instead of dropping him far enough to break his neck, as a decent British hangman would have done, Kyle was left strangling at the end of the rope until he blacked out. Then they cut him down.

It was hard to be arrogant when lying on the ground spewing one's guts out, but Kyle did his best. Wrexham would have been proud. Looking disappointed that his prey wouldn't last much longer, Wu Chong waved him back to the prison.

As his daily bout of fever claimed him, the only damned thing Kyle could manage to be glad about was that Troth and his family would think he'd died quickly.

He'd wanted to see the world. Now it had been reduced to stone walls, illness, and despair.


"Drink."

He fought the bitter potion forced into his mouth, wanting to return to his dream of England. If even his dreams turned punishing, death truly would be a blessing.

"Drink!"

Coughing and spitting, he came partially awake and realized that a well-dressed Chinese man was trying to force a bitter drink down his throat. Medicine? Poison? No longer caring which, he swallowed, then drifted into darkness again.

He had a vague sense of being carried, of rattling along in some kind of vehicle. Long spells of unconsciousness were punctuated by short bursts of feverish awareness.

When his wits fully returned, he was in a blessedly clean bed. Slowly his gaze moved over carved screens and silk hangings. On a table sat a porcelain vase with one perfect flower. He was in the household of a wealthy Chinese. Surely not Wu Chong?

An elderly female servant peered in at him, then left the room. A few minutes later another woman arrived. This one was also aged, but dressed like the mistress of the household. As she laid a cool hand on his forehead, he said tentatively, "Tai-tai?"

His voice was a croak, but she smiled appreciatively at his recognition of her rank as she made him drink something. Bitterness again. This time he realized that the potion contained Peruvian bark. Rare and expensive, it came from South America and was the most effective treatment for malaria, when it could be obtained.

The next time he woke, the servant bustled off and returned with Chenqua, leader of the Cohong. Finally understanding, Kyle inclined his head. "Greetings, Lord Chenqua. I gather that I owe you my life. You have done far more than I deserve."

"Indeed," the merchant said with unmistakable dryness. "Your crimes cost me many taels of silver, but at least you live. Your death would cost much more."

Kyle closed his eyes, feeling as if he were five and being scolded by his father. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to enter China, but… I wanted very much to see Hoshan."

Voice slightly softened, Chenqua said, "Understandable, but stupid."

"Am I in Canton?" When Chenqua nodded, he continued, "Will I be imprisoned again now that I've recovered?"

"No. You go to Macao, return to England. Wu Chong says he never intended death, merely imprisonment while he sent word of your capture to Peking, very slowly." The merchant's expression turned satiric. "Not possible to prove otherwise."

So Wu Chong would not be punished for overstepping his authority. If Kyle had died of fever it would have been unfortunate, but not the prefect's fault. The mock executions had been mere pranks, much less than the Fan-qui deserved, or so the official story would go. No diplomatic incident, only a law-breaking Briton graciously restored to his people by the Chinese government. "How did you learn of my captivity?"

"The Company, and a letter from Mei-Lian."

So he owed Troth his life-again-and Chenqua knew something of their relationship. By now, she must be almost to England. His family must endure months of mourning before they could learn he was alive. Well, there was no help for that. He hoped the news didn't kill his father-the guilt of that would never go away.

Wondering how much his lawbreaking had cost Chenqua, Kyle said, "I shall reimburse you for the fine you had to pay."

"No. Go home, and live with the knowledge of what your foolishness has cost."

Unsmiling, Kyle said, "You drive a hard bargain."

"Always." Chenqua gathered his robes about him, then hesitated. "You stole my best interpreter. Swear to provide for her."

"I have already pledged myself to that." Kyle studied the merchant's face, trying to read his expression. What had Troth meant to him? Not a daughter, not really a friend, but surely there had been some affection. "Have you a message for Mei-Lian?"

Chenqua hesitated. "Tell her… I miss her kung fu."

"I shall."

After the merchant left, Kyle lay back exhausted. His last grand adventure had ended in humiliation and near death. Had it been worth it?

He'd endured months of suffering, the crushing knowledge of his own reckless stupidity, a disease that would probably dog him for months, perhaps years. He'd also contracted a marriage that he'd intended to last for hours, not a lifetime. In trying to help Troth, he'd failed her.

He was a thrice-damned fool.

Chapter 30

« ^ »

Shropshire, England

Early spring 1833


Troth drew her horse to a halt at the top of the hill overlooking Warfield's long driveway. As she contemplated the pale blue sky and the first wary sprigs of greenery, she said, "I'm beginning to believe England might actually have a summer."

Beside her, Meriel laughed. "I can't blame you for doubting, but spring is truly on the way. My favorite time of year, when the whole earth comes alive."

"I'm looking forward to seeing your gardens in all their glory."

"You must help me design a Chinese garden," Meriel said, eyes glinting.

Dominic had also reined in his horse, but didn't join the conversation. He seemed tense, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, though he'd been the one to suggest this afternoon ride. He and Meriel rode as if born in the saddle, but they were willing to accommodate Troth's more modest riding skills. Though she'd made progress, she was still grateful for Cinnamon's docile nature and smooth gaits.

Months had passed since she'd arrived in England. It was time she left her safe refuge. She must fulfill the pledge she'd made at her father's grave and visit Scotland. After that, she must decide how and where she wanted to live. "I need to sit down with Dominic and learn what my financial situation is. I gather that I should be able to afford a small house."

"A good deal more than that, but you should stay here," Meriel said promptly. "The children adore you. So do Dominic and I."

Troth smiled but shook her head. "I can't live here forever."

Meriel glanced at her husband and frowned when she saw that he hadn't been listening. "Dominic, is something wrong? "

He started a little as her words pierced his reverie. "Sorry. I've been having the strangest thoughts." He hesitated, as if unsure whether he should say more, before continuing painfully, "I… I keep feeling as if Kyle will ride through the gates. I even dreamed that last night. Ridiculous, of course, but I… can't stop wishing."

Wordlessly Meriel touched his hand, her eyes compassionate. Troth understood the difficulty Dominic had in accepting his brother's death. She felt it, too, and had her own dreams in which Kyle came riding home, laughing that his death had been a misunderstanding and he was alive and well. She would run into his arms-and from there her dreams became so explicit that she blushed to think of them in broad daylight.

Offering distraction, Meriel said, "Let's ride up to the castle. On a day like this we should be able to see halfway across Wales."

They started ambling down the hill just as the distant estate gates swung open and a carriage entered. Troth had learned to recognize different types of vehicles, and this one didn't look like a neighbor coming to call. Actually, it resembled the hired post-chaise that had brought her to Shropshire.

Dominic made a choked sound as he stared at the chaise with agonizing intensity.

What on earth…?

Abruptly he urged his horse into a gallop and tore down the hill at breakneck speed. After a startled moment, Meriel raced after him.

Wondering what the devil was going on, Troth followed at a more sedate pace. Was some cherished relative visiting? That carriage didn't belong to Wrexham or Lady Lucia and her husband-Troth would have recognized those.

Dominic intersected the road and waved the driver of the chaise to a halt, then vaulted from his horse and wrenched the vehicle's door open. A thin figure emerged, almost falling into Dominic's arms.

Gods above, it couldn't be. It couldn't be!

Heart hammering, Troth kicked her mount into a wild gallop, clinging to the saddle desperately as she raced to join the small group by the chaise.

It couldn't be-but it was. Face haggard, Kyle was embracing his brother as tears ran down Dominic's face.

Barely managing to pull Cinnamon safely to a halt, Troth dismounted in a flurry of skirts, then hesitated, feeling it would be wrong to interrupt the brothers' reunion. Throat tight, she whispered, "This can't be happening."

Meriel glanced at her. "You didn't actually see him die."

Her comment cut to the heart of what had happened. Troth had heard the sentence of death, and listened to the blasting guns-but she hadn't seen Kyle die. She pressed one hand to her mouth as she accepted that miraculously Kyle was truly here, gaunt but alive. Alive!

Kyle turned toward the women, though Dominic kept one arm around him, as much for support as from affection. It wasn't hard to tell the twins apart now-while Dominic glowed with health, Kyle looked as though he'd just risen from a sickbed.

Troth's desire to embrace him was checked when he looked at her with blank, shadowed eyes. Dear heaven, he couldn't have forgotten her! Or perhaps- her stomach cramped as if she'd been kicked-he no longer wished to see her.

Then a faint smile curved his lips. "Troth. I'm glad you made it here safely."

At least he had acknowledged her. In England as in China, public affection between husband and wife was frowned upon. Even a couple as devoted as Dominic and Meriel were usually restrained in the presence of others. Telling herself that he was only following English custom, she stammered, "I… I was sure you were dead, my lord."

"I never really believed you were gone, Kyle," Dominic said, his face radiant. "Yet after listening to Troth's story of your execution, I had to."

"I almost was. Strange sense of humor, Wu Chong. He had a fondness for mock executions." Kyle shrugged. " Because of Troth's messages to Chenqua and the Company, I was rescued from Feng-tang before malaria could put paid to my account."

He stepped away from his brother and almost fell. Alarmed, Dominic caught him again. "You look like death walking."

"It's not that bad, Dom," Kyle muttered as he swayed on his feet. "Malaria takes a long time to fully heal. Troth will know how it's treated."

"I'm sure she does, but you're coming up to the house right now. I'll ride with you. Meriel, will you lead my horse back?" Not waiting for an answer, Dominic half lifted his brother into the chaise and they set off again.

It was the illness that made Kyle so unresponsive, Troth decided. He was exhausted by his imprisonment and the long journey home, and malaria was not a disease that one recovered from quickly.

Nonetheless, she felt a deep sense of hurt as she led Cinnamon to a rock so she could remount. He'd treated her like a casual acquaintance, not a cherished wife.

As she scrambled into her sidesaddle, awareness of what his return meant struck with the force of a blow: Kyle had proposed marriage only to protect her-he'd never intended for her to actually be his wife. She'd been his mistress. If not for his death sentence, that was all she would ever have been. Her hands began to tremble.

Meriel swung onto her own mount easily. "You mustn't be upset about the bond between Dominic and Kyle," she said gravely. "It takes nothing away from you or me. I think their closeness has made them better able to love their wives."

Troth swallowed hard, not sure whether to be glad or sorry that Meriel was so adept at reading minds. "Perhaps their bond takes nothing from you, but Dominic loves you. With Kyle and me… it's different."

Meriel started up the drive, leading Dominic's mount. "Different, yes. You never had the chance to know each other in normal circumstances." She glanced at Troth. "But you love him, and he would never have suggested marriage if he didn't care deeply for you. For now, he's exhausted from illness and travel. Have patience."

Troth had no other choice. But as she headed up the drive, she remembered bleakly her dream of her husband miraculously returning from the dead and sweeping her into his arms. Such a fool she'd been.

The marriage contracted with honorable intentions had gone disastrously wrong.


Kyle awoke gasping from a nightmare of Wu Chong's prison to find a warm female body lying beside him. The light of the bedside candle showed a cloud of dark hair spilling onto his shoulder. Fully dressed, Troth lay beside him on top of the covers. She must have been sitting up with the invalid and decided to rest for a bit.

It took every remaining shred of will not to roll over and put his arms around her. Not from passion-desire had died in Feng-tang. Yet he still had a weak, desperate craving to cling to her for comfort, especially when images of horror racked his mind.

On the long voyage home to England, he'd had ample time to think about Troth. If their marriage had been unquestionably legal, they'd have had no choice but to make the best of the situation, but the legality was doubtful at best. That meant it was his duty to release her from an obligation that had never been intended to last more than a few hours. She wanted-and deserved-freedom to choose her own life.

Yet now that she had been publicly and privately accepted as Lady Maxwell, it would be damnably difficult to undo their union without a scandal. Kyle owed Troth an unblemished name as well as freedom.

He'd hoped not to find her at Warfield. Ideally, she'd made it safely to England, brought the news of his death to Dominic, then gone on her way to Scotland, so he wouldn't be confronted with the temptation of seeing her again.

He'd been stunned when he saw her with Dominic and Meriel. In her riding habit she'd looked so beautiful and English that at first he hadn't recognized her. Shy Jin Kang and gallant Mei-Lian had vanished completely. If not for her wonderful Oriental eyes, he'd have thought she was some fashionable friend of Meriel's.

He pulled a quilt folded up at the foot of the bed over her. While the day had been springlike, night was definitely wintry. As he draped the quilt over her, he had a vivid recollection of her laughing as they made love. But that passion and playfulness seemed to have happened to another man. Now he was a stranger to her, and to himself.

Though he'd tried not to disturb Troth, her eyes fluttered open and she regarded him with unmistakable wariness. "Dominic stayed with you until Meriel dragged him away to give me a chance. I hope you are feeling better, my lord?"

"Much." Her apprehension was painful. He must reassure her that he didn't intend to force her to a bargain she had never intended. "I'm sorry, Troth. I made a terrible mess of things. In my arrogance, I thought I could visit Hoshan and return to Macao with no trouble. Instead, I almost got you killed, caused enormous suffering for my family, and cost Chenqua a lot of money and the European traders a huge amount of face. All because I wouldn't listen to reason."

"What's done can't be undone," she said pragmatically. "Tell me what happened."

Tersely he described the sham executions, confining himself to the facts. Even months later under cover of darkness, he couldn't bear to speak of his shameful fear and misery. Especially not to her.

"Then Chenqua rescued you?"

"Yes, though it took time. At first there was no rush because I was presumed dead, so the viceroy and his bureaucrats moved slowly. As soon as Chenqua learned I hadn't been executed, he sent his oldest son and his personal physician to Feng-tang along with a company of Bannermen in case Wu Chong proved difficult." Kyle smiled humorlessly. "Apparently the prefect was all bland cooperation. But of course they could take the foreign devil. He'd written to Peking for instructions-sending his letter by donkey cart, I suspect-but if the viceroy was willing to take responsibility for the prisoner, Wu was delighted to oblige. Not that I learned any of this until much later."

"What about Chenqua?"

"He scolded me as if I were a misbehaving schoolboy and refused to let me reimburse him for the fine he'd paid on my behalf."

"Was he angry about what I'd done?" Troth's elegant face was still as marble.

"He said he'd miss your kung fu." Knowing how important this must be to her, he said slowly, "I felt that he was very sorry to lose you, and not only because you were useful to him. Not angry at all. Just… sorry, and wishing you well."

Her expression eased. "I'm glad."

"Did you have any problems after you left Feng-tang?"

"None. Gavin Elliott was wonderful, and your whole family has been very kind, even the old dragon, your father."

"The old dragon-what a good name for him. He might be arriving at any moment, by the way. As soon as I reached England, I sent messages to him and my sister." He should have gone to Dornleigh first, but he'd never considered doing that. The lifelong bond between him and his brother was stronger than his often strained relationship with the earl. Stronger even than duty.

Troth hid her face against his shoulder. "What happens now? "

"Damned if I know. What made perfect sense in a Chinese dungeon seems rather mad here in England." He stared sightlessly at the ceiling. "The question is how to set you free without creating a scandal in the process."

She became utterly still. "You wish to end the marriage, such as it is?"

The question wasn't about his wishes, but about what was right. Choosing his words carefully, he said, "You have a whole world of possibilities in front of you, while I… well, I'd never intended to marry again and don't think I'd make much of a husband. You deserve better."

"How very noble you are," she said dryly.

He laughed a little for the first time in months. "Not noble. Confused, but trying to do the right thing." Giving in to temptation, he continued, "Still, unless you're in a hurry to leave we can wait until I'm feeling stronger and you've had time to decide what you want. You must still be in shock from my miraculous return from the dead."

Her dark head nodded vigorously.

Lightly he touched her silky hair. "I'm sorry. There was no point in writing, since I'd reach here about as soon as any letter."

"That part I understand." Her voice turned cool. "As for the rest… I gather you don't want us to… to behave as husband and wife while you decide on the best way for us to part."

He winced. Did she suspect his fear that if they became lovers again, he'd never have the strength to let her go? Trying to make a joke of it, he said, "Once you see Dornleigh, you'll be eager to end the marriage. It's the most dismal great house in England."

"But it is your home."

"For my sins, yes." He smiled self-mockingly. "I must admit that I'm looking forward to returning. Seven years is a long time to be away."

Long enough to fulfill all his dreams, leaving… nothing.

Chapter 31

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Dornleigh matched its reputation. Looming against a cold, rainy sky, the sprawling structure should have ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HERE carved over the gate. Troth drew back from the carriage window, not sure if she was glad the miserable journey was ending, or sorry that her destination was as uninviting as Kyle had warned.

She sat opposite her husband and his father in the heavy, luxurious Wrexham traveling coach. They'd shared the space for two long days, each avoiding eye contact with the others.

The last fortnight had been tiring for all concerned. Lord Wrexham's coach had reached Warfield Park two days after the prodigal's return, within an hour of Lady Lucia's arrival. Under his usual brusque manner, the earl had been like a mother hen whose lost chick had just been restored. Kyle accepted everyone's attention with weary courtesy, though Troth suspected he would have preferred more peace and privacy.

Not that her opinions mattered. From the day he arrived and was given a room of his own, she felt less his wife than when he'd been thought dead. No one was rude, and there was no suggestion that she didn't belong at this Renbourne family reunion. But she felt… unnecessary. During the long days and longer nights, she'd reminded herself frequently that Kyle's detachment wasn't just from her.

The only person whose company he welcomed was his brother. Dominic was edgy and impatient with everyone except Kyle, and Troth had a sense that chi was running between them, with Dominic's energy going to strengthen his twin. Though perhaps she imagined that. In practical England, assumptions imbedded in the fabric of her homeland began to seem like superstitions.

Luckily Meriel's behavior didn't alter. She kept Troth busy with the children, with riding, with work in the glasshouses in anticipation of spring planting.

But there would be no Meriel to support her at Dornleigh. After ten days at Warfield, Kyle had been deemed well enough to return to the family seat. Wrexham was anxious to take him there, as if only then would Kyle's homecoming be complete. Or perhaps he wanted to separate Kyle from Dominic so he could have his heir to himself. Troth had the dismal feeling that she didn't figure in the earl's calculations at all.

Despite her yearning for her husband's attention, Troth practiced patience and hoped the situation would improve along with his health. She dressed and spoke and behaved like a perfect English lady, striving to earn Wrexham's approval. Occasionally she felt Kyle's puzzled gaze, as if he barely recognized her, and guessed he was surprised at how well she'd learned to mimic the manners of the well-bred female. She'd always had a gift for blending in, and her mother had taught her feminine refinement.

The coach pulled up in front of Dornleigh, and a footman rushed to open the door and lower the steps. Troth climbed out into the rain with relief. While she would have welcomed two days alone with Kyle, Wrexham's presence changed everything. No doubt the earl had felt the same about her. And Kyle? He'd probably been glad to have three people on the journey to spare him private discussions.

Waiting inside the Dornleigh entry hall-the cold, echoing, barren entry hall-was an army of servants lined up in honor of the heir's return. Kyle passed along the rows courteously while Troth waited at one side, invisible except for curious glances.

To her surprise, when Kyle had finished reviewing the Dornleigh troops, he took Troth's arm, leading her forward. "My wife, Lady Maxwell."

A spark of hope flared inside her at the public acknowledgment. Yet as Kyle introduced her to the senior servants, she saw that Wrexham watched with tight-lipped disapproval. As the housekeeper led her up to her new quarters, Troth renewed her vow to be patient, and to always act as an irreproachable English lady.

Beyond that, there was nothing she could do but hope and pray.


A week at Dornleigh gave Troth a deep appreciation for why Kyle had fled the place. The feng shui was terrible-jarring angles, a combination of clutter in some areas and dead emptiness in others, and a general air of gloom.

Perhaps that suited her husband, who drifted around the huge old house like a ghost. Courteous, but so detached he was barely there even on the rare occasions when they spoke. Clearly he was suffering from a malaise worse than illness and fatigue. On some deep level, his spirit had been grievously injured. The intense curiosity and enjoyment of life he'd had when they met was gone, leaving a polite shell of a man.

She yearned to help him, but didn't know how and feared doing the wrong thing. It was hard enough keeping her own spirits up during a week trapped inside this mausoleum by relentless rain.

She spent her time reading, exploring, and cautiously building relationships with the senior servants. Most of all, she waited for some sign of encouragement from her husband. The doubts-and the power-were in his hands. He must make the first move.

How would he manage at the grand reception Wrexham was giving the next night to welcome his son home? Everyone important in the area had been invited. Though Kyle would know most of the guests, such a gathering would surely exhaust him. Troth found the prospect frankly terrifying and intended to stay in her room. Unlike at the Warfield Christmas ball, she wouldn't be missed.

Then the sun came out. As she brushed her hair from its night braid that morning, she feasted her eyes on the magnificent Northamptonshire hills. The rain had nurtured an explosion of spring greenery, and clumps of brilliant yellow daffodils bloomed under trees and hedges. Now she understood why Kyle had wanted to return-not for the grim house, but for this lovely land.

As she coiled her hair into a demure knot at her nape, she was struck by the happy idea of asking Kyle if he'd like to go for a ride. Perhaps he'd enjoy showing her around the estate. Since Wrexham's gout prevented him from riding, she and her husband could have an hour or two of privacy. Perhaps they'd recapture some of the easy conversation and pleasure in each other's company they'd known in China.

Buoyant at the prospect, she rang for Bessy, the maid who had been assigned to her, and asked for her riding habit. Even if Kyle refused her invitation, she would ride alone. Her body craved physical activity after being cooped up for so long.

She hadn't done chi exercises since before they'd visited Hoshan. First she'd been too busy traveling; then she'd been cramped in the tiny cabin on the sailing ship. Occasionally she'd considered starting again at Warfield, where any eccentricity would have been accepted without a blink, but such un-English activities didn't belong in the life of the decorous Lady Maxwell.

Troth swallowed a hasty meal of tea, toasted bread, and marmalade. She could face luncheon and dinner with Kyle and Wrexham, but she allowed herself breakfast in her room as an escape from the tension in the household.

With the assistance of Bessy, she donned her riding habit. It was a sober navy blue, but the seamstress had trimmed it with military-style gold braid, and the effect was rather dashing.

She caught up the sweeping skirts and skipped downstairs, feeling lighthearted and optimistic. Perhaps Kyle would enjoy the ride so much that he'd be interested in another, more intimate sort of gallop…

She chided herself for low thoughts, though she had them often. Kyle might be too drained for desire, but she wasn't, and it was a constant strain not to touch him. To go into his arms for a kiss, and hope to ignite a flare of mutual desire.

One step at a time. Seeing the butler, she asked, "Do you know where Lord Maxwell is, Hawking?"

"I believe he's in the study, my lady." He gave her riding habit an approving glance. "A fine day for a ride, my lady. I'm sure Lord Maxwell would enjoy that."

"I hope so." Born and raised at Dornleigh, Hawking was very fond of the young master. Troth felt they had an unspoken pact on Kyle's behalf.

During her explorations of the past week, she'd learned that the study was a cozy room off the main library. With a fireplace, a writing desk, and several comfortable chairs, it was the most welcoming of the public rooms. It would be pleasant to sit there and read with Kyle in the evenings…

She crossed the library and was almost to the open door of the study when she heard voices inside. Gruffly Wrexham said, "So there you are, Maxwell. Can't hide from me forever."

"No?" Kyle replied lightly. "I've done a decent job of it so far."

Since neither of the men could see her, Troth paused, wondering if she should leave them to discuss business. But it was too beautiful a day to waste, especially since Kyle needed fresh air and sunshine.

A chair creaked as Wrexham sat. "When are you going to deal with that girl?"

Troth froze. Kyle said in a forbidding voice, "I presume you mean my wife."

"She's no wife," his father retorted. "That ridiculous ceremony would have been irregular even in Scotland. In China, it didn't mean a damned thing. You must put her aside so you can choose a proper wife."

"Though the legality is questionable, we both considered the ceremony binding."

"She was your damned mistress! I don't blame you for that-she's an attractive wench, and nothing if not biddable-but you'd never have gone through that travesty of a marriage if you hadn't thought you'd be dead the next day."

"It's true that being sentenced to death gave me the idea," Kyle said wearily, "but that's irrelevant. Having pledged myself in good faith, I can't casually set her aside now."

"You can, and you will! I was willing to accept her as your widow, but not as the next Countess of Wrexham."

"Why not?"

"For God's sake, don't play the fool," Wrexham said with disgust. "She's Chinese, and damned if I'll allow a future Earl of Wrexham to have slanted eyes."

Shaking, Troth sank into a library chair. All of her efforts to act like an English lady had been useless. In Wrexham's view, the fact of her mixed blood would always outweigh any qualities of intelligence or character that she might possess.

"In the nature of things, you'll be dead long before this highly theoretical child would assume your honors," Kyle said dryly. "I promised Troth my protection and freely gave her my name. What kind of Earl of Wrexham would I be if I broke my word because things have turned out differently than expected?"

He hadn't said anything about love, or passion, or even friendship. To him, she was merely an obligation. A burden.

"Since she helped gain your release from prison, you can't just turn her out," Wrexham agreed. "You can afford to be generous. A settlement of two thousand pounds a year will make her a rich woman. She can go to London and collect as many lovers as she wants. You weren't the first, and you certainly won't be the last."

As she buried her burning face in her hands, Kyle said in a voice of pure ice, "Troth's honor and virtue are irreproachable, and I will not allow her to be insulted by you or any man. Do I make myself clear?"

Numbly Troth supposed she should be grateful for that, at least. But once more he spoke from duty, not caring.

Unable to bear any more, she rose and left the quarreling voices behind as she escaped into the front hall. Mercifully, no one was around to see her flight up to her room. There she folded onto the bed and wrapped herself into a tight, trembling ball.

Her marriage was over. Marriage? Not even that-though she'd felt he was her husband, he'd obviously never really thought of her as his wife. She was merely an inconvenient souvenir he'd acquired in his travels.

Even if he'd still wanted her, there could be no marriage in the face of Wrexham's adamant disapproval. Kyle might chafe, but ultimately he would surrender because a son must obey his father. There was no place for Troth at Dornleigh, and since they had never truly been married, there was no reason to stay.

Moreover, she didn't want to. Be damned to Wrexham and Maxwell both! She was a daughter of the Celestial Kingdom, and their rejection proved that Fan-qui truly were barbarians. She would rather die than stay here. She didn't need the Renbournes, nor any man's pity.

With a rage unlike any she'd ever known, she rang for her maid, then began to pack. The trunk was too large to carry, but she had a pair of carpetbags. One she packed with a basic wardrobe of practical clothing, and the other with the most cherished of her Chinese possessions. Perhaps she'd send for the rest of her things later-the Renbournes would be so glad to be rid of her that shipping a trunk would be a pleasure.

No, she would simply vanish. Free of his inconvenient not-quite wife, Kyle could marry one of those bland blond girls who'd ogled him after church services at Warfield, and become fat and boring, as an English country gentleman should.

When Bessy arrived, Troth ordered, "Help me out of this habit, then summon a carriage."

The maid stared wide-eyed at the half-packed carpetbags: "My lady?"

"Not a word to anyone!"

Biting her lip, the girl unfastened the complicated habit, then left to call the carriage. Troth changed into a simple day dress, the sort of garment she could manage without a maid. The habit she left in a crumpled heap on the floor, where it could add to the bad feng shui of Dornleigh.

Courtesy demanded a note, and she was certainly more courteous than these foreign devils. Swiftly she scrawled, Lord Maxwell-you and your family wish to be rid of me. Your wish is granted. She signed with the Chinese characters for Mei-Lian.

A bag in each hand, she stalked into the upstairs hall and looked out a side window to see if the carriage had been brought around. To her relief, it was already waiting. She hastened down the steps unseen. Outside, she said to the driver, "Take me to the nearest coaching inn, please."

Like Bessy, he gaped at her baggage. "My lady?"

She gave him the flat stare of a tai-tai who was displeased. Hastily he stowed her bags away, then helped her into the carriage.

Once the vehicle lurched into motion, she leaned back against the velvet squabs and allowed herself to shake. It was over. She was a mistress leaving her former lover, and she should have done it sooner.

Between the money Kyle had given her before they left on their journey and the funds from Gavin Elliott, she had enough to survive for many months. She'd go to Scotland. Perhaps there would be an Edinburgh trading company that could use a clerk who spoke and wrote Chinese. If not, surely she could find use for her skills in London. Would Gavin Elliott still want her services now that she was his partner's former mistress rather than his widow? If not, no matter. She would find some kind of work.

Stony eyed, she gave Dornleigh a last glance. She'd wanted Lord Maxwell's aid in getting to Britain, and she'd received that, along with enough money to last her until she was established. They had fulfilled their obligations to each other, and now there was nothing left between them.

Nothing.

Chapter 32

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Kyle had been doing his best to ignore his father's words, but he snapped into full awareness when the earl went too far. Kyle clenched his hands against a desire to commit physical violence against his own father. "Troth's honor and virtue are irreproachable, and I will not allow her to be insulted by you or any man. Do I make myself clear?"

Wrexham's jaw dropped. "How dare you speak to your father that way!"

"The duty a man owes his wife takes precedence over that which he owes his father," Kyle said flatly. "You act as if Troth isn't good enough for me. In fact, the reverse is true. I'm not good enough for her."

The earl made an exasperated gesture. "If you insist, she's pure as the driven snow and a credit to her sex. But she's still no wife."

"If you will not accept her as my wife, then I am not your son! Feel free to disinherit me."

Wrexham's face turned an unhealthy shade of red. "You know perfectly well I can't do that! The title and almost all of the property are entailed to you. Everything passes from eldest son to eldest son-that's the way it should be."

Kyle glared. "Which means I can do any damned thing I want, and you have no recourse."

"Yes. Is it too much to hope that you'll behave with wisdom and honor? "

Kyle rose and paced angrily across the room, his temples pounding. He had avoided being alone with his father because he'd known they would have this argument, and he'd felt unable to resolve the conflict between what he owed Troth and what Wrexham thought his heir owed the family name. But the issue could be sidestepped no longer. How the devil could this fight be ended before he and his father damaged each other irrevocably?

Kyle's relationship with the earl had always been a complex blend of affection, duty, and tension. The older man had inherited an estate on the verge of financial collapse and pulled it back to prosperity with grindingly hard work. He'd become a just and innovative landowner and a conscientious member of the House of Lords. But where his family was concerned, he was fiercely protective and suffocatingly rigid.

Reminding himself of the earl's more admirable qualities, he said more quietly, "I missed you when I was away, Father. I didn't come back to resume fighting again."

Wrexham's face worked. "You never call me 'Father.' "

"Perhaps it's time I did. Your opinion matters a great deal to me, but you can no longer control my life the way you did when Dominic and I were children."

"I don't want to control your life! I just… just don't want you to make disastrous mistakes."

Kyle smiled ruefully. Though his father was a tyrant, he was a well-intentioned one. "Good judgment is a fine thing, but it's mistakes that give us an education."

His father's mouth quirked in an unwilling smile. "I know you're right, but it's hard to stand by and watch one's children ruin themselves."

"Just as in your own childhood, you had to stand by and watch your father ruin the whole Renbourne family?"

"I… I suppose so." Wrexham rubbed his chin, expression baffled. "Never thought of it that way."

During the months in Wu Chong's dungeon, Kyle had thought of many things, seen connections that had never occurred to him before. Suffering, like bad judgment, was educational. It was time he used some of the insight he'd gained to improve his relationship with his father.

"I doubt that Troth and I can build a real marriage between us, but the choice belongs to her. If she freely decides that she will be happier without me, I will bid her farewell and give her my blessing." He fought the wrenching pain produced by the thought of losing her. "If she prefers to stay as Lady Maxwell-and I can't imagine that she'd want to-I will marry her again in the Church of England so no one will ever question the legality of our union. But the choice is hers."

"Don't let your sense of obligation lead you astray, Maxwell," his father said sadly. "You'll both be better off without each other. If she's the paragon you claim, she can find a doting husband, and when you're ready, you can choose a suitable wife. One who will know what it means to be a countess."

"Why do you dislike Troth? Is it simply because she's half-Chinese? The world is changing, Father. Lord Liverpool was a quarter Indian, and he was prime minister for fifteen years. The British royal family has African blood going back through Portuguese royalty. As the empire grows, there will be more and more marriages between different peoples. Shouldn't the Renbournes be leaders?"

"I don't precisely dislike her, but I don't want Chinese blood in the family." Wrexham frowned. "More than that, the blasted chit makes me nervous. She's… too meek. Too bland. Too sly and secretive. I feel there are things going on in her mind that I'll never understand, and that makes me uneasy."

"Troth, bland?" Startled, Kyle thought back over the previous weeks. It was true that she'd been quiet to the point of invisibility, but so had he. "I suppose that's because she's on her best behavior, and in an uncertain situation. But I assure you, she is neither bland nor secretive. She is unique, and it is her background that makes her so special."

After a long silence, his father said, "You really care for her."

"Yes." An understatement, but he wasn't about to admit to the deep, complicated feelings she aroused. "Fate brought Troth and I together. If she leaves me, so be it, but if you are hoping for grandchildren from me, they will be with Troth, or no one." He smiled without humor. "You'd better pray that she leaves me."

His father rose heavily. "I will pray that you find contentment. Though maybe that's too much to ask."

Kyle stared at the door into the hall after it closed on Wrexham. Just like the old boy to end an argument by saying something insightful. Had he always realized how restless his heir was?

Kyle sat in the study for a long time, thinking about his life. He'd been in a black swamp ever since his imprisonment, haunted by nightmares and paralyzed by indecision. He must pull himself together for the sake of his family.

And for Troth, of course, who had been endlessly patient and undemanding. He needed to summon the strength and resolution to set her free rather than let his silence keep her trapped at Dornleigh. He would miss her as a soldier missed a severed limb, but he had no right to cage her here when he couldn't offer the whole heart she deserved.

He opened his eyes and noticed that it was a perfect spring day. Maybe he and Troth could go for a ride. Dominic had said that she'd become quite competent on horseback, and maybe riding would make it easier to talk.

The thought of riding made him wonder what had happened to the donkey, Sheng. He'd become rather attached to the beast despite its bony spine.

Feeling a tingle of anticipation, he rang for the butler. When Hawking appeared, he asked, "Do you know where Lady Maxwell is? I thought she might be interested in going for a ride."

Hawking's brows rose. "Her ladyship didn't find you? She had the same thought and was looking for you here earlier."

"Really? I haven't seen her this morning." A horrifying thought occurred to Kyle. If she'd sought him in the study, she might have approached during his argument with Wrexham. If she'd overheard some of the things that had been said…

Alarmed, he swiftly ascended to Troth's room, hoping he wouldn't find her there weeping. The knowledge that Kyle's father despised her mixed blood would be crushing.

When he knocked on her door, there was no response. After a second knock went unanswered, he cautiously turned the knob.

What he found was worse than tears. The bedroom had been ransacked, with drawers and wardrobe gaping, garments tossed across the bed and left crumpled on the floor. It was hard to believe that meticulous Troth lived here. In fact, she didn't-the condition of the room was an open declaration that she'd left. He crossed the room and rang for her maid. Perhaps the girl-Bessy?-would know where her mistress had gone.

As he waited, he saw a note propped on the mantel. Girding himself, he unfolded the paper and read, Lord Maxwell-you and your family wish to be rid of me. Your wish is granted.

As he crushed the note in his hand, the young maid entered and curtsied nervously. "My lord."

"Do you know where Lady Maxwell has gone?" He was amazed how steady his voice sounded.

"I'm not sure, sir, but she asked me to call a carriage for her."

"The travel coach, or one of the smaller carriages?"

"A smaller one."

Rapidly he considered the possibilities. Knowing she couldn't set off on a long journey without the coachman questioning her order, she'd probably gone to the nearby market town of Northampton, where she could catch a coach that would take her to London. No, not London-she'd go to Scotland. He'd meant to take her there, but as with everything else, he hadn't had the energy to follow through on his intentions.

Well, he'd better find some energy now. He strode to his room and swiftly changed to riding clothes. Downstairs he came across his father. "You're in luck," he said acidly. "Troth overheard part of our conversation and has left. I hope to persuade her to come back, but I wouldn't blame her if she refuses."

"Damnation. I didn't want that." Wrexham frowned. "She may be more willing to return if I leave. Parliament is in session and I should be in London. I can't go until after the reception in your honor tomorrow night, but I'll be off the next morning. Give you and the girl time to work things out, if you're ever going to."

Kyle blinked, startled at his father's offer. "I don't know if that will help, but it's very thoughtful. Thank you."

Wrexham smiled satirically. "I suppose part-Chinese grandchildren are better than none at all." Turning, he marched down the hall, bellowing for his secretary.

In the stable Kyle saddled a dark bay that reminded him of Pegasus. The head groom, Malloy, who'd taught the twins to ride more than thirty years earlier, emerged as Kyle was tightening the cinches. "In the mood for a rare handful of horse, my lord?"

That didn't sound promising. "Does this one have homicidal traits?"

The groom chuckled. "Nay, lad, just high spirits. You'll like Nelson fine."

Malloy was right about the high spirits. When Kyle mounted, Nelson burst into a series of bucks that sent Kyle flying across the yard to land with bruising force. As a stableboy caught Nelson, Malloy rushed up, alarmed. "Are you hurt, my lord?"

Swearing under his breath, Kyle waved the groom away. "I'm fine."

He brushed himself off, then approached Nelson with steely determination. Stupid of him to forget that it had been over a year since he'd been on horseback. Sheng didn't count. With a spirited beast like Nelson, it was essential to prove who was in charge from the beginning. For most of his life authority had been second nature, but in China he'd lost the habit.

Standing and moving like a man who knew he was the master, he collected the reins and spent a couple of minutes petting the horse, not allowing it to push him back. When he thought he'd made his point, he mounted again. This time he was prepared for Nelson's tests and managed to counter every challenge.

When Kyle brought Nelson to a well-behaved standstill, Malloy said, "I see you haven't lost your touch."

"Rusty, but not wholly incompetent.'' Kyle trotted out of the yard, then released the horse into an exhilarating gallop across the hills toward Northampton.

He didn't doubt that he could find Troth-but then what?

Chapter 33

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Kyle's pleasure in the ride was grayed from exhaustion by the time he entered Northampton. Malaria had undermined his strength and stamina as badly as the prison in Feng-tang had battered his emotions and spirit.

Since he'd come cross-country, Troth's carriage couldn't have arrived here much before he had. With luck he'd find her at a coaching inn. If she'd already left-well, her distinctive appearance would make her easy to follow.

But what the devil should he say when he found her? Just as he'd tried to avoid talking with his father, he had avoided Troth for the same reason. He'd known that any discussion would be harrowing, and he hadn't felt equal to that. Inevitably, delay had made the situation worse. From the state of Troth's bedroom, he guessed that she'd left Dornleigh in a fury, and surely deeply hurt as well.

The hell of it was that she should leave so she could begin the life she'd dreamed of. Loyalty and courtesy were what had kept her at Dornleigh even though she obviously disliked the place. Yet he couldn't bear for them to part like this, in pain and anger.

Praying she was here, he rode into the coaching yard of the George, turned Nelson over to an ostler, and went inside to find the innkeeper. When the man appeared, Kyle said, "I'm Maxwell. Has a tall, beautiful, foreign-looking woman come in recently?"

"Aye," the innkeeper said, professionally cautious but responding to Kyle's air of authority. "Would you be having business with her, sir?"

"I'm her husband."

"Ah. Then she's not Miss Montgomery, but Mrs. Maxwell. The lady is in a private parlor, waiting for the northbound coach. This way, sir."

Grateful to have found her so easily, Kyle followed the innkeeper. The private parlor contained a dining table and a half dozen worn but comfortable chairs. Troth sat at the table, picking at a platter of bread, cheese, and onions. When Kyle entered she glanced up, the color draining from her face.

"I gather that you overheard my father being his most pigheaded self this morning," Kyle said bluntly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry!" Eyes glittering with rage, she jumped to her feet. "Your father despises me, while you regard me as an unfortunate obligation, like an old hound that has outlived its usefulness. Surely I should apologize to the Renbournes for contaminating the pure English air of Dornleigh."

He winced. "My father said a lot of ghastly things, but eventually he and I did reach a better understanding."

Before he could say more, she spat out, " 'A better understanding.' You both agreed our so-called marriage was invalid-the only question was the best way to dispose of my inconvenient person. Well, I've solved that. After today, I shall never trouble you again." Her eyes showed terrifying depths of anger and pain.

"Troth, no!" He stepped toward her, unable to bear the sight of her anguish. "The marriage was real to me, and I thought it was to you. Please-come home so we can work out what's to be done together."

"I'll never go back to that horrible place!" She snatched a sharp cheese knife from the table. "I'd rather die!"

Kyle stopped in his tracks. "Surely the situation isn't that dire."

Her face twisted with blazing rage. "You understand nothing. But if you want dire, you shall have it." She pressed the tip of the cheese knife to her throat, then threw herself forward so that the blade would be driven straight into her body.

Horrified, Kyle dived across the room, catching her wrist and ripping the knife away as they crashed to the worn carpeting. While Troth struggled to break free, he pushed her hand back toward the floor so the blade would endanger neither of them. She fought him furiously, kicking and clawing as she tried to regain control of the knife. "Damn you!" she gasped. "Damn the whole lot of you."

"Dear God, Troth, don't do this! Don't." She was lithe and incredibly strong, capable of thwarting an assault by half a dozen dangerous men, yet he didn't dare use any of the filthy fighting tricks he'd learned in unsavory places for fear of injuring her. With his own strength far below normal, he had to pin her down by sheer body weight.

As he sprawled on top of her, immobilizing her limbs and the lethal knife, he said desperately, "How have we come to this, when there was so much kindness between us? "

She stopped struggling, her breathing harsh. "B-because you're sorry you ever met me." She began to weep with utter desolation.

"It's you who have reason to curse meeting me." She didn't resist when he pulled the knife from her hand and tossed it aside, then sat up and drew her across his lap, rocking her against him. "Swear that you'll never try that again, Troth. Killing yourself isn't the answer no matter how bad things are."

"What's the point of living in a world where I belong nowhere?" she said through tormented sobs. "At least in Canton I had a place, even if it was one I didn't like."

Guilt gnawed at him like a prison rat. "If I'd had the means of killing myself in Feng-tang, I would have done it-and that would have been a mistake. The last months haven't been good, but they've been better than Wu Chong's dungeon, and God willing, in time things will be better yet. They will improve for you, too."

"But you belong here. I don't. I never will."

He stroked her silky hair, where auburn highlights glowed against the darkness. "I don't blame you for wanting to leave Dornleigh-it's dismal at best, and I've been worse than useless. I'm sorry. It was my place to provide for you, and I've failed."

"Your place!" She sat up, eyes snapping again. "We owe each other nothing, Lord Maxwell. I took you to Hoshan, you brought me to England. We have each done what we promised and are free to go our separate paths."

"Surely there was more than obligation between us on the journey to Hoshan." Aching, he studied her beautiful, exotic face, the long eyes swollen by tears. "But I was a fool to think that becoming lovers could ever be as simple as it seemed then."

Her gaze dropped. "Being lovers was simple-marriage never occurred to me. Yet after that ceremony, I… I began to think of you as my husband. But it was never real, was it? You were right-no one had a reason to challenge the marriage when you were thought dead. Now you're alive, and I was never your wife."

"The ceremony was as real to me as it was to you. At the time, it seemed like a wonderful idea." He touched her cheek, then dropped his hand when she flinched away. "Come back to Dornleigh, if only for a little while. I can't bear for us to separate in anger."

Her eyes closed, tears seeping out again. "No. I tried so hard, but nothing I do will ever be good enough. I'll never be an English lady because I'm a Chinese whore."

"Don't call yourself such an ugly name! It's vile and horribly untrue."

"Not to your father."

"He's wrong."

"But still your father."

That was inarguable. "Why the devil do you want to be an English lady? I haven't asked it of you, and I doubt that Dominic and Meriel did."

"I've spent too much of my life being despised for being different," she whispered. "I thought that in Britain I could blend in better. But I'm just as foreign here as I was in China."

He took her hand between both of his. "Some people hate anyone who is different from them. Others are charmed and fascinated by such differences. Which people would you prefer to have as your friends?"

She gave a surprised little hiccup. "I… I never thought of it that way."

"Understandable, given that you've spent much of your life feeling like an outsider. I won't lie to you, Troth. Anywhere you go in Britain, you'll attract attention because you look different. But given a chance, most Britons are fairly tolerant. Wherever you choose to live, you can cultivate a circle of friends who will love you for the rare and appealing woman that you are."

"You make it sound easy."

"Not easy, perhaps, but not impossible, either." His hand tightened around hers. "Return to Dornleigh and we'll find a way for you to gain your freedom without ruining your reputation."

Her mouth curled. "Dornleigh was designed by the devil to oppress spirits."

"Then change it. You told me about… feng shui, was it? The art of harmonious placement. You have my permission to make Dornleigh into a happier place. In fact, I'll be delighted at any improvements you make, since I'm facing a life sentence there."

"I doubt that Lord Wrexham would approve of my altering his home."

"He will grant permission-I guarantee it. He's also decided it's time to go to London and the House of Lords. He'll leave the day after the reception."

She gnawed on her lower lip, intrigued, then shook her head. "What's the point? The sooner I leave, the sooner any scandal will die down. If I go to Scotland under my own name, who will know or care that I was temporarily Lady Maxwell? "

He didn't want her to leave. But his selfish desire wasn't a good enough reason to ask her to stay. "I think I've found a way for us to separate without scandal. No one except my closest family knows exactly what happened between us in that cell, and they won't discuss our private business with outsiders. We pledged ourselves with a very old form of wedding ceremony, but there is another Scottish custom called a handfast."

"A handfast?"

"It's a trial marriage to determine if two people will suit. At the end of a year and a day, they may go their separate ways if one or both partners chooses."

"What if there is a baby?"

"The father is liable for the child's support. Often the couple decide to contract a permanent union, but if they don't, they can separate with no stigma attached and find new mates later."

"The Scots have odd marriage customs," she said dryly. "How does that help us?"

"We can say that I wanted to help you leave China, so I made you Lady Maxwell by handfast. At the end of a year and a day, you're free to go. In the meantime, it explains why you've been introduced as Lady Maxwell-for now it's true. We haven't been… cohabiting, so it should be easy enough to say that we simply contracted a temporary marriage of convenience to help you."

She glanced askance when he mentioned cohabitation, but said only, "You have a devious mind, Lord Maxwell.''

"Thank you."

Her mouth curved. "That wasn't a compliment."

"It's been a hard year. I'll take compliments where I find them." Glad to see her with a suggestion of a smile, he rose and helped her from the floor. "This version of events may not be literally true, but it's close enough to the spirit of what happened, and it provides an explanation that doesn't injure your reputation."

"I'm not important enough to have a reputation, but handfasting does sound more respectable than a false marriage."

"Does this mean you'll return to Dornleigh until the year and a day have passed?" That would give him more of her company. "Think of the pleasure you'll have turning that mausoleum upside down and making it more livable."

Her eyes narrowed with calculation. "I suppose I can bear it that long. During that time, will you take me to Scotland? It will be easier if you are with me."

If she wanted to seek her father's relatives, Lady Maxwell would be received more courteously than plain Miss Montgomery. "It will be my pleasure, though we should wait a few weeks until the weather improves. While we're there, I'd like to take you to our house in the Highlands. Staying at Kinnockburn will teach you as much about Scotland as your father's stories."

"If I return, it won't be as a decorous English lady." she warned. "I've spent most of my life pretending to be something I'm not, and I'm weary unto death of pretense."

"I understand. I had to travel halfway around the world to find out who I was. You've also come halfway around the world, so perhaps Dornleigh is a good place for you to discover the nature of your true self." His clasp tightened on the hand he was still holding. "But please-promise me you'll never try to injure yourself again."

She smiled crookedly. "I would have turned the knife away at the last moment, but I had to do something to show how… how vast my rage was."

"You succeeded. I probably have gray hairs now," he said. "Though I've never had Dominic's charm, neither have I ever driven a woman to attempt suicide to get away from me. Very bad for my amour propre."

"You think your brother more charming?"

"Definitely-he has a much easier disposition. I've more of my father's stiffness. I'll try to do better."

"A wise resolution." She gave him a cat-eyed glance. "The house is not the only thing in need of improvement."

She swept from the room, leaving him to collect her carpetbags. Her manner had changed from demure and near-invisible to something grander and far more unpredictable. He wondered what she would be like now that she had stopped trying to be what others expected of her.

He suspected that she would be even more entrancing than she was now.

Chapter 34

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There was much to be said for abandoning hope, Troth decided after she returned to Dornleigh. Looking back, she recognized that she'd been cherishing secret hopes that Kyle would decide that he loved her and wanted her to be his wife for always if she tried hard enough, was respectable and obliging.

Her delusions had been ripped away when it became obvious that he'd never once considered the possibility of remaining married. He liked her, he wished her well, he had a sense of obligation to her-but he didn't see her as his wife. At least, unlike his father, he hadn't made his decision from bigotry.

How lucky Constancia had been to be loved by a man with such a faithful heart.

Instead of hope, Troth had a fierce and lonely freedom. Except for Kyle, she no longer cared what any of these people thought of her, for soon she would be gone. Wrexham she greeted with a cool nod, no longer bothering to be deferential, since she'd been judged and found wanting for reasons over which she had no control.

His glance slid away; he seemed ashamed of what he'd said to his son, but he made no attempt to apologize. She doubted he knew how. She rather admired his total lack of hypocrisy. He despised her and thought she would ruin his son's life, and that was that. Very straightforward.

How nice that he was going to London. She'd be sure to be gone by the time he returned. That would make both of them happy.

It was ironic to realize that since Kyle's return, she'd tried desperately to be English, yet found herself as submissive as the most docile and downtrodden of Chinese women. Enough of that. Now she would act like a stubborn, strong-willed Scottish female. That meant fully embracing her Chinese heritage, and be damned to what the locals thought.

She liked the idea of leaving bizarre legends about the mad Chinese woman whom a Renbourne heir had brought home from his travels. This was the sort of house where such stories would linger for generations, becoming more baroque with each retelling.

The next morning she rose at dawn, donned a loose cotton tunic and trousers she'd brought from China, and made her way from the silent house to the gardens. The formally laid out beds and borders didn't have a fraction of the imagination or charm found in the gardens of Chenqua and Meriel, but spring flowers were budding and the earth pulsed with life. It was going to be another fine day.

Slowly she stepped into a tai chi form. Gods, she was out of shape! Her joints were stiff, her muscles weak because of the months that had passed since she'd last performed the exercises. If Chenqua were here, he'd tie her in knots within seconds.

She felt intense regret at the knowledge that they would never spar again. Though she hadn't been fully at ease with him, they had shared a special relationship that neither would experience with anyone else. Thank you, honorable Chenqua, for finding a place for a mixed-blood female in your world.

She tried to visualize chi flowing from the earth into her feet and through her limbs. At first it was difficult, but gradually she began to sense the energy. Chi was real, no matter what the unimaginative English thought. The pulse of life was everywhere, and in its balance lay strength and harmony.

An hour of increasingly vigorous exercise left her panting but with a greater sense of well-being than she'd known for many months. She'd been a fool to give this up.


After bathing, Troth visited the breakfast parlor for the first time since arriving at Dornleigh. An impressive assortment of food waited under silver covers, and she'd worked up enough of an appetite to enjoy a good meal.

She was half-finished when Kyle appeared and poured himself a cup of steaming coffee. "I heard a rumor that you were in here. Do you mind if I join you?"

"As you wish." She'd be damned if she would look at him with spaniel eyes again, craving his presence. Especially since he'd never noticed when she did.

Yet she couldn't help watching as he collected food. He was still too thin, and today he was also moving stiffly. "You're acting rather bruised."

"Far too much riding yesterday, not to mention the fact that Nelson threw me before I even left the stableyard." He topped off her tea-a rather good souchong-and took the chair opposite hers. "Yesterday I was thinking of asking you to go riding, which was when I learned you'd had the same thought, with regrettable consequences."

"Not regrettable. Rather… educational and overdue."

"Overdue certainly." He shifted awkwardly in his chair. "I'd better avoid the saddle for a day or so, but would you like to go riding later in the week? I want to show you the estate, and I need to reacquaint myself with it as well."

Exactly what she'd wanted so much the day before. The universe mocked her. Still, she'd enjoy the ride. "I'd like that, if your stable has a mount that won't consider throwing me a personal challenge."

"I'm sure that can be arranged." He took a bite of egg and ham. "The household will be at sixes and sevens today with the reception tonight. You're coming, aren't you?"

"I can't think of any good reason why I should. It's not as if I'm going to become a permanent resident, and I wouldn't enjoy being stared at."

"If you don't come, it will appear as if we're hiding something, because everyone in the neighborhood has heard of you by now. Actually, this is the perfect occasion to introduce the story that we're handfasted, not permanently married. The more people who know the official version, the more quickly it will be accepted." He gave her a smile that reached all the way to his eyes. "And I'll enjoy it more if you're present."

Damn the man. He was going to turn her into a spaniel all over again. But his request was reasonable. "Very well, I shall attend long enough to be exhibited."

He grinned. "We can both fade away when we've had enough."

True. But they would be fading away separately, not together.


That evening Troth took her time bathing, then washing and drying her hair. Most of the guests had already arrived by the time she reluctantly began to dress. She would wear the lavender figured-silk gown that had been made for the Warfield Christmas ball. It was the most splendid garment she owned.

Bessy handled the gown reverently when she removed it from the wardrobe. "How beautiful you will look in this."

Troth stroked the heavy silk, remembering the Christmas ball. She'd been frightened that night, yet ultimately had enjoyed herself. But on that occasion, she had felt welcomed and accepted. Tonight was very different.

Thinking of the ball reminded her of what Jena Curry, the half-Hindu friend of Meriel and Dominic, had said: Don't renounce your Chinese side. To be only English would be to impoverish yourself.

Troth had rejected the advice, since her greatest desire had been to fit in with the Renbournes. But she never would-Lord Wrexham had made that brutally clear. Though she'd foolishly thought his gift of jewelry was a mark of acceptance, Meriel had recognized that the present had been about Kyle, not her.

The devil take Lord Wrexham. She had given up trying to please him, and her marriage to Kyle was to all intents and purposes over. Tonight she would be what she'd always wanted to be-a grand Chinese lady. "I've changed my mind.''

She opened the bottom drawer of her clothespress and took out the gifts Kyle had given her in Canton. She had transferred these items from trunk to drawer with her own hands, so Bessy had never seen them.

Undergarments, trousers, jewelry, and cosmetics came out of storage, followed by the magnificent scarlet robe embroidered with flowers and butterflies. Carefully she spread it out on her bed. Good, almost no wrinkles.

Bessy touched the robe as if fearing it would dissolve under her fingertips. "Oh, my lady! This is Chinese?''

Troth nodded. "I shall wear it tonight."

"I… I don't know how to help you put this on," Bessy said anxiously.

"No help is needed. Chinese clothing is easier to wear than European." After donning undergarments and trousers, Troth put on the robe, fastening the frogs from shoulder to knees. For a moment she was caught by her image in the mirror-a woman dressed in bridal scarlet who was no true bride. She suppressed a sigh. "What do you think, Bessy?"

The maid's eyes were round as saucers. "I've never seen such a sight! But the trousers… well, aren't they indecent on a female?"

"Not in China." Troth smiled as she sat down at the mirrored dressing table, remembering her own reaction to the low-cut lavender gown. Now she was modestly covered to the neck, and far more comfortable than she'd have been in the corseted lavender gown. Expertly she dressed her hair in a high, elaborate style, securing the heavy coils with chased-gold hairpins.

Then she opened her lacquered cosmetic box, where the palettes were formed into the shape of a lotus. She was tempted to apply masklike formal court makeup, but decided against it, though it certainly would raise eyebrows in Northamptonshire. Instead she added artful shadings of color to her cheeks and lips and darkened her brows.

Lastly she double-looped the carved jade necklace around her neck, and dabbed perfume from the crystal vial Kyle had given her onto her throat and wrists. As the intoxicating scent was released by the warmth of her body, she lifted the delicate ivory fan and turned to her maid. "Shall I shock everyone?"

Bessy shook her head. "They'll never have seen such a sight, my lady."

"Good." With a smile on her lips and a deep desire to stun the natives senseless, Troth headed downstairs to join the earl's entertainment.


It was good to see old friends and neighbors, but tiring. Very, very tiring. Kyle would have to last through the evening, though, since Wrexham's gout was kicking up and he might need to retire early. They couldn't both disappear. Luckily the gathering wasn't a formal ball, but there was dancing, a card room, and ample opportunity to talk with people over good food and drink.

A pretty blond daughter of Lord Hamill, who lived near Kettering, came tripping over to Kyle. He recognized the tribe but not the individual-Hamill had a hatful of pretty blond daughters. Brightly she said, "I have a wager with my sisters that you won't remember who I am. Will you prove me wrong?"

"You are one of the beauteous Miss Hamills," Kyle replied as he racked his brain.

"That part is easy. Which one?" Her eyes twinkled.

"The most beauteous, of course."

She laughed and rapped his arm playfully with her fan. "A clever answer, but not good enough. You knew my name once. A hint-our initials are in alphabetical order."

The girl was all of about twenty, which meant that she'd have been in the schoolroom when he left England. Probably she was Hamill's youngest. Let's see, Anne, Barbara, Chloe, Diana… "Surely you are Miss Eloise."

"How clever you are! It was worth losing my wager to see such a demonstration of memory and intelligence." She batted her eyes at him with a blend of teasing and seriousness. She made him feel… very old.

Where the devil was Troth? He was beginning to wonder if she'd changed her mind about attending the reception.

Then he heard murmurs of shock from the guests around him. He turned, and his heart caught when he saw her poised at the entrance to the ballroom. Tall and slim and swathed in shimmering scarlet and gold, she was a magnificent peacock among pigeons. Her dark hair swooped up to reveal a slender neck, while her enigmatic expression made her a woman of splendid mystery.

Languidly she fanned herself as her gaze swept the room. Her brows rose fractionally when she saw him with Eloise Hamill. Forgetting the girl's existence, along with common sense and self-restraint, Kyle cut across the room and took Troth's hand. "You look stunning," he murmured. "Are you set on startling Northamptonshire out of ten years' growth?"

"Not at all." There was a wicked glint in her eyes as she glanced at Wrexham, who was regarding her with astonishment. "I am dressed as a modest Chinese lady."

"The like of which has never been seen in these parts." He couldn't take his eyes from her. She was lovely in all circumstances, but tonight's costume emphasized her foreign side. She looked like an exquisite Chinese concubine whose price was an empire.

He escorted her to his father, who was in a group with several local landowners, including the Duke of Candover, who was lord lieutenant of the county. Candover nodded to him. "I'm glad to see you returned in one piece, Maxwell."

"Not half so glad as I. Allow me to present my wife, my lords. We were handfasted in China."

Wrexham scowled, but Kyle decided to attribute that to the pain of gout rather than public disapproval of his temporary daughter-in-law. Troth bowed gracefully. It would have been interesting if she'd done a full kowtow, prostrating herself and touching her forehead to the floor, but Kyle was glad that she refrained. Good society in Northampton would have swooned at the sight.

Candover bowed in return. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lady Maxwell."

"By Jove, she certainly is a beauty," Lord Hamill exclaimed.

"I've heard that Chinese men can have as many wives and concubines as they want," Sir Edward Swithin said with interest. "How fortunate for them!"

Ancient Lord Whitby, known for his earthiness, cackled. "A handfasting, so you can sample the goods and then move on? Clever of you, Maxwell."

"On the contrary," Troth said in her crisp, Scottish-accented English. "The handfasting was purely a matter of form. My situation was difficult, and Lord Maxwell gallantly intervened to assist me in leaving China and coming to Britain."

There was a frozen silence as the men absorbed her words. The Duke of Candover recovered first. Humor lurking in his eyes, he said, "You have a remarkable grasp of our language, Lady Maxwell."

She gave him the full benefit of her luminous gaze. "My father was a Scot, so I've spoken English from the cradle."

"A Scot, eh? No wonder you look foreign," Sir Edward said.

Awkward moment over, they all laughed, even Troth. "My father would have turned over in his grave to know I was wed to an Englishman, but at least with a handfasting, I'll soon be free of the Sassenach."

"One could argue about the legality of handfasting if not done on Scottish soil, but it suited the circumstances," Kyle said, wishing she wasn't quite so keen on pointing out the temporary nature of their arrangement.

Sir Edward said, "No gentleman could have refused a request for aid from such a beautiful lady."

Gloomily aware that Sir Edward was single, rich, and highly eligible, Kyle said, "Would you like to attempt the dancing, my dear?"

"Thank you. I should enjoy that."

He led her onto the floor. "Did you waltz at Warfield?"

"Hardly-I was in mourning for my dead husband. But I observed the dancing closely."

She moved into waltz position, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other in his clasp. As she gave him a sultry glance, he realized how unwise it was to waltz with her. This close, long-dormant desire began to stir. Her Chinese costume didn't include gloves, and he was ridiculously conscious of the bare fingers resting within his own gloved hand.

She needed little instruction in the steps of the dance. Her observations, coupled with her natural athletic grace, enabled her to quickly learn how to follow his lead. He said, "You've a gift for this."

Her eyes glinted up through dark lashes with wicked provocation. "Waltzing is not so different from wing chun sparring."

Uneasily he recognized that she was sparring now. She was angry, not specifically at him, he guessed, or even his father. Rather, she had armored herself against a world that hadn't lived up to her wistful dreams.

He had a vivid memory of the temple cave, where they'd first made love and she'd taught him about chi. In the heart of a mountain, they had both discovered pure happiness. But ultimately, her relationship with him had cost her something precious. He could only hope that in the future she would be able to put aside the armor and find hope and trust with another man.

As they whirled across the floor, desire intensified. Damnation, he didn't need that now! He would miss her presence abominably when she was gone, and desire would only make it worse.

He'd better hope that the year and a day was over before he fully recovered his strength, because having her nearby without physical intimacy was going to be more difficult with every day that passed. Yet in the weeks they had left he would be unable to resist her company, for he would need the memories when she was gone.

He would need them desperately.

Chapter 35

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Troth had expected the earl's gathering to be challenging, and it was, even with Kyle's support. The men weren't much of a problem. She cynically guessed that for many of them she represented an exotic fantasy, so naturally they were friendly, except for a few ancients who eyed her suspiciously.

The women were quite a different matter. When Kyle introduced her to a group of the most influential ladies in the county, a dozen pairs of eyes scanned her with varying degrees of curiosity and hostility. Not only was she foreign, but she'd stolen one of the most eligible men in England, and most of them probably hadn't yet heard about the handfast that meant he'd soon be available again.

Before any kind of conversation could begin, a servant came up to Kyle and murmured something. Kyle frowned, then glanced at Troth. "I'm sorry, I must leave for a few minutes. I'll be back as soon as I can."

She could feel his reluctance to leave her to the tender mercies of the local social arbiters. The first to speak was Lady Swithin, Sir Edward's widowed mother, who said in a voice of cool courtesy, "How do you find Northamptonshire, Lady Maxwell?"

Repressing a desire to say that it was easy, she'd just hired a chaise and the driver had found it for her, Troth replied, "It's very lovely, though colder than I'm used to."

One of the women said in a whisper that was presumably meant to be private, "What an odd creature! Where do you suppose Maxwell found her?"

"No place ladies like us should know about, I'm sure," was the malicious reply.

With a disapproving glance at the whisperers, Lady Swithin said, "I'm sure you'll be a most remarkable addition to society, Lady Maxwell."

The conversation ground to a halt. Then a grandly dressed lady joined the group. "Lady Swithin, introduce me to this lovely young woman," she said in a low, warm voice.

"This is Lady Maxwell, your grace." Lady Swithin glanced at Troth. "The Duchess of Candover."

The duchess's golden hair was laced with silver, and the lines around her eyes proclaimed her as well into her forties, if not older, but she was still a stunning beauty. Based on the reaction of the other women, she was the tai-tai of this particular society. Troth bowed. "I am honored, your grace."

"The honor is mine. I've always been fascinated by China. I hope you'll be willing to tell me more about it." The duchess touched Troth's sleeve. As she did, one gray-green eye closed in a definite wink. "Your gown is magnificent. I've never seen such embroidery."

The duchess's approval warmed the atmosphere. The dim blond child Kyle had been talking with earlier said artlessly, "I always thought the Chinese are yellow, but your complexion is as fair as any Englishwoman."

"Chinese come in several shades, none of them yellow," Troth explained. "My mother was from a part of China where people are very light skinned, and of course my father was Scottish."

Since the ice had been broken, several of the younger women began asking Troth about her costume, cosmetics, and the lives of Chinese women. Enhancing one's appearance was a universal female interest. She also realized that language was the key to acceptance. Since she talked like one of them, the ladies soon began to forget her unusual appearance and spoke as if she were a proper Englishwoman. Or at least a Scot.

Kyle reappeared when Troth was sipping champagne and chatting with the duchess, who was not only as welcoming as Meriel, but apparently had a colorful past of her own. Troth wondered if they'd ever have a chance to become better acquainted. Probably not, to her regret.

To Kyle, the duchess said, "You've improved the quality of Northamptonshire conversation with this young lady, Maxwell. Well done."

He gave the older woman an affectionate smile. "I thought you two would enjoy each other's company. May I take my wife away for a dance?"

"If you insist." The duchess surveyed the room. "Time I removed my husband from that group of bores and had a waltz myself." With a friendly wave, she departed.

As they began to dance, Kyle said, "Since the duchess likes you, you're well on the way to acceptance." He smiled fondly. "I fell madly in love with her when I was a schoolboy. She was very kind about my infatuation."

Troth guessed that he'd always be a little in love with the duchess; she was that sort of woman. "Is there something wrong? I saw that you left the ballroom."

"My father wanted to speak to me before he retired."

"He left his own reception?" Troth said as Kyle swung her around to avoid another couple. He really was a wonderful dancer.

"He had a flare-up of gout. It's a horribly painful inflammation of the joints, a big toe in my father's case. He's in his bedroom, swearing at his valet."

Troth felt reluctant sympathy for the earl. "My father sometimes suffered from gout. There's a simple Chinese treatment for it. Not a cure, but it might reduce the pain."

"You'd help my father after the way he's treated you?"

"I want him to feel well enough to leave tomorrow, as he planned," she said tartly.

Kyle smiled. "That's a good reason. Shall I take you up to him?"

She nodded, and when the dance ended they slipped upstairs as the other guests went in to supper. In Wrexham's bedroom, his elderly valet hovered in a corner while the earl occupied a massive wing chair. His right foot was elevated on a cushioned stool and he was drinking a glass of spirits.

Kyle promptly removed his father's drinking glass and the decanter on the table next to him. "Unless your physician has changed his advice, you're not allowed to drink this, especially when you're having an attack."

"Give me that, you disrespectful pup!" Wrexham roared as he grabbed for the glass. He failed and fell back into his chair, his face shining with sweat. "And why the devil did you bring her? "

"My father had gout. Tui Na, Chinese massage, usually helped him," Troth explained.

"I'll be damned if I'll let you practice your heathen ways on me!"

"As you wish, my lord." She bowed and started to withdraw.

"Wait." Wrexham's voice stopped her. "What would you do?"

The old dragon must be in dire straits to listen. "Lines of energy run through the body. Pressing in the right places can change the energy flow and relieve pain, sometimes even cure a condition. But I'm not a trained healer, you understand. I simply know the specific techniques for gout." She gestured at his right leg. "I would press very hard on several spots on the inside of your ankle. With luck, the pain might be reduced."

The earl shifted awkwardly in his chair. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to try. But you go back to our guests, Maxwell. Can't have both of us gone."

Kyle gave Troth an encouraging glance as he left. She beckoned Wrexham's valet closer. "Watch what I do. If this helps, you'll be able to do the same in the future."

Nervous but game, the valet watched as Troth knelt and pressed her thumb hard on a spot inside the earl's ankle. The old man flinched, his fingers digging into the chair arms, but didn't ask her to stop.

Hoping she remembered the pressure points correctly, she set to work, quietly explaining what she was doing to the valet. When she'd done as much as she could, she got to her feet. "Do you feel any better?"

Wrexham eyed her suspiciously. "There's less pain, but that might have diminished anyway."

"Quite possible," she agreed. "Good night, Lord Wrexham."

Once more he halted her before she could leave the room. "Actually, the pain has gone down quite a bit," he said in a gruff voice. "Why did you help?"

"It is a good Christian deed to help one's enemies." She gave a glinting smile. "And when one does, the enemy suffers remorse."

Wrexham gave a bark of laughter. "I can't believe I thought you were bland."

"You never tried to know me, my lord." She bowed, then withdrew, knowing that she'd earned some respect from the old dragon. Not that it mattered, for soon she would be gone. But she wouldn't mind if he suffered pangs of remorse for his behavior.


Despite her late night, Troth rose early the next morning to do her chi exercises. The air was misty with a chill that bit to the bone, so she had to move to stay warm.

She was starting her second form when Kyle appeared and silently began to copy her movements. She wasn't sure whether to be amused or irritated. "You have a long way to go before mastering this, my lord," she said dryly as she began the slow, sinuous pattern called "cloud arms."

"Which means I'd better take the opportunity to learn from the only expert in Britain." He duplicated her graceful movements, wincing a little. "I'm still sore from riding. Do you mind my joining your practices? I promise not to talk, though I'll understand if you prefer to be alone with the chi and the mist."

She had been enjoying her solitude, yet his offer to leave made her realize that she enjoyed his company more. "As you wish. By the way, how is Lord Wrexham?"

"Well enough to leave for London today." Kyle grinned. "You impressed him."

Glad the old dragon wouldn't be around for her remaining time at Dornleigh, she resumed her tai chi routine. Kyle was quick, and he remembered his lessons from the trip to Hoshan. By the time she left Dornleigh, he'd be reasonably competent. The exercise would help restore his energy balance, which was still somewhat blocked.

Sliding into a meditative state, she half forgot his presence as she moved through faster and faster exercises. Then she saw him fold onto the damp turf, clutching his side. "Kyle!" She spun around and dropped to her knees beside him, placing her hand on his forehead. "Are you having a malaria attack? "

"Nothing so dramatic," he panted, clutching his ribs with one hand. "Just a stitch in my side from too much exertion. I'm in wretchedly poor condition, Troth."

She sat back on her heels. "Actually, you're quite lively for a dead man."

"News of my death was greatly exaggerated." Warily he straightened his torso. "The worst thing about malaria, I think, is how long it takes to recover. I had my last attack somewhere around the Cape of Good Hope, but even months later, I'd lose if I wrestled a good-size puppy."

"I could defeat you with both hands tied behind my back," she agreed.

"Humiliating but true." He lurched to his feet, wincing. "I'd better stop for today before I have to be carried home on a hurdle."

"I've done enough for one morning also." The sun had burned off the mist, and the morning was acquiring some warmth, at least by the standards of a British spring. "Until later then. I want to explore the gardens. With the rain, I've seen very little."

He fell into step beside her as she started walking. "Planning how to change them to improve the feng shui?"

"I doubt much can be done in the time I have left-a good garden must be shaped over many years. Perhaps something could be done with water, though. Waterfalls and pools are restful."

His gaze went to the gray bulk of the house. "I've thought of building an orangery like the one at Warfield. Would that be good feng shui?"

"It could be. If you wish to continue with chi exercises, you should include an area in the conservatory where you can practice surrounded by living things. Very good chi, and most useful to have an indoor exercise area, given the beastly weather you have on this little island."

"Perhaps you could help with the design." He guided her down a brick walkway toward the rear of the gardens. "Can you explain the underlying principles of feng shui to me, or is it too complicated?"

"I'm not an expert, you understand. But the subject interested me, so when I saw a feng shui practitioner at work, I would follow and ask questions." Where to start? She thought about the ba-gua and its division into sectors, the myriad rules that governed color, form, placement, and every other aspect of the environment.

Remembering what an old Macanese geomancer had told her when she was a child, she said, "Basically, feng shui is intended to encourage a healthy balance of energy throughout a structure, and in the process to improve one's joss, one's fortune. Warfield Park has very good chi. Meriel had never heard of feng shui, but she and Dominic are sensitive to their surroundings, so the choices they've made have produced happy results. The same was true before their time, I think. Warfield seems like a house that has been much loved by those who live there."

"While Dornleigh has been endured, not loved. Where would you make changes?"

She looked back at the house, which loomed across the horizon. "I'd put in climbing vines to soften all those hard edges. It will take time for them to grow, but eventually they would make the house more welcoming."

"Ivy. What a simple solution." He studied the gray stone structure. "What else?"

"Sharp edges and angles are disruptive. In particular, the driveway runs straight from the entry gate to Dornleigh's front entrance. That is a 'poison arrow,' and it strikes to the heart of the house." She gave him a slanting glance, wondering if he would balk at her advice. "Change the course of the drive so it curves gently in front of the house."

He thought about it. "It would be hard to move the lower part of the drive because it runs between the rows of chestnuts, but the upper part can be curved without much trouble, and I think it will look better. Would that be good enough?"

She nodded, once more impressed at his flexibility. "Those changes would help the exterior greatly. Indoors, much can be done with the arrangement of furniture and changes in colors and draperies. Almost anything would be an improvement."

"Can I follow you around and ask questions?"

She almost smiled. He was definitely recovering some of his interest in life. "As you wish. Just remember that I don't have all the answers." If nothing else, when she was gone Kyle would be left with a happier house.

Leading her under a trellised arch of climbing roses, the vines winter-barren, he asked, "What about this little Greek temple? It's called a folly, and was a favorite retreat for Dom and me."

She nodded approvingly as she stepped into the grassy clearing. "Very nice as it is. One can feel the good chi."

He was beginning to understand the correlation of good chi with a pleasant, appealing environment. What a treasure Troth was. Too much had happened to ever recover the closeness they'd shared on the journey to Hoshan; he could feel the barriers she'd put up. But at least they were now civil with each other. Friendly, even.

As they walked toward the circular temple, a tiny creature raced out and ran across Troth's feet. Her face lit up and she knelt, waggling her fingers. "A kitten! Will you come to me, little one?"

It was a fat-tailed little beast, mostly gray with a white bib, paws, and whiskers. When it charged Troth playfully, she scooped it into her hands. "What a darling! Do you know where this kitten is from?"

"The stables. I've seen her playing there with her brothers and sisters. She's the friendliest of her litter. Adventurous, too, to come this far."

The kitten scrambled up Troth's sleeve and came to rest on her shoulder, small white whiskers quivering with curiosity. Troth scratched between the pointed ears. "We had a dog when I lived in Macao. I'm not sure what happened to him when I left and the household was closed down, but I've always feared that he ended up in a cooking pot."

Kyle shuddered. He knew the Chinese ate dog meat, and logically it wasn't that different from eating rabbits or pigeons, but he was too English not to find the thought abhorrent. "Perhaps your dog ended up guarding another house."

"I hope so. Watchdogs were treated well because they were useful. I wanted a pet at Chenqua's, but it was impossible to keep anything other than a cricket or a small bird, which was not what I wanted."

Kyle swallowed as he watched the unconscious sensuality in the way she rubbed her cheek against the soft fur. "You can have this kitten. She's old enough to leave her mother, and I'm sure the stable has cats to spare."

Her face briefly glowed with the bright pleasure he remembered from the journey to Hoshan. "Oh, Kyle, can I?"

"I suspect that Malloy, the head groom, will thank you for taking a kitten off his hands." He'd gladly shower Troth with diamonds, but if a small, living gift could produce such a smile, she could have every kitten in the kingdom.


"Do you love that sofa?" Troth asked.

Kyle contemplated the item in question, a relic of the so-called Egyptian style of several decades earlier. The sofa had been in the morning room as long as he could remember, and he'd accepted it as an unalterable fact of life. "I do not love that sofa. In fact, I dislike it excessively. The crocodile feet have a certain peculiar charm, but it's horribly uncomfortable, and that's a really vile shade of green."

"Then out it goes." Troth gestured to a pair of footmen, who dutifully lifted the sofa and lumbered out of the room with it.

Over the past fortnight, she had worked her way through the main rooms of the house, following several basic feng shui principles: a room should contain nothing broken, no clutter, and no object that didn't please the residents.

In the two centuries since Dornleigh had been built, it had acquired a great deal of clutter. Troth cut a steely-eyed swath through clumps of old furniture, bad paintings, horribly worn rugs, and other objects that had accumulated over the decades. Kyle followed in her wake, passing judgment on things she wanted to exile. If he was attached to a particular item, she would allow it to stay, but he found that when she questioned something, it was probably expendable.

Troth's treatment of the estate office had sealed his belief in feng shui. The small room contained all of the agricultural texts and account books, but Kyle had always hated the place. He spent time there only when estate management work couldn't be avoided.

After a gimlet survey, Troth had the desk moved so that whoever used it no longer had his back turned to the door. As soon as Kyle sat behind the desk in its new position, he realized how he'd disliked the feeling that someone could stealthily enter behind him when he was working.

Troth made a number of lesser changes, including the removal of a couple of spindly chairs and an unused table, and hanging a landscape painting he'd always liked. Kyle no longer had to force himself to do estate work.

Most of the ground floor had similarly benefited from her changes, and a new driveway was being laid out. It would take longer to implement her other suggestions, such as the ivy and new paint and wallpaper and draperies in several rooms, but he already felt more comfortable at Dornleigh than he ever had in the past.

The feng shui process made him think differently about the house he'd grown up in. He'd always been very aware that he was merely one in a long line of Renbournes. Nominally the house and estate would be his someday, but he was only a guardian whose job was to care for his heritage and leave it in good shape for his heir. The knowledge had always made him chafe at the restrictions that came with his inheritance.

Now Troth's changes made him recognize how much he could reshape his environment. Though his patrimony was still a sacred charge, the weight of Dornleigh lessened in his mind. As furniture and art and curiosities he'd sent back from his travels became part of the house's new look, he began to enjoy his home. Amazing.

Troth herself was a mixed blessing. He craved her company, and they spent a good part of each day together, starting with chi exercises in the garden or a ride across the estate, then her feng shui work. In most ways she was an easy and stimulating companion, interested in everything and full of fascinating information from her own background.

But there was a painful lack of anything personal between them. Though Troth was always amiable, she revealed none of her private thoughts.

Worse, she frequently mentioned the time remaining before the end of their handfast. The constant reminder was a sword of Damocles poised over his head.

"Smith, place that against the wall. What do you think, my lord?"

Called back to the present, Kyle studied the circular gilt-framed mirror that a footman was holding in place. "Hang away. Interesting how the mirror brightens the area and makes it seem larger. More alive. Where did you find this? I don't recall ever seeing it before."

"In the attics. There is enough furniture there to redecorate the house twice over." She regarded him thoughtfully. "It's time to do your bedroom."

He blinked, startled. "Is that necessary?"

"Yes." Without further discussion, she swept from the morning room and up the stairs to his bedroom.

By the time he caught up with her, she was standing in the middle of his room, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.

"Since this is your private area, it needs careful adjustment to keep your energy in harmony," she said briskly. "With that huge globe in your travel sector, of course you were always panting to run off. Worse, the bed is in the coffin position and must be changed immediately. No wonder you have not yet recovered fully."

"Coffin position?" He regarded the canopied bed on the opposite wall, its massive carved footboard jutting toward the door.

"Corpses are laid out with their feet facing the door before a funeral. Good for the dead, very bad for the living." She consulted the compass she had commandeered for feng shui use. "For your best rest, the bed needs to be moved to that wall."

"The room has always been arranged this way."

Her brows arched. "And you always wanted to leave, didn't you? Your instincts were correct."

He thought of the ghastly prison nightmares that still haunted him. If sleeping differently might lessen them, it was worth trying. "Very well, shift away."

"You'll sleep better, feel better."

Silhouetted against the window, Troth was an entrancing sight in her European gowns. She wore her skirts with grace and enticing sensuality, reveling in her freedom to be a woman. He had a swift, disorienting vision of scooping her onto the bed and making love to her.

His strength was definitely coming back.


While the furniture was being repositioned, Troth left to collect several decorative items Kyle's bedroom needed. When she returned, the footmen had finished their work and Kyle was settled in a wing chair with Troth's kitten, now named Pearl Blossom, in his lap. She guessed he'd picked Pearl up to prevent her from being crushed in the confusion, but the kitten, little traitor, was perfectly happy to sit and purr for him.

On a table in the southwest corner of the room, Troth set a cut-glass vase filled with flowers from the glasshouse. She'd done the arrangement herself, and given standing orders to the maid to make sure the flowers were always fresh. Dying flowers were bad feng shui. "This is an auspicious place for cut glass."

Kyle's gaze lingered on the globe's new position. "I think I shall like your alterations."

"You will." Troth produced a pair of ceramic Mandarin ducks she'd found packed away in the attic. It was her private joke-or perhaps gift-to improve the feng shui in the section of Kyle's bedroom that ruled romance and relationships. Mandarin ducks were a symbol of romance and fidelity. Always two-not one, not three, but two.

She'd silently balanced relationship sectors all over the house without explaining what she was doing. Kyle should be married within a year. Perhaps even Wrexham would find himself a comely widow when he returned from London and spent a few months in the house. Or perhaps not. She and Kyle agreed that the earl's personal apartments were not to be altered without his consent.

She placed the ducks beside the sparkling vase. "These Mandarin ducks were made in China. Very auspicious."

"I like having a piece of China in here."

She turned the ducks so they faced each other. "Twenty-eight days left."

His faint smile vanished. "Where will you go when you leave here, Troth? What will you do? What would you like to do?"

Her hands stilled on the brightly glazed ornaments. "Perhaps I shall stay in Scotland. Find a little cottage and learn to raise sheep."

"A lonely life."

"At least I should be able to afford living like that. Though perhaps not. I have the money left from what you gave me before we left Canton, plus a sum from Gavin Elliott as heir to your shares in Elliott House. Properly speaking it all belongs to you and should be returned. I've thought about seeking a clerk's job in a trading house in Edinburgh or London."

"You are not going to be driven penniless into the night," he said with exasperation. "I've always intended to settle an income on you-enough so you can be comfortable the rest of your life."

Her mouth twisted. "Wrexham suggested two thousand pounds a year, but that would be a great waste of money. No need to buy me off when I'll leave for nothing."

"Damnation, Troth! You're prickly as a hedgehog." He set Pearl Blossom on the floor and rose from his chair. "Stop throwing my father's wrongheaded notions at me. There is no question of 'buying you off.' You saved my life. Since I put a high value on that, why shouldn't I give you an annuity as a token of my gratitude?"

Gratitude. Another form of obligation. Simmering with anger, she said, "A hundred pounds a year will keep me well enough. You mustn't waste your patrimony on a former mistress. Better to keep the money for your pure-blooded sons and daughters."

He stalked to the table and glared at her over the bouquet. " Let me repeat: the question of 'pure-blooded' children will not arise, since I have no intention of ever remarrying. I'm no damned good at it."

She'd never seen him this angry before, not with her. Why was she goading him, implying that she was being ill-used by him and his family? His father was a gruff old bigot, but Kyle had always been unflinchingly honest with her. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't love her.

She had a swift memory of their night in Feng-tang, when he'd forced her to leave him to save her from the fury of the mob. If she had saved his life, he'd also saved hers. She had no right to anger. It was time to put it aside, before it corroded her soul. "You may not plan on remarrying, but life is surprising. Don't close the door to possibilities."

Pearl Blossom chose that moment to make a mighty leap onto the table. As the kitten enthusiastically jumped toward the flower arrangement, Troth scooped her off the tabletop. "You'd best keep your door closed, my lord, or dangerous females may enter and assault your person and possessions."

Cat on her shoulder, she pivoted around the bed and headed toward the door, wondering what woman would ultimately share that bed with him.

Not her. Never her.

Chapter 36

« ^ »

Damned if moving the bed didn't help. Kyle's nightmares subsided from regular horrors that woke him shaking in the night to occasional bad dreams. A vast improvement. His energy was also noticeably improved.

Unfortunately, none of that helped his relationship with Troth, who treated him with exquisitely polite coolness. A good thing she was keeping him at a distance, since his increasing strength was accompanied by a painful awareness of her.

This year England was cursed with an early, pleasant spring. All too soon it would be time for them to head north to Scotland-and when that happened, he knew in his bones that Troth wouldn't return with him.

But at least she was leaving him the chi exercises. The morning sessions left him calm and relaxed, ready to face what the day had to offer. He had several sets of loose Chinese-style garments made for himself, with two more sets for Troth so she wouldn't have to wear the same outfit every day.

Each morning she left the house silent as a cat, apparently indifferent to whether or not he joined her. He made a game of trying to intercept her when she left, or locate her in the gardens when he didn't, since she varied her exercise locations depending on weather and mood. This morning she was already heading out when he glanced from his window, so he'd have to search.

He'd become good at guessing, and wasn't surprised to find her in a small grove of fruit trees at the far end of the garden. With the trees flowering on a perfect spring morning, the location was irresistible, each puff of breeze sending petals drifting gently to the grass.

He paused at the edge of the grove, heart tightening as she moved gracefully through the shafts of sunshine that fluted between the branches. There was no one else like her, not in China or Europe or the Americas. This morning her hair was unbound, the dark mass swirling enticingly around her shoulders as she danced through the chi forms and blossom-scented air.

She turned and saw him, inviting him to join her with the warmest smile he'd seen in weeks. He fell easily into the tai chi patterns, visualizing energy flowing into him from the earth. The peace that unfurled within him was a balm. Though soon he'd be exercising alone, in hidden ways Troth would always be with him.

After leading him through three routines, Troth picked up a fallen branch and snapped the shorter branches off. "Now that you're stronger, we can try some sparring. Have you ever seen pole fighting? "

"Not wing chun style, but I've seen quarterstaffs in England and Indian stick fighting." He prepared a branch for himself. "These will break easily."

"Bamboo would be better, but no matter-we're not out to do damage." No sooner had Kyle prepared his stick than she slammed hers to the ground, using the bounce to send a blow upward at him. He blocked it barely in time, sweeping her stick aside.

They fell into a swift, playful bout of strike and counterstrike, complicated by the fact that their sticks weren't smooth. Kyle didn't like the idea of hitting Troth, but she had fewer inhibitions and landed several stinging blows. But even she wasn't fighting seriously-she could have done far more damage if she wanted to.

Becoming bolder as he recognized how adept she was at blocking him, he began to fight more aggressively. One swift rush sent her skittering up into the lower branches of a tree, setting off a shower of blossoms. Laughing, she said, "Well done! Did you learn to fight with a quarterstaff when you were a boy?"

He shook his head. "No, it was fencing with the best master in London. Not the same as stick fighting, but related."

With a theatrical cry, she leaped from the tree, stick swinging. He whacked back, and was rewarded with a sharp crack as both branches shattered.

Ruefully Troth regarded the piece left in her hands. "Thus endeth the stick-fighting session."

He tossed his broken branch aside, not wanting the sparring to end when both of them were enjoying it so much. "Maybe we can do the sticking hands exercise?"

"Very well." She raised her arms and he pressed his against them.

Slowly she began making circles in the air as he attempted to maintain the contact. Was that her energy he felt flowing into him, subtly flavored with essence of Troth? Or was he just under the spell of her brown eyes and supple, perfectly fit form? Chi wasn't the only kind of energy that was flowing between them. The attraction that had been building for weeks was in full spate this morning.

Smiling mischievously, she increased the pace and began to add footwork to the exercise, falling back or sidestepping deftly. Several times she almost eluded him, but he always managed to stay with her.

"You've become quite good," she said a little breathlessly. "Perhaps I should try to throw you. The ground is soft enough here so I won't do much harm."

"Confident, aren't we?" he said with a grin. "Go ahead, do your worst."

She advanced, shifting her weight before suddenly sliding her leg behind his and knocking him over. As she'd said, the turf was soft.

He rolled to his feet and connected with her hands again. "A few more years of practice and I may be able to do that to you."

Some of the enjoyment in her eyes dimmed. "You have only days to learn, my lord. Twenty-one, to be exact."

Why the hell did she keep reminding him? With a stab of irritation he shoved hard against her right hand. As she effortlessly countered, he swept his leg under her, dropping her to the ground.

Falling, she grabbed and yanked, pulling him from his feet so that they sprawled on the turf in a complicated heap, Troth half on top of him. She laughed, her face inches from his. "You learn quickly, my lord. Remind me not to underestimate you again."

Her hair cascaded silkily over his face and her breasts crushed against his chest, enticing as the fruit offered by Eve's serpent. Their gazes locked and levity faded as deeper, more primal emotions coiled between them.

He should pull away, stand up, ignore what he saw in her eyes. Instead he said huskily, "You're overestimating me if you think I can resist this much temptation." He pulled her head down and kissed her. It had been so long, so very long…

Her lips opened, her tongue touching his. He responded like a starving man receiving manna from heaven. How could he have forgotten the raw power of what was between them? He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her hard against him. "Dear God, Mei-Lian, I've wanted you so much. To touch, to hold, to love."

"What… what about the chi?" she said breathlessly. "We don't want to risk bursting into flame."

"I already have." Blood pounding, he rolled them over and kissed the satin curve of her throat. Her hands slipped under his loose tunic to caress his bare skin with electrifying effect. As her hands danced distractedly across his back, he raised her tunic and bared her breasts. She arched and moaned as his mouth covered her nipple, tugging as it hardened.

After almost a year's hunger, he couldn't get enough of her. Her pale, tender skin was faintly salty, delicious against his tongue. As he pulled off her loose trousers, a breeze scattered pink petals across her torso, a silken accent as he trailed kisses down her belly. Her legs separated under his hand, revealing her most secret female places so he could worship them with tongue and mouth.

She cried out at the intimate kiss, her hips thrusting urgently and her fingers tangled in his hair with sharply erotic power. "Oh, Kyle, Kyle!"

Her passion inflamed him, making him want to return it a thousandfold. Make this last, give her an eternity of pleasure, absorb the untamed wildness of her gasps as they echoed among the trees. After a culmination that went on and on and on, she groaned, "Enough. Dear gods, enough, or I shall die."

Panting, he rested his head on her belly, inhaling the intoxicating scents of sexuality. Her hands became a caress, stroking back his hair.

When she recovered her breath, she murmured, "Come to me now, my lord," and tugged at his hair. "My yin calls out for you."

He stripped, the cool spring air welcome against his heated flesh. She'd spoken truly, for her femaleness completed him as he buried himself inside her. Yin and yang, wholeness of body and spirit expressed in fierce movement and sudden taut stillnesses.

Together they spiraled higher and higher until she climaxed again, carrying him with her into a stunning plateau of ecstasy. Time vanished, leaving only sensation, and the captivating woman in his arms.

Tiring together, they slowed their frantic coupling to a tender, tidal rhythm where they matched each other breath for breath, pulse for pulse. Near exhaustion, he bent his head for a last kiss, wanting to inhale her essence into himself.

"In this, my lord, you are a master," she breathed against his lips as she curved her hips upward and clasped him internally with voluptuous power.

He shattered in a final convulsion, and his long-withheld seed flooded into her. Mind-hazing rapture paralyzed him, then ebbed to leave anger at his shameful loss of control. "Damnation!" Gasping for breath, he rolled onto his side and held her against him, as if shielding her body with his arms would protect her from his mistake. "I'm sorry, Troth. I didn't mean for that to happen."

His words were like a torrent of icy water, transforming her exhausted joy to ashes. How could she have been fool enough not to realize that it was her body he wanted to love, not her self? "Of course it was an accident. Dallying with a concubine should have nothing to do with the serious business of getting children."

"Don't speak like that." He cradled her head against his shoulder, as if a gentle touch could mitigate the bitter sting of his words. "The issue here is that one doesn't carelessly make children with a woman who doesn't want them."

She wrenched herself free and sat up, eyes blazing. "What a quandary that would be, if you had to decide between having an unwanted wife or bastardizing your own child. Don't worry-I didn't conceive that last time in Feng-tang, and it's unlikely I did now. You and your precious patrimony are safe from me."

He sat up, bracing himself with one arm while watching her as if she were a firecracker on the verge of explosion. "Do you truly believe I'm so intolerant that I would reject a child because it had mixed blood?"

She dropped her gaze, knowing she had been unfair. "I don't think you're intolerant." On the contrary, he was the most open-minded man she had ever met, but tolerance was no cure for what divided them.

"Desire is pointless-dangerous, even-when there is no deeper foundation." When there was no love. Yet now that they had coupled again, how could they keep apart as long as they lived under the same roof? It would be impossible. There was only one solution. With painful certainty, she said, "It's time for me to leave."

Shock flickered in his eyes. Trying to deny her real meaning, he said, "We could start for Scotland tomorrow."

"There is no 'we,' Kyle." She touched his cheek, aching. "We are more than old lovers, yet far less than mates. Being together is only hurting us both. I will go to Scotland alone."

A muscle jerked in his jaw. "It hasn't been a year and a day."

"The handfast was a… a social fiction. There is no reason to continue going through the motions when the whole point is that we are not married, and never were. The handfast can run its course as easily when we are apart as together. More easily." She stood, needing to get beyond the lure of touching him. "With or without your approval, I'm leaving, Kyle."

His naked body dappled by sunlight, he sat on the grass as still as a Greek statue except for the clenching and unclenching of one hand. At last he said, "Take the travel coach-it will be more comfortable. And… and if you decide to return it will be ready to bring you back."

"I won't return, my lord," she said softly. "What would be the point? " She pulled on her garments and braided her hair, wondering if they would have behaved so intemperately if she'd kept it tied decently back instead of wantonly loose. No, it was the playfulness between them that had proved their undoing.

He stood and dressed also, his hands clumsy with the simple garments. "Will you at least write now and then? Surely there is a strong enough bond between us for that."

"Perhaps. But first I need to get away. Far away." She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, an absurdly casual caress after the feverish intensity that had briefly fused them together. "I'm very glad to have known you, my dear lord."

He raised her hand and kissed it. "And I you. I… I wish things were different."

"So do I," she said with soul-deep regret. "So do I."


The travel coach would allow her to go like a turtle, with all her worldly goods on her back. It didn't take long to pack. Calmly she bade farewell to the servants she knew best, as if her departure were part of a long-existing plan. Bessy the maid and Hawking the butler stared at her with great accusing eyes, but spoke no reproach. She wondered how much they guessed of the situation between her and Kyle.

Just before going down to the coach the next morning, she realized she still wore his ring. She pulled it off and set it on the dresser, then found the matching Celtic knotwork bracelet Meriel had given her. Family treasures were held in trust, and she was no longer a Renbourne. She never really had been. She set the bracelet around the ring so that they were concentric circles, like the rings of a tree.

Beyond anger, she turned and walked away for the last time.

Chapter 37

« ^ »

There were times and places to get drunk, and Kyle was in one of them. He'd managed to see Troth off in proper fashion, loading her down with cash and a draft on his bank in Edinburgh to keep her until he had a settlement drawn up.

She had behaved with equal formality, manners impeccable, expression inscrutable. After all, they had both known this was coming. Just… not so soon.

After a pleasant nod, she climbed into the travel coach. She'd refused the offer of a maid to accompany her; Troth could and would take care of herself. Her only companion was her little cat, safely stowed in a covered basket.

He memorized her still profile before the footman closed the door. Hard to remember that twenty-four hours earlier they'd been twined in the ultimate intimacy.

After the well-sprung coach had rolled out of sight along the newly curving front drive, he'd gone upstairs to her bedroom. He'd never entered while she was here, but he wasn't surprised to see that the room had changed from his vague memories from seven years before. Furniture had been rearranged, hangings and decorations changed.

The effect was pleasant, but chillingly empty. All her possessions were on the coach heading to the Great North Road. There wasn't a shred of evidence that she'd lived here, except for her abandoned ring and bracelet. There was a terrible finality in the precise way she'd left them, one inside the other.

Saddling Nelson, he went for a blazing gallop over the hills. When they'd both tired, he converted his ride into tenant visits, a proper landlord checking on conditions during spring planting.

In younger days he'd felt suffocated by these responsibilities, with the implication that he was tied forever to the estate. Oddly, now he enjoyed the work even though he'd never have Dominic's genuine passion for farming. In the past, he'd always been a conscientious steward of the family properties. In the future, he would also find satisfaction in being part of the eternal cycles of the land.

Estate documents and correspondence kept him occupied until dinner. He ate in solitary splendor, face impassive. Then he retired to the study and set out to become seriously drunk. Not too quickly-that would be vulgar. A genteel lowering of the level in the brandy decanter should have him pleasantly foxed by mid-evening, and ready to retire upstairs, probably under his own power, an hour or two later.

Perhaps he should go to London. There were plenty of distractions there: endless entertaining, friends he hadn't seen in years, more time with his father.

Marriageable young ladies and ambitious mothers who would love to capture the next Earl of Wrexham.

He shuddered at the thought. Best to avoid London during the Season.

He was on his fourth glass of brandy when he heard distant voices in the entry hall. Hawking and someone else, probably a footman.

Then the study door opened and his brother entered in travel-stained clothes, as casual as if they'd dined together an hour before. "Ah, perfect. A glass or two of brandy will dispel the chill. It was a long ride."

Kyle stared, knowing he was nowhere near drunk enough to be hallucinating. "What the devil are you doing here?"

"Just passing by, so I thought I'd spend the night at Dornleigh." Dom poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into the other wing chair.

"Dornleigh is not on the way from Shropshire to anywhere you could possibly want to go."

"So I lied," Dominic said peaceably.

A footman arrived with a tray of food. Dom directed him to set it on a side table, then asked for a fire to be built. Kyle waited until the footman had complied and left before saying dryly, "Go ahead, make yourself at home."

"Well, it was my home for many years, and if any of the servants balk at obeying my orders, I can always pretend to be you. You need to add another stone of weight, though. It's too easy to tell us apart at the moment." Dominic stretched his feet toward the hearth. "You should also allow yourself more luxuries like fires-it's a cold night."

"Not after several brandies."

"Ah." Dominic set aside his glass in favor of ale and a sandwich made from crusty bread and thick slabs of ham. "What's wrong, Kyle? I've felt as if I've been kicked in the stomach since yesterday morning. I haven't been, so it must be you."

Kyle sighed. "How do you always know when things aren't going well?"

"You do it, too. Besides being twins, I think we both inherited a touch of Highland second sight from Mother. Remember that bad fall I had when hunting in the Shires? You knew immediately, and were at my bedside bullying me within two days."

Kyle remembered that time vividly, along with the almost unbearable fear he'd felt when his brother fought at Waterloo, and the days after when Dominic had been missing in action. Such awareness was the dark side of the twin bond they shared.

All levity gone, Dominic said, "I knew that something horrible had happened to you in China. I… I couldn't believe you were dead, yet thought I must be deluding myself because the horror didn't pass. Though it ebbed some after you were released from prison, it's never really gone away. For a long time I wondered if your soul was in purgatory." His voice dropped to a whisper. "It feels as if you still are."

His last sentence hung in the air as an oblique question.

No point in delaying the inevitable. "Troth left this morning for Scotland."

"For how long?"

"She won't be back. Ever."

Dominic gave him a slanting glance. "Hence the decanter of brandy."

"We never intended a real marriage, so we told people here that we'd performed a nominal handfast as a way of helping Troth leave China. With the year and a day mostly over, naturally she's gone."

Not fooled, Dominic said, "For someone who didn't want to be married, you're absorbing quite a lot of brandy in the absence of your nonwife."

Kyle closed his eyes, temples throbbing. "I'm… very fond of Troth. I'll miss her."

"So she was the one who wanted to end it? Odd. I had the impression that she was more than a little fond of you."

"Fondness isn't marriage."

Sandwich gone, Dominic returned to his brandy. "Are you going to make me pull this out of you one word at a time, Kyle? I will if necessary, but it will be easier for both of us if you just tell me what the devil went wrong."

Kyle stared at the licking flames, appreciating the warmth. He hadn't known he was cold until Dominic arrived. "It was… difficult for both Troth and me. As she said, we're more than old lovers, but less than true mates. I didn't like seeing her go, but it was the only fair thing to do. She has spent most of her life feeling like an outsider. She deserves to find a man who can put her in the middle of his world forever."

"And you can't?"

"I loved that way once. I'm not capable of doing it again."

"Let me see if I understand this properly. You're saying that you don't and can't love Troth, so even though losing her is tearing you up, that isn't love? "

"Not the way I loved Constancia." Kyle closed his eyes, remembering. "I never told even you this, but I married Constancia just before she died in Spain. Part of me died with her. I can never love anyone as I loved her."

Instead of showing decent sympathy, Dominic said, "Of course you can't. Your feelings for her were unique, rooted in whatever qualities made her special to you. More than that, Constancia was your first love, and a great love. But losing her doesn't mean you can't love another woman in a different but equally powerful way."

"I've never had your roving eye or resilient heart," Kyle said dryly.

"Until I met Meriel, I'd never been more than a little bit in love, though that was enough to teach me that each time and each woman is different. Thank God I've never lost a great love. If something happened to Meriel…" A shadow passed over Dominic's face. "Let's not talk about that. What I wanted to say is that love is not a finite substance that is used up and never replenished. The way you loved Constancia proves you have a tremendous capacity for loving. Isn't it possible that you already love Troth at least a little, and you might come to love her more with time?"

Kyle opened his mouth to deny it, then stopped. "How do you define love?"

"You don't believe in easy questions, do you?" Dominic absently flicked droplets of brandy into the fire, where they burst into blue flame. "Passion is the seed of romantic love, and it has flowered with the years in ways I could never have imagined when Meriel and I first married. But there is so much more. Friendship. Talking and trusting. The itchy feeling I get when I haven't seen her for a while. A tenderness that makes my heart glow just thinking about her." Another flurry of brandy flares. "The fact that I would give my life to save hers as instinctively as I breathe."

Kyle considered the list. Passion? He and Troth certainly shared that. Friendship and conversation, too. God knew he was itchy in her absence, and she'd always inspired protective tenderness. Nor would he hesitate to sacrifice himself for her, but that was a given, since she would have done the same for him. She'd risked her life to visit him in prison and would have tried to help him escape even knowing the attempt was doomed. Yet none of those qualities matched the depth of the closeness he'd had with Constancia. "Isn't love more than the sum of those parts?"

"Yes. But I don't have words to describe that," Dominic said slowly. "Except to say that Meriel is my heart. Yet oddly enough, when Philip was born, I found there was plenty of room in my heart for him, and for Gwynne in her turn. If we have another child, there will be more than enough love waiting."

"You're better at loving than I."

"We're not that different, Kyle. It's harder for you to let yourself feel, I think-you had to protect yourself more when we were growing up. But you have just as much to give-and just as strong a need to receive." Dominic frowned at the fire. "Would Constancia have wanted you to mourn her forever? "

"Of course not-she was the most generous of women, and her last words to me were that I should go forth and live. But knowing she would approve doesn't mean that my heart is capable of obeying."

"You and Constancia were together for many years. When you first met, did you feel as if you'd never love again if you lost her? "

"I… I don't know." Kyle frowned. "I've never thought about that. I suppose not."

Dominic said nothing, letting his point speak for itself. Kyle tried to compare how he felt about Troth with what he'd felt for Constancia in the first year or two of their liaison, but it was impossible. When he thought of Constancia, ten years of shared experiences were woven together into the profound love he'd felt for her at the end.

Besides, according to Dom he probably shouldn't try to compare his feelings for the two women. "You're saying it's too early to decide that I can never love Troth as much as I loved Constancia. But even if that's true, it doesn't take into account Troth's wishes. She was the one who decided it was time for her to leave."

"Very well, let's take her wishes into account. What is Troth's deepest desire?"

"For acceptance," Kyle said without hesitation. "A sense of belonging that she doesn't think she'll find here. A week after we came to Dornleigh she overheard a conversation between me and Wrexham at his most narrow-minded, and she was on her way to the Great North Road half an hour later. I managed to persuade her to return, but I think the incident convinced her that there was no hope of a lasting relationship."

"So battered and bruised, metaphorically if not physically, she decided it was time to part. But if she's half as miserable as you are, it may be worth making one last try. Love seldom falls neatly into one's lap. Usually it must be won the hard way."

Kyle said haltingly, "I don't know if I have the courage to try and fail."

"Would failure be harder than wondering forever if you might have been able to have a true marriage with Troth? She is unique."

"According to you, that would be true of any woman."

"Touché. All people are unique, but some are more unique than others. You'll never find another woman like Troth."

He knew that, but it didn't mean that he had the right to keep her. "You asked what Troth wants. What do you want, Dom?"

"Fifty more years of what I have now," his brother said promptly. "Meriel, my children and someday grandchildren, the knowledge that what I do as a landowner and magistrate makes a real difference to the people of Warfield and Shropshire. I'm a country squire at heart, Kyle. You'll need more to hold your attention, but politics should do the trick nicely. A chance for you to do the right thing on a larger scale."

His brother understood him well-sitting in the House of Lords and helping to shape the destiny of his homeland was one part of his inheritance that he'd always looked forward to. "Remember how I promised you Bradshaw Manor if you'd take my place with my mad fiancée?"

"It's not something I'd forget, since your crack-brained scheme changed my life."

"I intended to give you Bradshaw anyhow. I'd always planned on that, since it was the only piece of property I owned outright."

Dominic's brows arched. "When we were boys I assumed that you'd sign over a middling-size estate someday, but we were at loggerheads for so long I decided you'd changed your mind. But if you did intend to give me Bradshaw Manor, why the devil didn't you do it sooner instead of leaving me bored in London for years?"

Kyle smiled faintly. "I kept hoping you'd use your freedom to do something interesting, like travel to China."

Dominic laughed. "That was your dream, not mine. Amazing to think how many years I envied you for being born first. But I was the lucky one, wasn't I? I grew up without the constant pressure you had to endure."

Wrexham had closely monitored his heir's studies and behavior, personally wielding the whip when Kyle didn't live up to the earl's standards. It had been difficult, yet Kyle had borne the pain stoically. He'd also taken pride in the fact that sometimes he'd been able to deflect his father's ire from Dominic. As the elder, he'd considered that his duty, and he'd always done his duty.

Dominic said thoughtfully, "I've sometimes wondered-if I'd been born first, would I be you and you'd be me? I mean, would I have been the responsible twin, while you were the rebellious one? Or are the differences between us so innate that our temperaments would be the same even if we'd been born in reverse order?"

"Damned if I know, Dom. And trying to work that out will undoubtedly give me a headache tonight."

"Any headaches you have will be from brandy." Dominic got to his feet, smothering a yawn. "Which is putting me to sleep. I'll see you in the morning."

"Thanks for coming," Kyle said quietly.

Dominic briefly rested a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "You can also think yourself into a headache wondering about Troth. Perhaps it would be simplest just to ask yourself if you're better off with her, or without her."

After his brother left, Kyle set aside his brandy, no longer interested in drinking himself into oblivion. Dominic's last question was no help. Though Kyle might be better off with Troth than without her, the reverse was not true.

What had his first year or so with Constancia been like? There had been erotic intoxication, of course, and not only because he'd been a virgin and she was a courtesan exquisitely skilled in pleasing men. Their lovemaking had always contained a powerful emotional element that went beyond the intense physical pleasure, though it had taken him a decade to recognize how deeply he had loved her.

Dominic was right that he shouldn't compare his mature love for Constancia with the turbulent feelings he had for Troth. With Constancia, there had been a deep sense of peace and belonging. Though he desired Troth as he'd never thought he could desire a woman again, the foundation of the relationship wasn't peace, but a raw neediness that he hated to acknowledge because it might destroy them both. He would come to despise himself for his weakness, while she would despise him for clinging to her so desperately. That did not fit any sane definition of love.

But if he was too much a coward to explore the possibilities with Troth now, he'd never forgive himself.

More than that, he wanted her-wanted her more than he'd ever wanted anything or anyone in his life. Winning her would not be easy; it might not even be possible.

The haze of illness and depression that had paralyzed him had finally lifted. Perhaps he was not so needy, not so desperate, that he would inevitably drive Troth away.

There was only one way to find out.

Chapter 38

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Melrose

The Scottish border country


"I've come home, Father." Troth laughed aloud as the wind caught her cloak, whipping it out like a dark banner as she explored the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey. She felt deep satisfaction at fulfilling the promise she had made on her father's grave.

The abbey was one of the childhood haunts he'd described to her, and she could almost feel him beside her. Repeated battles between Scots and English had turned the religious foundation into roofless, battered buildings where grazing sheep trimmed the grass to velvety elegance. The setting made her feel like the heroine of one of the Gothic romances she'd read at Warfield.

Somewhere in the ruins, there should be a villain waiting to assault the innocent maiden. At the last minute, just before the villain could have his evil way with her, the hero would appear and prove his love in manly combat. Of course, Troth was no innocent maiden, and she was quite capable of overcoming any villains without aid, but being rescued by a handsome, adoring hero certainly had romantic appeal.

She paused respectfully at the grave of Sir Walter Scott, who'd lived nearby and been buried here the year before. Her father had known the writer as a boy. During the winter she'd devoured Scott's dashing historical tales of Scottish love and adventure. Scott had chosen a pleasant place to rest his bones for eternity, though today it seemed devoid of either villains or heroes.

Or was it? Through an empty window she caught a glimpse of a dark-clothed male figure exploring the ruins. The fellow rather reminded her of Kyle, but many men had done that on her trip north. She was haunted by the ghost of a man who wasn't dead.

If he were here, what role would he play, villain or hero? Smiling at her fancies, she reversed course to avoid the stranger, preferring solitude. She didn't need company. For now, it was enough to be in Scotland. There had been the usual curious stares at her odd appearance, but Scots had a deep natural courtesy, and most became downright friendly after they heard her accent.

Deciding to look at the river that ran behind the abbey, she left the church-and almost jumped out of her skin when she found herself on the verge of colliding with the other sightseer. Dear gods, it was Kyle!

She stared, heart pounding. "My lord?"

He fell back a step. "In person. Sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

Getting a grip on her imagination, she said coolly, "Have you come to retrieve your carriage? "

"I've come to see you." His intent gaze was disquieting.

"How did you find me?"

"It's not hard to track a coach with a crest on the doors, especially since you once mentioned that your father's family lived near Melrose. As to finding you here, the owner of the inn where you're staying said you were walking to the abbey, so I thought I'd follow the path here myself. It's a good hike."

"But why?" she said helplessly.

"To talk to you." He scanned the ruins. "Are you ready to return to Melrose, or do you wish to spend longer here?"

"I've seen enough for today." It would be impossible to resume sight-seeing now that Kyle had appeared.

He offered his arm, and she automatically accepted, unable to prevent herself from enjoying his company. After they'd walked a stretch of path in silence, he said, "Your Scottish accent is already stronger. Is the country living up to your expectations?"

"It is indeed." She raised her head, feeling the fresh breeze on her face. "In a triumph of breeding over upbringing, I love the cool air and the ever-changing skies. It's like… like coming home. The shadows and light and hills are exactly as I dreamed. I feel as if I must have lived here in other lifetimes."

"Perhaps you have."

"Some Buddhism has definitely rubbed off on you."

"I think it has. Certainly some places call to our hearts. It was like that for me when I saw my folio of Chinese prints; I felt that China was part of me, and that I'd never be happy unless I visited there."

"Your passion had the advantage of making you less narrow-minded than most men of your class." She glanced at him, remembering their journey to Hoshan. "Did you want to stay in China?"

"If I'd had the choice, I'd have become a China trader like your father, spending most of my time in Macao and Canton," he said thoughtfully. "However, since my responsibilities are in Britain, I'm reasonably content now that I've had my visit."

"If you've learned how to be content, the last year hasn't been wasted. When I met you, the word 'restless' is what came to mind."

His gaze became intent again. "The last year has definitely not been wasted, difficult though it was at times."

Wanting to avoid deep discussions, she lifted her skirts and hopped a puddle left from an earlier shower. "It's odd that this part of Scotland is called the Lowlands when it's hillier than much of England."

"True, but these hills are modest compared to the Highlands, where my mother was born." He looked toward the misty north. "In theory, England and Scotland are one nation now, but I doubt that will ever be wholly true."

"My father would have agreed with you." She glanced away from him, wondering why Dominic was merely handsome while Kyle, who looked just like him, made her knees go weak.

"Have you found any members of his family yet?"

Her fingers tightened on his arm. "I know he had a brother named James Montgomery, but when I asked the innkeeper at the Auld Bruce Inn, he said there were five men of that name in the district. I don't know if I want to inquire further. Perhaps I'll stay in Melrose for another day or two, then go on to Edinburgh."

"If you like, I can help find the right man, and go with you to call on him."

Uncomfortable with how clearly he saw her fears, she reverted to her earlier question. "Give me a better reason for why you're here, Kyle. To make us both miserable again?"

"I hope not." He hesitated. "I… I suppose I've come to court you."

She stared at him in astonishment. "You want to court me?"

"Better late than never." He smiled wryly. "About twelve hours after you left, Dominic appeared and essentially told me I was a damned fool where you're concerned. He's undoubtedly right."

Her heart constricted. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I still don't know if I'm capable of ever being the kind of husband you deserve," Kyle said with painful honesty. "But I don't want to throw away what's between us if there is a chance there could be more."

"It may be too late for that." She bowed her head, wanting to weep. She loved him, had loved him almost from the beginning, but she no longer believed they might have a future together. Why did he have to come and confuse everything just when she had finally recognized the path she must follow?

Though it was too soon for conclusive proof, she felt in her bones that they had conceived a child together when they had made love among the apple blossoms. She felt different in ways she had no words for. She was even willing to guess that the child would be male, because she sensed a glow of yang energy deep inside her.

The prospect filled her with joy, but also made her realize that she didn't want a child of hers to be raised at Dornleigh with a grandfather who despised his mixed blood, and a father who had taken such pains to avoid impregnating his mistress. Her child would be raised with love and acceptance, even if she had to return to Macao to find that.

"Are you sure it's too late? We've never had any normal time together, Troth. You were pretending to be a man, or we were making an illegal journey, or I was confused and convinced the gentlemanly thing to do was send you away. Wouldn't it be nice to simply enjoy each other's company without any complications, and see what might come of it?"

"I cannot imagine things being simple between us."

"We can start by not being lovers." His mouth softened into a faint smile. "A proper courtship isn't supposed to include a bed."

"I'm not sure if I can be with you and not think about beds."

His gaze went over her with scorching intensity. "Isn't that a good reason to try courting and see where it might lead?"

Nervously she tugged her cloak tighter. "What's the point of trying, Kyle? I don't belong in your world. I never will. That would be true even if your father approved of me, which he certainly doesn't. How can you find happiness if you disobey his wishes?"

"In Britain, children don't obey their fathers anywhere near as often as they do in China. Besides, Wrexham said before he left for London that part-Chinese grandchildren were better than none from me at all, which is the alternative."

"This is approval?" she said scathingly.

"For him, yes." Kyle took her hand and resumed walking, detouring around two placidly grazing sheep. "Wrexham might not be the ideal father-in-law, and your life has been so far outside his experience that you unnerve him in ways that go beyond your Chinese blood. But if we choose to become properly married, I guarantee he will accept you into the family, and defend you against the king himself if necessary. As for my brother and sister-well, they already consider you a Renbourne. It will go hard on me if I let you get away."

"That's all very well, but I'm not convinced."

"Convincing takes time, which is why courtship was invented." His hand tightened around hers. "Give me until the handfast ends, Troth. If a year and a day after we pledged ourselves in Feng-tang we decide we have no future, we can part gracefully, and without regrets."

She bit her lip. If she really was pregnant, she owed it to her unborn child not to refuse this last attempt to build a true marriage. "Very well. Until the handfast ends."

He turned her toward him and lifted her chin to give her a slow, sweet kiss in which passion was deliberately banked. His lips were warm and achingly familiar.

Though part of her yearned to lean into his warm, well-loved body, even more she wanted the simplicity he was offering. But it was far too late for that.

He stepped back, his breathing quickened. "Thank you, Troth. I'll do my best to be better company in the next weeks than I've been in the last."

"That wouldn't be hard."

"Too true. I've been such a confused bore for the last month that I could barely stand my own company. No wonder you left." He took her arm and resumed walking. "About your father's family. Visiting them might be a risk, but clearly you're a risk taker, Troth Montgomery. Shall I make some inquiries?"

She took a deep breath. "Find them for me, Kyle. It's time I met the only blood kin I have."

Though they didn't belong together forever, she might as well take advantage of his presence to help her face the terrors of family.


Luckily the Auld Bruce Inn was large enough to have a private parlor where Kyle and Troth could dine together, since they were both guests there. She brought her kitten down from her room for company, or possibly as a chaperon, since Pearl Blossom liked to sit on laps, which tended to make one think twice before succumbing to passion.

Kyle approved-he needed all of the second thoughts available, since he had a nearly overwhelming desire to take Troth in his arms. Which would not be good, given her prickly wariness. He must move slowly and carefully with her, winning her friendship and trust again, or he would lose this last opportunity she had granted.

After they returned from the abbey, he'd gone in search of information about her father's family, but he waited until the meal was finished before giving her his news. "I talked to the local minister, and I think I've located your uncle."

Troth's fingers tensed on her teacup. "Are you sure?"

"Certain. There may be five James Montgomerys, but only one had a brother named Hugh who went to China to make his fortune. After leaving Scotland he returned only twice, the last time more than twenty years ago, but he hasn't been forgotten. It wasn't hard to find the right James Montgomery."

Troth leaned forward. "What else did you learn about my uncle?"

"Like his father before him, he's a schoolteacher."

"Yes! I'd forgotten that, but I remember Papa talking about how his father and brother were teachers." She sipped her tea, eyes distant. "I suppose that was why Papa was so keen on my education. He taught me European subjects himself, and made sure I had good tutors for Chinese language and literature and history."

"Scots have always had a passion for education. My mother was one of the best-read and best-informed women I've ever known. Rather like you."

Troth dropped her gaze and petted her cat. "Is my uncle nearby?"

"He lives in a cottage just outside of Melrose with his family. Easy walking distance." Kyle swirled the wine in his glass, praying that an educated man would welcome his exotic niece even if her birth was irregular by British standards.

And if Montgomery rejected her, Kyle would… would…

He wasn't sure what he would do. But it was a pity that dueling was illegal.

Chapter 39

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Tense as a drum, Troth clutched her father's Bible as she and Kyle walked down the lane that led to the home of James Montgomery, schoolteacher.

"That must be the place." Kyle indicated a well-kept, larger-than-average stone cottage with whitewashed walls and a cat snoozing beside the door. He glanced at her. "The worst will soon be over."

She nodded, her mouth too dry for speech. Kyle knocked on the iron-bound door. All too quickly it was opened by a tall man who said pleasantly, "Can I be helping you?"

Troth's breath caught in her throat. Dear gods, he looked like her father! The same height and long-boned face, the same thick, reddish brown hair, now heavily salted with gray. He was a few years younger than her father, she thought.

"You're James Montgomery, brother of the late Hugh Montgomery of Macao?"

The man's bushy brows arched. "Aye."

Kyle took Troth's arm and drew her forward. "Allow me to present your niece, Troth Montgomery, who has recently arrived in Britain."

Montgomery's long jaw dropped, and there was so much shock in his gray eyes that Troth would have bolted if Kyle hadn't had a firm grip on her elbow. Then he raised his voice to a schoolteacher's boom. "Mother, Jeannie-Hugh's Troth is here!"

Seizing her hand, he pulled her into the cottage. Within seconds, two women appeared from the next room, wiping floured hands on aprons. One was an attractive redhead of middle years who must be Montgomery's wife, and the other a tall, very erect old woman with snow-white hair.

As two dogs began to bark, the white-haired woman stepped up to Troth. She must have been close to eighty, but her gaze was keen. "My Hugh's daughter," she said wonderingly. Tears appeared in her eyes. "Ye look just like him, child."

Which was such a patently foolish statement that as the old woman hugged her, Troth began to cry. "I… I didn't know I had a grandmother," she said helplessly.

She had envisioned many possible scenes, from bitter rejection to grudging acknowledgment, but never once had she thought to receive such instant, wholehearted welcome. As her grandmother guided her to an oak settle where she could cry in comfort, she heard Kyle introduce himself as Maxwell, while her uncle introduced his wife, Jean, and his mother, Mairead. James ended by saying, "We thought you'd drowned in the shipwreck with Hugh. Where have you been all these years, lass?"

"In Canton," Kyle replied, since Troth was less than coherent. "A Chinese merchant friend of her father's took her in after she was orphaned."

As Troth tried to pull herself together, one of the shaggy dogs put its paws on her knees and thrust a wet nose against her cheek. Laughing and crying at the same time, she straightened and fumbled for a handkerchief. Kyle handed her his.

After blowing her nose and blotting her eyes, she said, "I'm sorry for making such a spectacle of myself, but I… I didn't know if I'd be welcome here."

"My son's only child not welcome?" Mairead said. "What gave ye such a daft notion?"

Troth said bluntly, "Because I'm half-Chinese, and my parents weren't properly married by Scottish standards."

"Your parents were wed by Scottish custom, and even if they hadn't been, you're still my brother's girl," James replied.

"My parents were married?" Troth said, startled.

"Aye," Mairead answered. "Hugh and Li-Yin pledged their troth in the old Scottish way, just the two of them before God." Tenderly she smoothed back her granddaughter's hair.

Fascinated, Troth said, "Would that kind of marriage be legal in Macao? "

" 'Twas good enough for him, and 'tis good enough for us," Jean said placidly. "Your parents never spoke of this?"

"No, and I never thought to ask about it." Troth had presumed that Li-Yin was a concubine, a legitimate status in China. Marriage had never occurred to her.

Now that she knew her parents had sworn vows, she could understand why the subject had never been mentioned. "In Macao, many Fan-qui had Chinese concubines and mixed-blood children, but for a European to have married his mistress would have caused great scandal. One man who did that was forced out of his trading company. My father must have decided it was more discreet to keep their vows private."

He had called Li-Yin "my lady," which Troth had always found courteous and romantic. Now that she thought about it, she recognized that her father's moral code wouldn't have permitted him to live in sin, so he'd married Li-Yin in the traditional way, telling only his family back home. There was no need for the European community in Macao to know that he'd scandalously made a wife of his mistress.

"I think it's time for a wee cup of tea." Jean, who'd been in the kitchen, emerged with a tray containing a plate of shortbread and a huge steaming teapot. "Too much drama puts an edge on the appetite."

Nerves had kept Troth from eating earlier, so she welcomed the bracing tea and the heavenly shortbread, still warm from the oven. It was every bit as good as her father had said. When her appetite was appeased, she surveyed the circle of newfound relatives. "Don't you have any doubts about whether I'm who I say I am? I've got my father's Bible, if you'd like to see it."

Mairead waved away the book. "Nae need. Ye do look like him, for all the Chinese blood. Ye have his ears, and something of the shape of his face, and there's just a look of him. Hugh knew how much I longed to see my granddaughter, so he wrote of ye often. He was that proud ye were so pretty and clever, and said that with two languages ye'd be a great boon to his business." She shook her head sadly. "I asked him to bring his family home for a visit, but he wouldna separate you from your mother, and he thought the trip would be hard on her."

He'd been right-her mother would have hated taking the long sea voyage to this strange northern land, though she would have done it to please Hugh. But her father would not have forced Li-Yin to do something she disliked. Refusal to coerce a woman was a good trait in a man, one that Kyle shared.

"Now that you're here, I can hand over your father's fortune, and it's glad I am to be free of it," James said. "Since his will left everything to you and we thought you drowned, the money came to the family."

"But how can there be any money?" Troth asked, startled. "At the time he died, my father was in debt. Surely Chenqua, the merchant who took me in, wouldn't have lied when he said I was penniless!"

"Likely Mr. Chenqua didn't know about Hugh's British account," James said. "He sent most of his profits to a bank in Edinburgh, keeping only enough in Macao to buy new trading stock. That's probably all your merchant friend knew about."

"That must have been the case," Kyle agreed. "Even if Chenqua had known there was money in Britain, he'd have assumed you were penniless because Chinese women can't inherit, can they?"

Troth accepted his explanation with relief. Of course it had been that way. It was impossible to imagine Chenqua as dishonest. He'd been a merchant for forty years, never using any contract more formal than his spoken word.

She studied the welcoming Montgomery faces again. How very different her life would have been if someone in the British trading community had thought to send her to her father's family. She would have been raised here, accepted and loved, even been a bit of an heiress. "How much did my father leave? "

"Some has been spent," James said. "But there's about ten thousand pounds left."

Troth's jaw dropped. Ten thousand pounds was a modest fortune-enough to keep her in comfort for the rest of her life if she was careful. Troth would never be poor-or powerless-again. Her voice full of wonder, she said, "You believed you were the legitimate heirs. Why didn't you spend more? Buy an estate or move to Edinburgh or London?"

Mairead looked surprised. "Why would we want to do a daft thing like that? Melrose is home, and we've all that we want here."

"Some of the money was used to send our two lads and a couple of your cousins to university," James added. "Our oldest, Jamie, is a doctor in Edinburgh, and our younger boy, named Hugh for his uncle, is studying there, too. He wants to come back here and teach. Our daughters were dowered with cottages of their own when they married, for 'tis a fine thing to own the roof over your head." A sobering thought struck him. "We'll pay you back, of course, though it will take a bit of time."

"Don't forget, we also used some of Hugh's money to build the new kitchen," Jean said, concern in her eyes. "We must do a proper accounting for Troth."

"Nonsense!" Troth said immediately. "My father would have wanted for his nephews to have an education, and for you to have a grand kitchen, I'm sure. And if he wouldn't have-well, I do."

Jean relaxed. "You're generous, lass."

Troth grinned. "It's easy to be generous with money I never knew I had."

"What are your plans now? You'll be spending some time with us, I hope."

She glanced at Kyle. "We thought we'd visit Kyle's house in the Highlands, then spend some time in Edinburgh."

"But certainly a few days here first," Kyle said. "And you can return to Melrose after we visit Kinnockburn."

"Good! We've time to hold a grand cèilidh to welcome our lost lamb home," Mairead said robustly.

Troth's brows drew together. "What is a 'kay-lee'?"

"A celebration with music and food and dancing," Jean explained. "We'll get Jamie and Hugh down from Edinburgh. They'll want to meet their long-lost cousin."

"We should invite Caleb Logan, Hugh's old partner," James suggested. "He's on a visit home and sent me a note to let me know. Most courteous of him. Do you remember him from your days in Macao, Troth?"

She'd known him in Canton, but she wasn't yet ready to discuss that part of her life. "My father mentioned Logan sometimes, but my mother and I never met Papa's business associates." Except for Chenqua, who would sometimes visit Li-Yin and gravely present small gifts to Troth.

"A cèilidh it is then." Mairead glanced at her son and daughter-in-law. "Surely Troth should stay here while she's in Melrose. The attic room the girls used is a wee cozy place. Would ye like that?"

"I'd love it!" Troth exclaimed, her heart brimming with happiness.

Mairead made a shooing motion at her son and Kyle. "Then off with ye. James, go tell yer sisters the news. Jean and I need to talk to our lass."

Troth looked at Kyle with such shining happiness that it made his heart ache. She had gazed at him like that in the beginning.

Guessing what Troth's grandmother had in mind, Kyle wasn't surprised when James paused to light a clay pipe outside in the lane, then said, "I don't believe you've mentioned your relationship to my niece, Mr. Maxwell. Are you betrothed?"

"We're friends." Kyle weighed what version of the truth would be best. "Like Troth, I'm half-Scot, so to help her leave China, I suggested we handfast. The legality is arguable, but the year and a day will be over soon, so she'll be free."

And when that happened, he suspected that she'd settle in Melrose forever, enfolded in the warmth of the family she'd always yearned for. He was happy for her-who could have seen her radiant face and not been glad?-but bleakly recognized that now that she had a family and a modest fortune, she no longer had any need for him.

Schoolmasters by their nature were very good at spotting lies and evasions. "There's a lot you're not saying, lad," James said shrewdly. "Are you intending to marry properly? You seem to be a good deal more than friends."

"She saved my life in China. I was presumed dead, and returned to England some months later than she. We're now trying to decide if we want to be really married."

"But you're willing to do the honorable thing?"

"I'm willing. She has doubts, justifiable ones." Responding to James's questioning gaze, Kyle added, "I'm no libertine, if that's what you're wondering, but it's Lord Maxwell, not Mr. Maxwell. I'm heir to the Earl of Wrexham, and Troth isn't sure she'd fit into my world. Or if she'd even want to try."

"She has her father's good sense, as well as his generosity. It's like a miracle to see her here." James puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. "If she decides to marry you, at least she doesna have to worry that you're after her fortune, since it was obviously as much a surprise to you as it was to her."

"A surprise, but a good one. No matter what happens, Troth has enough money to secure her future. I've no need for her inheritance, though. My own is larger than any sane man would want."

The older man looked at him shrewdly. "So you've learned that money is as much curse as blessing. That's why we did little with Hugh's legacy. I'd rather have my sons be doctors and teachers than dissolute fops." He waved his pipe at the next cottage. "My sister Annie's place. She has three daughters, so be prepared for screaming when I break the news. It's not every day one acquires a fascinating new cousin."

Nor was it every day that one lost a fascinating woman-but Kyle could feel it happening, inch by agonizing inch.

Chapter 40

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The Montgomerys put on a cèilidh to remember. It took place in the assembly room attached to the inn and featured mountains of food, rivers of drink, a gaggle of musicians, and what appeared to be half the population of Berwickshire.

As guest of honor, Troth was in constant demand for dancing and conversation. Kyle watched her from a quiet corner on the fringes of the celebration. This was her night, and she deserved to enjoy every minute of it. Face flushed and hair flying, she was beautiful. Wisely, she'd chosen one of her less elaborate gowns so she wouldn't be overdressed for the occasion, and with her athletic grace she'd picked up the exuberant, foot-stamping reels with no problem.

She looked as if she had been born for this place and these people. In fact, she had been. It had just taken her a long time to find her way home.

Since she'd moved from the inn to her grandmother's house, Kyle had seen less of her, and that always in company. He'd hoped for more from this courtship. But perhaps that was for the best. He was coming to terms with the bitter fact that he needed her while she really had no need for him.

Two middle-aged women who'd been crossing the hall came to a stop in front of him. One said, her gaze on Troth, "Seems a nice girl, but verra foreign-looking."

"The Montgomerys don't seem to mind," the other said. "Though I certainly wouldna want my son to marry her."

"Even though they say she's heir to a fine fortune?"

"Och, I'd be a terrible mother to stand in the way of my son's happiness," the other said mockingly.

Kyle was tempted to confront the two women, but neither Troth nor her family would welcome his creating a scene in the middle of the cèilidh, so he moved away. Though the Montgomerys had welcomed their prodigal granddaughter, some of the locals were more critical.

"Maxwell! Will ye have a wee dram with me?"

He turned to see Caleb Logan, the China trader down from Edinburgh, approaching with a bottle and a couple of small glasses. Though Kyle had run into him regularly in Canton, he hadn't realized that Logan had once been Hugh Montgomery's partner, or he would have done some quiet probing to learn more about what Troth's father had been like.

"Let's drink to Scotland, and the most unusual lassie in the Borders!" Logan said jovially as he handed over a glass of clear amber whiskey.

"To Scotland and Troth Montgomery." Kyle tossed back the fierce spirits, glad he hadn't had much to drink so far this evening. Logan was one of the more successful traders in Canton, and typical of his breed: shrewd, pragmatic, and determined to make a fortune large enough to allow him to retire to Scotland in grand style. "Good to see you again. How was your voyage home from China?"

"Fine indeed. I traveled with a cargo of best Bohea tea, and sold it at a premium price." Logan swallowed his dram and poured another. "Hugh would be glad to know his daughter has come home to Scotland."

"When Montgomery died in the shipwreck, was there any thought of sending Troth back to his family?" Kyle asked curiously.

Logan shook his head. "Not that I know of. He kept her and her mother very private. Even I never saw her, though Hugh and I worked together daily when I first went out East. After Hugh drowned, Chenqua told me the girl was going to live with Chinese relations, which seemed reasonable enough. No point in uprooting the lass and sending her halfway around the world if she had family nearby."

Chenqua had said Troth had Chinese relatives? That was strange. Li-Yin had come from the north, and had no communication with her family after she was sold as a concubine.

An uneasy thought struck him. Might Chenqua have told Logan that Troth had family so he could keep Troth's linguistic skills for his own use? Kyle disliked the idea that Chenqua might have turned Troth into a virtual slave for purely selfish reasons. Of course, from Chenqua's point of view, he might have been doing Troth a favor by offering a worthless mixed-blood girl-child a chance to be useful. "It must have been hard on your business when Montgomery and his ship went down."

"Aye, it took a lot of hard work, juggling of finances, and cooperation from Chenqua to stave off bankruptcy. By the next year, though, things were looking better, and I've done well enough since."

Remembering what Gavin had said, Kyle remarked, "In Canton, I heard hints of some kind of scandal about Montgomery. Why was that? "

Logan gave him a hard look. "There's no point in speaking ill of the dead."

"Did Montgomery do something that bad?"

Logan made a negative gesture with his glass. "Don't be thinking Hugh was a criminal. He was a damned good fellow in most ways. But… maybe a bit of a hypocrite."

Had Montgomery dealt in opium even as he preached against it? Or was there some other old scandal? Logan was right-there was no point in unearthing old tales, especially ones that might hurt Troth. He hoped she'd never heard any of the China traders disparaging her father. Changing the subject, he asked, "Do you have a family here in Scotland?"

"Aye. My wife went out with me to Macao at the beginning, but she hated the climate, and after we had a couple of bairns, she decided to come home for fear of the fever and illnesses there. That's why I come back regularly-to remind my family who their lord and master is." He chuckled. "Of course, when I'm here I miss my China girl, but there will be a fine welcome waiting when I return to Macao." His gaze rested on Troth. "There's something about Chinese women that European females can't match."

"Perhaps you should have brought your concubine along for your amusement," Kyle said dryly.

"I considered it, but all hell would have broken loose. By the way, what's this I hear about you and Hugh's daughter? Some say you're married, some not."

Kyle pulled out the official story once more. "We just performed a nominal handfast to help her come to Britain. The term of that will end soon."

"Och, that makes sense. She's a bonnie lass for sure, but a man in your position obviously couldn't marry her for real."

If Logan had made a comment implying that Kyle had done the handfast so he could sleep with Troth, then discard her, Kyle would have broken the whiskey bottle over the other man's head. Luckily, Logan had too much sense for that. Instead, he slanted a crafty glance toward Kyle. "I had some of Elliott House's Earl's Blend Tea. Fine stuff. Should do well. What's in it?"

Kyle smiled. "I may not be a real trader, but I know better than to answer that."

"It was worth a try. No matter, give me some time and I'll figure out the blend," Logan said, unabashed. "All's fair in love, war, and business."

"When do you return to China?"

"July, so I can reach Canton just as the new trading season opens. I wanted to spend spring in Scotland. I miss the summers, though not the winters. I hear you and your handfast bride are going to be taking a trip up to the Highlands?"

"We're leaving the day after tomorrow for Kinnockburn, north of Stirling. My mother was a Highlander, and she left some property there."

"Be sure to take Hugh's daughter to Castle Doom on the way. That will give her a rare view of the Highlands. No doubt you've been there?"

Castle Doom was the nickname of a ruined fortress on top of a ferociously steep hill, and it had some of the grandest views in central Scotland. "It's been years since I visited the place, but you're right, Troth would enjoy it very much. We'll stop on the way to Kinnockburn."

He was determined to make her journey a memorable one, because he suspected that it would be his last chance to win Troth's heart.


So exhilarated that she discarded caution, Troth skipped over to Kyle and caught his hands. "Come, my lord. I swear you're the only man here I haven't danced with yet."

" You haven't danced with me," Caleb Logan said, his eyes gleaming with discreet lust. He was one of those men who was stimulated by the thought of mounting exotic women, Troth suspected.

Face straight, Kyle said, "Troth Montgomery, meet Caleb Logan, who was once your father's partner."

"Good evening, Mr. Logan." Troth curtsied gracefully, as if she hadn't seen him often in Canton. But Logan had obviously not made the connection between the interpreter Jin Kang and his old partner's daughter, and she wasn't about to enlighten him. "I heard of you from my father, of course, though it's been many years."

"What did he say?" Logan asked curiously.

"That you showed great promise, and you'd end up a rich man."

Logan laughed. "Hugh must have had a bit of the second sight."

While the trader was still chuckling, Troth detached Kyle and led him onto the floor as the dance music was starting. "I hope you haven't drunk so much whiskey you'll fall flat on the floor."

He smiled at her wickedly. "I'm enough of a Scot to dance best when I've had a wee dram or two or three."

It was the truth, too. He danced the old Scottish reels with passion, swift, sure footwork, and a clasp that dizzied her with his nearness when it was time to whirl her around. Damning the consequences, she gave herself up to the magic of the moment, for dancing was the closest thing to making love that she dared do with him.

When the reel was done, he took her arm and steered her to the table where cool, tart lemonade was being dispensed. As they sipped their drinks, he asked, "Have you been doing your chi exercises? I came by the Montgomerys' garden the last couple of mornings, but didn't see you."

"I'm afraid not. My grandmother and aunt have been keeping me too busy. I had no idea that so many cousins existed in the world," she said guiltily, knowing she could have found time if she'd wanted. But this early in her acquaintance with her father's family, she didn't want to do anything as strange as wing chun in the garden. Though they'd accepted Troth Montgomery without reservation, she'd wait a bit before introducing them to Mei-Lian. "Wouldn't Mairead make a wonderful tai-tai?"

Kyle laughed. "I think she already is."

James Montgomery leaped onto a chair and called out, "Now that we're all here and merry, I'd like to propose a toast, so if ye havena a glass in yer hand, get one!"

After everyone complied, James raised his glass to Troth. " 'Tis blithe to meet, woe to part, and blithe to meet once more. May the sun always shine upon ye, niece, for ye've brought my brother home."

Tears in her eyes, Troth clutched her lemonade as everyone drank to her. She wanted to say something in return, but her throat had closed up.

Then Kyle said in a voice that carried to all corners of the room, "And here's to the Montgomerys of Melrose, who have proved that there is no hospitality in the world to match that of Scotland."

Everyone drank to that gladly. Troth's tears almost spilled over as Kyle gave her an intimate smile. No one else in the world could understand what tonight meant to her.

A wild skirling pierced the conversation, transfixing everyone in the room. "The piper's come! Aye, the piper's here!"

As people flooded out into the courtyard, Kyle kept an arm around Troth to keep her from being squashed. He always made her feel so safe when there was physical threat. It was emotional situations that made her wary.

Wind-tossed torches in the courtyard illuminated the approach of a Highland piper in full regalia, kilt swinging and bagpipes wailing to set the hair on a man's neck straight up. Troth watched, rapt. No wonder soldiers would follow a piper to hell and back.

She also understood why the pipes were played outdoors-the sound would be shattering inside. When the first tune ended and the crowd was applauding, she asked Kyle quietly, "I thought pipes were more from the Highlands?"

"Yes, but all Scots mourned when Highland dress and customs were suppressed after the Forty-Five uprising. Now that kilts and pipes are legal again, they're welcome everywhere in Scotland, especially since the Highland regiments won such honor fighting Napoleon. He called the Highlanders 'devils in skirts.' "

James Montgomery emerged from the crowd with a pair of swords and ceremoniously crossed them on the ground, then announced, "My sister Annie's husband, who fought with the Gordon Highlanders at Waterloo, will do a sword dance."

Troth had met Tam Gordon, a slight, quiet uncle by marriage, but hadn't known of his military past. The piper began to play and Tam stepped forward. His feet moving with dazzling agility, he danced around the swords, his arms raised and exultation on his face.

Kyle said in her ear, "It was considered an omen of victory the next day if the dance could be done without touching one of the swords."

"Can you do the sword dance?"

"I learned it as a boy, but one must wear a kilt to do it properly. Trousers are too tight for true Highland dancing." He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "Dominic is fond enough of Scotland, but it never spoke to him as strongly as it did me. Perhaps it was because I was given a Scottish name and he wasn't."

Troth had a brief, dizzying image of Kyle in full Highland dress. He'd be a sight to send any female heart into palpitations. Her skin prickled as she remembered their lovemaking among the apple trees of Dornleigh. For a brief time there, minds and doubts had not come between them…

Sword dance finished, the piper began to play a reel. As couples formed, Kyle caught Troth around the waist and swung her into the music. "It would take a heart of stone not to feel like a Scot tonight."

"And my heart isn't stone, my lord!" Laughing, she surrendered to his lead, her skirts swinging and her hair spilling loose as they danced with the fierce freedom their ancestors had known. Under the black sky and flaring torches, she forgot past and present, forgot everything except the wild wail of the pipes and the man whose masterful hands and strong body warmed the night and ignited all her senses.

She tried to remember the good reasons for not lying with him again. But pain and pride seemed distant and unreal, while the call of the blood was hot and urgent and infinitely more compelling.

Perhaps on their journey to the Highlands they could have one last fling-and the devil take the consequences.

Chapter 41

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Despite her late night at the cèilidh, Troth rose early enough the next morning to creep from the cottage and do her chi and wing chun routines. She half hoped that Kyle would come, but he didn't. He must have given up on her.

After the previous night's vigorous dancing, her muscles welcomed the gentler chi exercises. It was chilly, though. Even this far into spring, Scotland in the early morning was bracing. Not the best part of the world for outdoor exercise. Nonetheless, the familiar movements warmed and soothed her.

She was startled from dreaminess by her grandmother's voice. "Is this some kind of heathen dancing, lass?"

Troth spun around, a little embarrassed to have been caught in her loose Chinese garments. "It's not really dancing. In China it's believed that chi, the energy of life, is in all things, and the right kind of movement helps balance it."

Mairead's brows rose skeptically. "I suppose the exercise is good, if ye don't catch lung fever dancing about in those indecent trousers. I came out to see if ye'd like some breakfast after such a vigorous night."

"It was a wonderful cèilidh, and breakfast would be lovely." Shivering a little now that she wasn't moving, Troth accompanied her grandmother inside, then raced up to change into a dress while Mairead fried eggs and toasted bread.

Properly garbed, she enjoyed the meal and the relaxed time alone with her grandmother, since James and Jean were both away from home. She was just finishing her meal when Mairead disappeared for a moment, then returned and set a ribbon-tied bundle of papers on the scrubbed pine kitchen table.

"I thought ye might like to read some of yer father's letters," Mairead explained as she poured more tea.

Troth caught her breath as she took the first letter from the bundle. Plainly it had been read over and over again, but she would recognize her father's bold, clear hand anywhere. Since his own father had been a schoolteacher, he'd been taught to write well.

The first sentence said exultantly, We have a daughter! Li-Yin is well, though ashamed of not having given me a son, foolish girl. We've named the baby Troth Mei-Lian ("Beautiful Willow"), and I fell in love the instant I clapped eyes on her, for she's the bonniest infant imaginable.

Biting her lip, Troth read through the letters, hearing her father's voice in her ears. During her years in Canton, she had forgotten how well she had been loved as a child.

When tears blurred her eyes so much she could no longer read, her grandmother handed over a handkerchief. "Ye were the joy of his life, Troth. I only wish Hugh had lived long enough to bring ye home himself."

Troth buried her face in the soft, embroidery-edged square, wondering if it was a sign of pregnancy to cry so easily. "Thank you for letting me read the letters, Grandmother. I feel as if he's standing right here beside me."

"Sometimes when I couldna bear the thought that he was dead, I'd reread the letters and pretend he was alive and well on the other side of the world." Tenderly Mairead retied the ribbon around the bundle of letters. "It's nae good to outlive your children."

Feeling very close to her grandmother and wanting to talk about what was occupying her mind, Troth said hesitantly, "I… I think I may be with child."

Mairead glanced up swiftly. "Are ye sure?"

"It's too early to be sure-but my heart is convinced."

"Ye're probably right, then-a woman can know long before she has proof." Mairead smiled. "So ye'll be marrying Maxwell for good, then. I assume it's his-I wouldna like to think otherwise of my granddaughter."

"It's his, but I have my doubts about marrying him"

Mairead's brows drew together. "James talked to him, and Maxwell said he was willing to do the right thing. Is he a lying Sassenach?"

The right thing. Troth's resistance stiffened. "I'm sure he'd do his duty, but I don't want to be married from obligation. I don't know if I want to be married at all. I thought that with a handfast there was no shame to the woman if the couple decided not to stay together. Kyle doesn't have to know, since I can support my child without him."

"That's true for wild Highlanders, but handfasting is rare around here, especially for educated folk. What's wrong with Maxwell? Does he beat ye?"

"Good heavens, no! He's always been kind and considerate."

"Then ye'd better come up with a stronger reason for nae marrying him than romantic fancies." Mairead cocked her head. "Or is this some Chinese way of thinking?"

Troth smiled without humor. "Quite the opposite. In China I was told how I must behave for too many years, and don't want to be dictated to now."

"Ye're Hugh's daughter, right enough." Mairead drummed her fingers on the table. "Ye're a woman grown and we canna force ye to act against your will. But ye must think long and hard about the wisdom of going yer own way at any cost. It takes two people to make a baby. Will ye deprive yer child of his father, and Maxwell of his child? He doesna seem to be an uncaring man."

Troth never should have brought the subject up. Of course, pregnancy wasn't something that could be kept a secret for more than the first few months. "If I decide not to marry Maxwell, will I no longer be welcome here?"

Mairead's face softened. "Ye'll still be my granddaughter, lass. But there will be those in town who'd disapprove, handfast or no handfast. That could make life awkward for yer child if ye raise it here. And what would ye do if ye want more bairns?"

Troth's jaw set stubbornly. "I could marry someone else."

"I doubt there are many men around here that ye'd find to yer taste. I suppose ye could go to Edinburgh-my grandson Jamie moves in good circles, and maybe ye could meet a husband there." She stood and started tidying the table. "But ask yerself what ye'd want in a husband that Maxwell doesna have. He's enough to make a virtuous woman consider violating her vows."

"Grandmother!" Troth said, scandalized.

The old woman smiled mischievously. "I may be an eighty-year-old widow, but I'm nae dead yet, lass. If ye don't want Maxwell, I may decide to find out if he fancies older women."

Laughing, Troth retreated to her attic to pack for her trip to the Highlands. But a small, stubborn core of her resisted the idea of marrying Kyle simply because it was what everyone expected. She'd come to Britain to find freedom. She'd not yield it easily now.


"We'll see ye in a fortnight or so then." Mairead hugged Troth hard. Troth hugged back, then turned to embrace her aunt Jean. She was already missing them and she hadn't even left. Most of her possessions and Pearl Blossom would remain here, waiting for her return. The mere fact that her trunks were entitled to stay under this roof made her glow with warmth.

"I shall take good care of her, I promise," Kyle said.

"See that ye do," Mairead said gruffly as Kyle helped Troth into the rugged little curricle he'd hired for the trip to Kinnockburn.

Troth knelt backward on her seat, waving until she was out of sight of her grandmother and aunt. When she could no longer see them, she turned and settled down. "I hope that Pearl Blossom will be all right while I'm gone."

"I'm sure she will be. Your grandmother raised four children, she can certainly look after one undersized cat for a fortnight. Even one as hell-bent on trouble as Pearl Blossom." Kyle turned the carriage from the lane onto the main road through Melrose. "Have you decided to live here?"

"Does this mean you've given up on the thought of courtship?"

His answer was slow in coming. "You seemed so happy and complete in Melrose. It's hard to imagine that you need a husband."

Briefly she had dreamed of having a cottage within walking distance of her grandmother and aunts and uncles and cousins. She'd planned to learn how to cook and garden, order books from Edinburgh, buy a placid horse to ride over the hills. Those people who looked askance at her foreign face would soon become used to her, and to her child, who would probably look more Scottish than not.

But her conversation with Mairead the day before had woken her from her dreams. In the first rush of pleasure at being welcomed by her father's family, she hadn't appreciated that there were levels of acceptance. She didn't doubt that the bond of blood was a powerful tie that entitled her to warmth and support from the Montgomerys. But blood didn't mean they would always see the world as she did, or approve of all her actions.

Melrose was a small market town, its population limited and homogenous. Even a Highlander like her uncle Tam Gordon was considered foreign. No matter what she did, she'd always be Hugh Montgomery's Chinese daughter.

Not only would she never be fully a member of the community, but she would have few neighbors who'd be interested in the wide world beyond Scotland. Even with a friendly family, in many ways she'd be very isolated.

"I haven't made my mind up," she said with forced lightness. "Melrose is lovely but small. It would be difficult to have secret lovers to supply my life with yang."

"Yin and yang is one area where we had no problems."

"But it's not enough." Realizing they should clear the air-or at least draw their lines-at the start of this journey, she continued, "I don't understand you, Kyle, or your reservations about marriage. Why do you think you're unfit to be a husband?"

"I see that Oriental subtlety has been abandoned in favor of Scottish bluntness," he said dryly, his gaze returning to the road.

"That's not an answer."

"If I had a clear answer, I'd give it to you." A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I fear that… that there's a part of me missing."

For the length of a long hill, she pondered what he'd said. Deciding to try a more oblique approach, she asked, "Why did you want so much to travel? Was it merely to see the world's oddities, or were there deeper reasons?"

"Both." He reined in the curricle as they came on a flock of sheep ambling over the road. "I loved seeing different lands and learning about customs and ideas, but even more than knowledge, I sought… understanding."

Knowledge could be found in any book, but understanding was far more elusive. "Did you find it?"

"Sometimes, especially at Hoshan, where I felt a deep sense of peace. A shadow of understanding about where I belonged in the universe." His mouth twisted. "But whatever I thought I'd found vanished in Feng-tang."

"What's missing must be part of your soul, for that is a person's foundation, and a hole in the foundation weakens the entire structure," she said reflectively.

"You're probably right-but how does one repair a hole in one's soul?" Effortlessly he calmed the fidgeting horses, nervous from the river of sheep flowing around them. "Now that we've discussed my unfitness for marriage, what about you? You have doubts about being in my world. What parts of it can't you live with?"

"I can't imagine myself as a countess, especially not as a grand London hostess," she said, choosing the most obvious barrier.

"Why not? Because of shyness, lack of social skills, being foreign?"

"All of those things."

"Yet when you choose to, you can dazzle a ballroom full of aristocrats with your beauty, wit, and charm. You proved it at Dornleigh, and you could do the same in London if you tried."

"If I impressed your Northamptonshire neighbors, it was because I was too angry to care what they thought."

"Actually, the secret of many great beauties is exactly that-not giving a damn whether or not they impress people. Because they have confidence and a reckless disregard for appeasing lesser folk, they are mesmerizing even if they aren't beautiful, and often they aren't, at least not objectively."

"If beauty isn't required, at least I have that part right."

"On the contrary. You have a beauty that makes men catch their breath, and a modesty that makes other women like you. You dazzled as thoroughly at the cèilidh as you as did at Dornleigh." He gave her a satiric glance. "You also gave a very good imitation of enjoying yourself."

Uneasily she recognized the truth of that; she'd had a fine time on both occasions. "By your own admission, the most I could ever expect from your father would be bare tolerance. I don't want that, and I don't want you to be caught between your duty to him and your duty to me, because one should honor one's parents first."

"This isn't China." He turned to face her, eyes glittering with exasperation. "Hear me well, Troth Montgomery. As my wife, you would always come first. If you don't wish to live under the same roof as my father, so be it. We can live elsewhere. If you choose to avoid society, so be it, though I think that when you became comfortable in your new world, you would make a very great and admired lady. If you won't live in London during the months I must sit in Parliament, you may stay in Melrose even though I'd miss you as a fire misses fuel. Does that address your objections to marriage?"

She stared at him, shaken by the passion in his eyes. He was becoming the man she had first met in Canton-full of life and conviction. And if he kept saying she was beautiful, someday she might actually believe him. "I… I don't know what to say."

"You needn't say anything yet. We've time ahead of us for you to produce more objections, and for me to counter them. But while you're thinking, include this."

He wrapped his free arm around her and drew her hard against him, his mouth demanding. Her lips opened under his and she clutched his arms as she responded almost against her will. At Dryburgh Abbey, he'd kissed her with tender promise. This time he was branding every fiber of her being with reminders of the intimacy, wonder, danger, and rapture they had shared.

She had come to cherish her independence, yet how could she ever be independent if she surrendered to this? When they had been lovers, she had been his slave, willing to do anything he asked.

Then he had asked very little, except for the opportunity to please her. But if he learned that she might be carrying his child, he would demand her body and allegiance for the rest of her life, and she wasn't ready to yield them. At least, not her allegiance. Her body was willing to yield right now…

He broke away, breathing quickly, but there was no triumph in his eyes-only the same yearning reflected in hers.

Unsteadily she brushed her mouth with the back of her hand. "I thought you proposed a courtship without a bed."

"That was no seduction. Merely something to think about." The flock of sheep had finally passed, so he set the carriage into motion again. "I thought that if I had to burn, you might as well also."

She stared at his profile with furious indignation. If he'd wanted to make her burn, he'd succeeded.

Damn him. Damn him!

Chapter 42

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Castle Doom

The Highlands


Kyle shaded his eyes as he studied the boldly silhouetted castle that crowned the crag ahead of them. "I'd forgotten just how ominous this place is. It chills the bones."

"You remembered the steepness of the hill correctly, though," Troth said. "Can the horses make it up there?"

"I wouldn't ask it of them. You and I shall walk and learn if the chi exercises have been working." He climbed from the carriage and helped Troth out, then hobbled the two horses where they could drink from a small stream.

"Where did the name come from? It sounds like a Gothic romance."

"The original name was several syllables longer and Gaelic, but the first syllable was Doom, and it fit so well that it stuck. It's a Clan Campbell fortress that was destroyed by the English after the Forty-Five. No one has lived here since."

He swung a picnic basket from the curricle. The food had been packed by the landlord's wife at the small inn where they'd stayed the night before. Their trip north had been leisurely, with plenty of detours to see things he thought she'd enjoy.

As he'd hoped, the sheer normalcy of their journey created a relaxed, easy mood they'd never shared before. Except when he kissed her good night. In a spirit of feminine revenge, she had taken to kissing him back with a thoroughness that threatened to bring him to his knees, begging to share her bed.

The hard part was knowing that she'd probably bed him gladly. But he was playing for higher stakes than a single night's pleasure, so he'd always returned to his room alone.

As they crossed a crude plank bridge that had been laid over the stream, Troth said, "This seems like the end of the world, as if no one has been here for decades."

"Few people do come-it's well off the main roads, and that last stretch was almost too much even for a carriage like ours." He squinted at the sky. Was that a wisp of smoke rising from the castle? No, it must be a ribbon of cloud. "It's been many years since I visited here with Dominic, and I doubt the castle has changed at all. Yet not far from here in the Hebrides, modern steamboats are now carrying people through the islands in luxury. Quite a contrast."

"Steamboats? I'd like to travel on one of those someday. But I like the wildness of this better."

Conversation ceased as they started to ascend the rough track that snaked up the hill to the castle. A quarter of the way along, Kyle said breathlessly, "Let's take a rest. I need to hang over the edge and gasp for a bit."

"I'll bet the people who lived in the castle never came down, not when it meant climbing back up again!" Troth gratefully sank onto the low stone wall that protected travelers from the sheer drop. "I'm glad you suggested wearing Chinese trousers. This is not a ladylike excursion."

"Definitely not for the faint of heart or weak of lungs." A category that included Kyle at the moment; apparently he still hadn't recovered fully from the malaria.

Warmed by the climb, Troth loosened the plaid she wore draped around her slender frame. She'd been enchanted when they found a tartan shop in Stirling, then disappointed that there was no plaid for Montgomery.

Kyle had cheered her up with a Campbell plaid, saying she had a right to wear it since his mother had been a Campbell. Troth and the green-patterned plaid had become inseparable. When she wore it with a Chinese tunic and trousers, the effect was improbable but charming.

She peered over the wall. "There are two streams, not one. They flow together at the back of the hill."

"The one below is called the Burn of Grief, and the other is the Burn of Despair. Another reason for calling this Castle Doom."

She made a face. "What a grim lot these Highlanders were."

"There's truth in the romantic tales Walter Scott and others have woven about the Highlands, but it's always been a hard life." He looked north toward Kinnockburn. "I think my mother married my father mostly to bring English money to her glen so the crofters wouldn't starve. She was the Maiden of Kinnockburn-the hereditary chieftain of her branch of the Campbells. The only asset she had was her beauty, so she went to London and found a lord so besotted he'd agree to her marriage terms."

"Wrexham, besotted?" Troth asked in amazement.

"Hard to imagine, but true. He adored her." Kyle offered his arm and they resumed their ascent. "In the marriage settlement between them, it's specified that her inheritance be put into a permanent trust so it can never be enclosed and the crofters forced to leave the glen, which has happened in too many places in the Highlands."

"Your father agreed to that? I may end up approving of him in spite of myself."

"He's difficult, but his sense of justice is admirable. He understood my mother's fierce attachment to the glen and her need to serve her people. She spent several months a year in Scotland as the Lady of Kinnockburn, running around in bare feet and plaid like any crofter's wife. We children spent a good amount of time there, too. Especially me, since ultimately it's my responsibility to see that the glen prospers."

"Did you run around barefoot also?"

"Indeed I did."

"That explains a great deal," Troth said thoughtfully. "The crofters are lucky your mother was willing and able to make such a bargain. Did she and your father love each other?"

"I think so. Each of them placed their duty before their personal pleasures. That was probably one of their most powerful bonds."

"What a woman your mother must have been."

"You'd have liked her, Troth. And she would have loved you."

Troth tugged the Campbell plaid closer. "I wish I'd met her."

"Lucia is very much like her. All three of us have the look of the Highlands."

As the track became even steeper, they started to zigzag back and forth across the incline, which lengthened the distance but made the climbing easier. Though they had to rest several more times, Troth never suggested turning back.

Even so, when they passed through the broken gate that opened to the lowest of the three castle levels, Troth staggered toward the shade of the nearest tree. "Next time you mention a steep hill," she panted, "remind me to flee in the opposite direction."

She was about to flop on the ground when a bristling feline leaped from the undergrowth beside the tree with bared teeth and a fierce growl. Troth gave a squeak of dismay and retreated. "What is that?"

He caught her arm and drew her farther away. "A wildcat. See the stripes and whiskers? She's a close cousin of your grandmother's tabby, actually. Her fur is up, but underneath she's not much larger than a barn cat."

"The difference is that Grandmother's tabby likes me. Your wildcat looks like it wants me for dinner." Troth circled the tree, keeping a wary eye on the glowering cat.

"This is the season for kittens, and her den must be hidden near the tree. A den so close to the path proves how few people come here-usually wildcats are very shy."

"Does mother love make a female dangerous?"

"So they say. You'd make a fierce mother, I'm sure."

She gave him a swift glance, then turned away. "I'm ravenous. Perhaps we can eat on this level before climbing to the higher ruins? "

Hungry himself, he unpacked the basket, starting with a coarse blanket that he spread under another tree where they could admire the rugged hills and picturesque ruins. As they ate, the wind rose, rustling the leaves and sending clouds racing overhead. "It feels as if a storm is coming. We should aim to be finished with our sight-seeing and back at the carriage by the time it strikes."

"There is always new weather coming," she retorted. "I never knew what it was to stand in the sunshine and have rain falling on my head until I came to Scotland. No wonder you hired a carriage with a bonnet that could be pulled over us."

"It's all part of that romantic Scottish experience you wanted." Troth was such a perfect companion that it was hard to imagine not having her at his side. He'd love to take her to Italy, France, Spain. Everywhere.

Yet it was likely that soon she would announce that the handfast was over, and it was time for him to remove his unwanted self from her sight. The thought was so painful that he felt a powerful impulse to seduce her right now, so they would both remember the rare passion they shared.

He was on the verge of leaning over for a kiss when she covered a yawn, then curled up on the blanket. "Is there time for me to take a nap? I'm tired from the climb."

He forced his tense muscles to relax. "We've time. If I wander, it won't be far."

She folded part of the plaid under her head and draped the rest over her as a blanket. Though it would be wiser to put distance between them, he lingered to watch her as she dozed, as unself-conscious as a kitten. What a beautiful blend of East and West was in her face, with its fascinating planes and silken skin. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon today, sunlight turning loose tendrils to dark, shining mahogany. And that supple, feminine body, as strong as it was elegant…

Groin tightening, he collected the remains of a beef-and-kidney pie that Troth had tried and disliked, then crossed to where they'd seen the wildcat. He set the pie on the ground, then withdrew and watched. It wasn't long until the wildcat emerged from the shrubbery and cast a cautious glance around before seizing the pie and vanishing again. He smiled. She and her kittens would dine well.

Preferring to wait for Troth before visiting the keep, he ambled across the lowest level. Despite the sunshine, he still felt a lingering sense of uneasiness.

The castle precinct occupied the whole top of the crag. Most of this level had consisted of gardens, but tucked in a back corner he found a chapel. Surprisingly, the small stone building was intact, with even the slate roof in fairly good condition. The English soldiers who'd wrecked Castle Doom to prevent it from being a threat in the future must have decided to leave the chapel alone. Perhaps they'd feared divine wrath.

On his first visit he'd missed the chapel entirely. Engaged in a competition to see who could reach the top of the fortress first, he and Dominic hadn't paid much attention to this level. Thoughtless creatures, boys. Typically, they'd reached the highest level at virtually the same time. There might have been less competition if they hadn't been so perfectly matched.

The wide, iron-bound door swung open with a rusty squeal. He stepped into a sanctuary of peace and light. Though birds had nested in the baptismal font, the simple wooden cross still stood on the altar and the sturdy oak pews were in place, if dusty. Crofters from the neighboring hills must be tending the chapel.

He sat in the front pew, dust and all. When he finally got around to hiring another valet, the man would probably start by burning Kyle's entire wardrobe because of the abuse it had suffered.

The stained glass in the windows was long gone, leaving stone traceries that cast shadows of intricate beauty where the sun poured in. He closed his eyes, feeling the same sacredness in this simple, abandoned chapel that he had experienced in the gilded spaces of Hoshan. Centuries of prayer had hallowed it.

In my end, I find my beginning. The words that had rung in his mind at Hoshan echoed through him once more. Then he'd thought it ironic to travel halfway around the world to experience spiritual insights he'd failed to absorb in his own church. Now he'd come home, full circle. But where Hoshan had produced a scalding sense of transformation, now he felt a slow, powerful tide of awareness.

The tide rose, filling him with warmth and quiet joy. His mind drifted to other sacred places he'd visited that had touched him deeply. Perhaps the soul wasn't a foundation but a mosaic composed of myriad small insights and transcendental moments. He'd traveled the world collecting pieces for his personal mosaic, and now he could dimly see the overall pattern.

Though he hadn't heard her footsteps on the flagstone floor, he was unsurprised when Troth's hand slipped into his. When she'd settled on the pew beside him, he opened his eyes. "I think I found the missing piece of my soul."

She regarded him gravely. "How did that happen?"

"In Hoshan I experienced profound spiritual awareness," he said slowly. "It began with a devastating recognition of my failures and shortcomings. Only when all my pride and arrogance had been stripped away did I experience divine compassion so infinite that it could forgive all my weaknesses and fill me with light.

"For those of us who are less than saints, I think it's impossible to stay in such an exalted state, but I left Hoshan feeling closer to spiritual grace than I'd ever been. Then I was captured, and it seemed as if I'd lost everything I had learned. Only now do I see that in prison I was being taught another essential lesson."

"Suffering to enhance compassion?"

"That was surely part of it, but more important was to endure complete loss of control." He smiled wryly. "For most of my life, I've had a great deal of power to shape my world. In prison, I had no power at all. When and what I ate, my physical movements, even my very existence, were all in the hands of others. When the fever struck, I wasn't even master of my own body. By the end of my captivity I was praying for death. It was as if the essence of my being had been wrenched away."

"Aaahhhh." She exhaled softly. "No wonder you were in such dire straits when you returned to England. Your soul had been separated from your body, and they were slow to find each other again."

"That's a good way to put it." He studied her face. "Your experience was similar, wasn't it? Your captivity was gentler, your cell larger, but you were also imprisoned, unable to be a woman or to reveal both sides of your heritage. No wonder that now that you've escaped one prison, you're reluctant to enter another."

Her eyes widened. "Yes! That's it exactly. Marriage does seem like a prison."

"I'll never cage you, Troth Mei-Lian," he said softly. "If my experience in Feng-tang was to show me that I have only as much control over my life as God is willing to grant, I'd be a thrice-damned fool to try to control a free spirit like yours."

She swallowed. "You're a dangerously persuasive man, Lord Maxwell."

"On the contrary." His gaze went to the cross on the altar. "I'm a clumsy fellow who needs to learn his lessons over and over again."

"In each lesson, the student advances a little further in his spiritual studies." Her clasp tightened on his hand. "Do you wish you had become a minister of your church?"

"I wouldn't be much good in a vicarage. My personal ministry, I think, is to use the power I've inherited with justice and compassion. And for myself-well, in the future I'll remember to visit places like this often enough to prevent more holes from developing in my spirit." He raised their linked hands and kissed her knuckles. "Shall we continue our climb to the top of the castle?"

She gave him a dazzling smile. "Yes, my lord."

When they reached the highest place and could see miles in all directions, he'd ask her to marry him, he decided. After all, marriage was the goal of a courtship.

And if she didn't accept him today-well, he'd ask again tomorrow.

Chapter 43

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Her hand in Kyle's, Troth climbed to the next level of the castle, feeling buoyant from the pure, clean rush of his chi. Even if he hadn't spoken, she would have known that the chapel had crystallized his spiritual healing. Wholeness had been coming gradually, she realized, as he fought his way back to physical and emotional health after the ordeal he'd endured in China.

Ruefully she recognized that she hadn't been much help to him. She'd gone from anxious servility to prickly anger, skipping the intermediate stage of being a caring, helpful friend, let alone a true wife. She'd been of no use to either him or herself. The weeks since his return had been difficult for them both. Yet they'd survived, and were both regaining internal harmony. What might that lead to?

The second level of the castle contained low, crumbled stone sheds that had been used for storage, workshops, and livestock. Rather than explore, they continued climbing and went through the gate of the third and highest level. The keep, guardhouses, and other essential buildings, all roofless now, were set around three sides of a courtyard. The fourth side, on the south, was formed by the high stone wall that they'd just passed through, which separated the main level from the workshops.

The approaching storm had stiffened the wind to the point where it would take a man's hat off, but that only added to the barbaric splendor of the setting. Troth threw back her head and laughed, because she was happy and Castle Doom was as wild and free as the wind itself.

The main keep ran along the east wall to their right, but Kyle gestured left to the stone steps that ran up to the battlements in the southwest corner of the courtyard. "If you can manage one last climb, you'll be able to see half of central Scotland."

She gave him a teasing glance. "I shall manage. I'm not so sure that you will."

Before he could reply, an ear-numbing boom shattered the air. Troth winced, thinking it was thunder from the coming storm.

As another bolt shook the skies, Kyle grabbed her around the waist and physically dragged her through the empty doorway of the keep. More thunder sounded while he yanked her left from the door and flattened her against the stone wall. Disoriented, she gasped, "What are you doing? "

"Someone's out there, and he's shooting to kill," he said grimly.

Before Troth could protest, several more cracks sounded, and she saw debris flying upward from the ground inside the doorway, less than a yard away from them. She stared in horror at the pockmarked earth. "Why would someone be shooting at us?"

"I wish I knew. Perhaps it's a madman who has taken up residence here and resents intruders."

She could feel the beating of his heart where they pressed together. He was protecting her, she realized. No bullet could strike her without going through him first. "How did you know so quickly?"

"In India I joined some army patrols on the North-West Frontier. Very educational. The Afghans are excellent shots. One doesn't forget the sound of a rifle when it is aimed at one's heart."

She was willing to bet he'd never mentioned such expeditions to his father. The thought of him there horrified her, and she hadn't even known Kyle then.

The shooting had stopped after they disappeared from view, so he withdrew a step and pulled off his coat. After bunching the fabric, he edged the coat into the open doorway at head level. Another ragged volley sounded, and from the way the fabric jerked she guessed that at least one bullet had struck Kyle's decoy. As he put the coat on again, she saw the white of his shirt through scorched, smoldering holes.

"I think there must be at least two men, and they're carrying multishot rifles," he said coolly. "Probably they're in the guardhouse directly opposite us, so they have a clear view of the whole courtyard, including the gate that leads to the lower level. We'd be riddled with bullets before we moved ten feet toward the gate."

"I didn't know there were multishot rifles."

"Several of the most expensive London gunsmiths make them. It's not the kind of weapon a poor, crazed Scottish hermit would be carrying."

Grasping for hope, she asked, "You always travel armed, don't you?"

"Yes, but all I have is a single-shot pistol that would be good only at close quarters. Useless against two rifles."

When she started to ask another question, he placed his hand over her mouth as he listened. The only sound was the wail of the wind. If someone was moving stealthily across the courtyard toward their refuge in the keep, there was no warning sound. The knowledge that the killer might be approaching even now made Troth's skin crawl.

Kyle pulled out his traveling pistol and cocked it, aiming it in the direction of the door as he raised his voice. "If we're trespassing on your property, please accept my deepest apologies. Allow us to go unharmed and we'll never bother you again."

"Aye, then," a thickly Scottish voice boomed across the courtyard. "Come ye out and ye can leave safely if ye swear ne'er to come back."

Troth frowned, thinking the voice familiar, but Kyle's face hardened like granite. "I don't trust you to let us walk away unharmed, Caleb Logan," he called back.

Her jaw dropped as she recognized the voice of her father's old partner. But why would he be here, trying to kill them?

"So you know it's me," Logan said jovially, reverting to his normal accent. "You guessed right, too-you willna leave Castle Doom alive. You took your time getting here, though. Scouse and I got bloody bored waiting for you to arrive."

"Damnation, Logan's the one who suggested bringing you here," Kyle said under his breath. "It was such a good idea that it never occurred to me that he was setting a trap. God only knows why he wants us dead. Do you know who Scouse is?"

Troth nodded. "One of Logan's sea captains. They say he's a vicious devil."

"A reliable ally for murder, in other words." Kyle scanned the empty shell of the keep that was both shelter and prison. Four stories tall and the largest of the ruined buildings, the keep was the eastern wing of a U-shaped series of structures, all roofless and of varying heights. The doorway through which they'd entered was the only opening on the ground floor. All other doors and windows were two or more stories up the walls. The builders of Castle Doom hadn't wanted enemies to be able to enter easily.

His gaze lingered on the lowest of the south-end windows. Two stories up, it overlooked the lower levels of the castle. Then he shook his head. "We could probably manage to climb up to that window and then down the outside of the keep, but once we reached the lower levels of the castle we'd be easy targets. If we climbed from the back of the keep and down the cliffs… Well, I'll try if there's no other choice, but the odds aren't good."

She was so terrified she could barely breathe, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "You're saying there's no way out, and it's just a matter of time until Logan or Scouse come into the keep and shoot us like rats."

"I'd risk the cliffs first, but I think there's a better way." He caught her gaze with his. "Christ, I hate suggesting this!"

"Whatever the best chance is, we try it. What are you thinking? "

"You're agile as a monkey and you can outfight any man I've ever seen." He made a gesture that encompassed the keep and the north end of the castle. "The ruins run around three sides of the courtyard, and they offer concealment for someone to circle around and reach the guardhouse from the back. If I keep Logan talking and distracted, do you think you can make your way through the ruins and attack them from behind? Kung fu is no help against a rifleman at a distance, but if you can reach them without being seen, we have a chance."

Dear gods, he trusted her enough to suggest such a thing! Calm descended, dissolving her initial panic. "I can do it."

"God bless you, my love." He gave her a swift, hard kiss. "Don't be shocked at anything I say. Now go."

Dropping her plaid so she'd be unencumbered, she ran the length of the keep as Kyle shouted, "You may have rifles, but I have a pistol. Whichever of you comes in here first is a dead man."

"I guessed you might be armed or we'd have been in there already. But we can outwait and outshoot you, so say your prayers, Maxwell."

"Since it's going to be a long wait, you might as well satisfy my curiosity. What the devil have I done that made you decide to kill me?"

"You came to China."

As the conversation echoed hollowly through the ruins, Troth surveyed the door opening two stories up the wall. The climb would be tricky, but the mortar that bound the stones had deteriorated with the years, leaving finger- and toeholds for someone who was light, agile, and desperate. Cautiously she began to climb.

After a lengthy pause, Kyle yelled, "I've racked my brain, but damned if I can remember anything I did that might have offended you this much. We hardly knew each other. If I've insulted your honor, I'd be happy to apologize, or settle the issue in a duel."

Logan gave a bark of laughter. "Affairs of honor are for you so-called gentlemen, not the likes of me. I'm just a lowborn merchant, so I go direct to what I want rather than making a game of death."

Troth reached the sill of the door and scrambled up into it, catching her breath as she evaluated her next step. The adjoining building was smaller and lower than the keep, and had no ground-level entrances at all. Her best bet would be to make her way over and up onto the building's back wall. She'd be able to move along the top quickly, then have only a short climb up to the top of the wall of the slightly higher building beyond.

She took a deep breath and swung from the door so that her face was pressed against the cold, damp stone. Though her nerves screamed for her to hurry, she made sure her new holds were secure before she released the old ones. Moving across a wall like a spider couldn't be rushed.

Again taking his time replying, Kyle called, "Resenting my birth isn't much of a reason, especially since I'm involved in trade myself. Can you honestly say I ever showed disrespect to you or any other Canton trader?"

"Maybe not," Logan said grudgingly. "But you won't soil your aristocratic hands on opium. When you take your seat in the House of Lords, you'll be in a position to damage our business, maybe destroy it altogether. A pity I didn't manage to get you killed in the Settlement."

Troth froze for a moment. So Logan was the Fan-qui who'd hired the assassins to attack Kyle! May demons eat his liver, and soon.

"You greatly overrate my potential power in Parliament."

"The fact that you've actually been to Canton and seen the trade close up will make all the difference," Logan spat out. "Your stinkin' fellow lords will believe your objections. Even some of the traders in Canton started saying that maybe you had a point. You're too damned persuasive."

Limbs shaking from effort, Troth reached the top of the back wall and hauled herself up. Then she made the mistake of looking down at the sheer drop of the crag below. If she fell…

She closed her eyes against waves of dizziness, reminding herself faintly that there was a rim of land below that she'd probably hit if she fell. Possible death rather than the sure doom of falling down the crag. Besides, there was no reason to fall; the walls of this old fortress were all several handspans wide, easy to walk along.

Most of all, she had to do this, or she and Kyle would both die here.

Head steady, she climbed to her feet and began walking along the wall as fast as she dared in the stiff wind. Storm clouds were approaching rapidly and rain would make the stones far more treacherous.

"I have a deal for you, Maxwell," Logan shouted. "I'd rather your body was found without bullet holes in it. If you throw down your pistol and come out, you can die in a nice quick fall off the cliff rather than gut-shot and howling with agony."

Kyle laughed as if they were discussing a minor wager rather than murder. "Either way I'm dead. What's the advantage of surrendering to you tamely?"

Troth reached the end of the second building. The roofless shell ahead of her was higher but not by much. Wind tearing at her garments, she clawed her way to the top of the third building and paused for another survey.

She'd reached the northwest corner and had a clear view of most of the courtyard. The building where she perched was right next to the guardhouse, with both buildings built out from the battlements. By looking down and to her right, she had a clear view of Logan and Scouse, who were lounging in the entrance to the guardhouse with their rifles.

Almost directly opposite them was the door to the keep, with Kyle concealed just to the left. Since he had only a pistol, there was no need for Logan and Scouse to hide. Even if their quarry charged out of the keep, his hand weapon wouldn't be effective across the width of the courtyard.

She recognized Scouse from Canton. Burly and bullet headed, he was well known in the gin shops and brothels of the Settlement. He'd started as a common sailor before the mast and worked his way up to captain by brute strength and cunning. Even though she had wing chun, he would be a very dangerous opponent.

"The advantage of cooperation is that I swear on my mother's grave that I'll see your body is discovered so your family will know you're dead," Logan replied. "Otherwise you'll simply disappear, and they'll never know what happened."

Troth sucked in her breath, knowing how much such a threat would affect Kyle. Too angry to delay his reply, Kyle shouted, "You bastard!"

Logan heard the anger also, and roared with laughter. "Now, now, you insult my mother, who was as sour and upright a woman as ever lived." His amusement vanished. "The longer you make me wait, the more likely I am to decide to hide your body in the hills where no one but the crows will ever find it. You're going to die, Maxwell, but if you surrender soon enough, at least you'll have some say about how it happens."

She started along the top of the last wall. Once she reached the end, she'd be able to climb down to the wall-walk that ran inside the battlements, and from there she could enter the guardhouse and attack. But for now, she must tread warily. If Logan or Scouse turned they'd immediately see her silhouetted against the sky. Her skin crawled at the knowledge of what an easy target she'd make.

She was midwall when the storm hit in a blast of rain that almost knocked her from her precarious ridge of stone. She crouched immediately to regain her balance and was soaked to the skin in seconds. Chilled to the bone, she began creeping forward again.

Logan and Scouse cursed at the onslaught of rain. On instinct she flattened herself along the wall on her belly just before they turned to glare up at the clouds. The storm darkened the sky enough that they didn't notice her clinging, terrified, to the wall. In her soaked garments, she must blend in with the irregular stones.

As she lay there, heart pounding, Scouse said something to Logan, making a sweeping gesture toward the battlements and the south wall of the courtyard. They exchanged several sentences, and she got the impression they were arguing. Then Logan shrugged, conceding the point. Scouse crossed to the rear of the guardhouse and began to climb the steep stone staircase that led to the wall-walk.

Horrified, she realized that the sea captain must have told Logan that they could end this quickly if he followed the wall-walk to the south wall, which separated the courtyard from the lower castle. Crossing the south wall would bring him to the lowest window at the south end of the keep-and from there he'd be able to murder Kyle with a single shot. Easier to dispose of bodies for crows to eat than to stay out in the rain.

Knowing Kyle would have no chance if Scouse reached the keep window, Troth scrambled to her feet and raced recklessly toward the sea captain, praying that she could get down to the wall-walk and catch up with him before it was too late. The swift squall abated to a spattering of drops, which helped a little with the footing, but she guessed this was only a lull, with more rain coming.

Kyle yelled, "Maybe I'll cooperate in my own murder, but with one condition."

"Aye?"

"Spare Troth Montgomery's life. She's no part of this."

Another chilling laugh from Logan. "Ah, but she is. She'll be royally pissed to know I got her sent to Canton after her father's death rather than back to Scotland."

After a startled moment, Kyle said, "So you were behind that. Did you have something to do with Hugh Montgomery's death?"

"I didn't cause the typhoon that sank his ship, but when his comprador told me the girl had a bit of fever, the letter I sent to Hugh in Singapore implied that his precious daughter might be deathly ill." Logan laughed. "That maybe brought him back to Macao faster than was wise during the storm season."

The shock was so intense that Troth skidded on the wet stones and started to fall. She managed to twist and come down belly-first onto the stone, knocking the breath from her body. She clung there, stunned at the knowledge that Logan had orchestrated her father's death. There had been no risk to Logan. If her father had reached Macao safely, his partner could have said innocently that he'd misunderstood the severity of Troth's illness, but God be praised, the lassie was all right now. He was a devil!

"Why did you do that?" Kyle called, his voice shaken.

"Hugh was pleasant enough, but a fool. Like you, he didn't believe in opium trading. With him dead, I took the money and bought five hundred chests of the best Indian opium. That day was the beginning of my fortune."

So that was why her father had apparently died penniless. Logan must have also spread the rumors that had tarnished her father's name, since discrediting Hugh Montgomery had made his swinish partner look better.

Cold with rage, Troth rose and closed the dozen feet to the end of the building, then swung around and started to feel her way down toward the wall-walk. It was several feet wide, so when she finally reached it she'd be able to catch up with Scouse in seconds.

"You're a clever man, Logan," Kyle said, a good imitation of reluctant admiration in his voice. "You also know China. Montgomery's daughter is more Chinese than European now. If you spare her, she'll go with you willingly to Macao."

"She wants to return to the East? "

"Can't wait to leave-she's badly disappointed in Scotland and has made me promise to send her back. Britain is too damned cold, and she's angry because her father apparently claimed his family was wealthy. You saw them-they're only a couple of steps up from crofters, and she wants better than that. If you take her as a concubine, I guarantee you'll not regret it. She was one of Chenqua's women, and she's the best in bed I've ever known-and believe me, I've had more than my share of women. It would be a pity to waste such talent by killing her."

As Troth blinked at Kyle's lies, she saw Logan stiffen with interest, but his reply was wary. "How can I be sure she won't slit my throat for revenge?"

"Logan, she's Chinese,'" Kyle said with elaborate patience. "She's been trained to submit completely to her master. Once you kill me, it will be obvious to her that you're a superior master. She'll do anything you want in return for some jewelry now and then and maybe a slave girl to beat. Understand what I mean when I say she'll do anything?"

From Logan's posture, Troth guessed that Kyle's suggestive tone had released a flood of fevered imaginings. "So she was one of Chenqua's whores," the trader said hoarsely. "No wonder he was so quick to take her back to Canton even though she was just a child. Disgusting lecher."

A good thing Kyle had warned her not to be surprised at anything he said! She jumped the last several feet onto the wall-walk and raced after Scouse at full speed. Since he was taking his time, she should catch up with him just before he reached the intersection with the south wall.

"He might have been a lecher, but he trained her very well. If you ever tire of the girl, you'll get a good price selling her to another Fan-qui."

"Very well, I'll take her. If she's as good as you say, I'll make her my tai-tai in Macao." Logan's voice roughened. "You've got your bargain, so come on out. Keep me out here any longer in this weather and I may change my mind."

Troth was almost within touching distance of Scouse's broad back when the sea captain pivoted, alerted by the sound of her footfalls. He had his gun in his hands, but for a critical instant, he simply stared, apparently unable to believe she was a threat.

She knocked the rifle from his hands with a vicious kick. It clattered onto stone before spinning outward over the abyss. As he shouted, she punched his throat but did little damage-his neck was a rock-hard column of beefy muscle.

"You little Chink bitch!" Murder in his eyes, he stalked forward.

As she waited for his attack, she prayed to all the gods of East and West for the strength to win the most difficult fight of her life.

Chapter 44

Hearing shouts, Kyle dropped to his knees and peered out the door, hoping that keeping his head low would spare his brains from being blown out if Logan and Scouse had their rifles trained on the door.

The first thing he saw was the barrel of Logan's gun. His second sight was Troth in a life-or-death struggle with Scouse up on the wall-walk. Kyle's heart seemed to stop. She looked like a child next to the raging sea captain. Though she was evading his blows deftly, Scouse would break her in half if he managed to connect.

As she danced backward, Scouse dived forward with a bellow, counting on his weight to pin her helplessly beneath him. She leaped up into a crenellation and kicked him, using his momentum to smash him down on the narrow stone walkway.

But the sea captain had learned to brawl in the world's most dangerous ports, and he knew his share of dirty tricks. He lunged for her ankle and yanked her from her feet. Kyle could hear the impact when she slammed onto the wall-walk, critically close to falling a dozen feet into the courtyard.

Troth flipped backward out of his grip, then scrambled to her feet as Scouse did the same. Belatedly hearing the commotion, Logan whirled to investigate what was happening above him. His rifle turned with him, and he immediately aimed it at Troth. Understanding the danger, she closed with Scouse so Logan would have to hold his shots, or risk hurting his captain.

But Logan fired anyhow. As Kyle started to sprint across the courtyard, Scouse jerked from the impact of a bullet. A second bullet slammed into his body. Troth flattened herself on the stone walkway as Scouse pitched backward over the wall, his long, drawn-out scream ending with sickening abruptness.

But the battlement gave Troth no protection from Logan. As he trained his rifle on her, she dived from the walkway into the courtyard, dropping into the narrow area between the guardhouse and the south wall.

Instantly, Logan was rushing to block her exit from the trap she'd landed in. It took him only a few strides to have her in his sights again.

Troth rushed forward in a doomed attempt to reach Logan before he could fire. Kyle shouted desperately, "Logan, you're a dead man!"

As he'd hoped, Logan spun about to face the new threat. The barrel of his rifle looked enormous as he raised the gun and pulled the trigger. Kyle dived to one side, firing his pistol when he was in midair.

Troth screamed as three gunshots echoed deafeningly around the courtyard. Logan spun about, blood blooming scarlet on his white shirt. Slowly, joint by joint, he collapsed, the rifle tumbling from his grip.

Troth threw the rifle to one side in case Logan still lived, then dropped beside Kyle as another blast of rain struck. "You can't die, my lord, you can't."

As she tried to roll him over to see where he was wounded, he dropped the pistol and wrapped his arms around her. "I don't intend to," he panted. "Dear God, Troth, are you all right? I thought my heart would stop on the spot when he began shooting at you."

They lay locked together, oblivious to the pounding rain. "He missed," she said unsteadily. "But how could he? He shot three times at point-blank range."

"Twice. I dived to avoid his bullets and fired my pistol at the same time." Kyle sat up, still holding her with bruising force.

The steely determination that had kept her going through the last hellish half hour collapsed. Troth began to shake violently, her tears mingling with the rain.

Kyle held her until her trembling had abated a little. "We should go to the chapel, it has the only roof up here. Can you walk?" When she nodded, he stood and helped her to her feet. "Wait here for a moment."

Numbly she watched as he checked the merchant's body for a pulse.

"Justice has caught up with Caleb Logan," Kyle said grimly. He rose and crossed to the keep, emerging a moment later with her plaid.

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, he guided her down the slippery slope to the lowest castle level. She asked through chattering teeth, "How did you manage to shoot him at that range? I thought the pistol wasn't accurate over a distance."

"I'm a very good shot," he said simply.

She should have guessed that. Grateful to have an arm around his waist, she stumbled along at his side until they reached the sanctuary of the chapel. Not only was it a welcome respite from the rain, but the blessed calm of harmonious chi enfolded Troth like the long-ago memory of her mother's arms.

As soon as they were inside, Kyle started tugging off her sodden garments. Shocked from her numbness, she tried to stop him. "What are you thinking of?"

He smiled crookedly. "Not what you have in mind, you wicked wench. We're both soaked, and the way the temperature has dropped, we risk pneumonia if we don't get warmed up quickly."

Realizing he was right, she said, "I can manage. Take your own clothes off."

He obeyed, pausing only when she was down to bare skin to wrap the nearly dry plaid around her icy flesh. The scratchy wool helped, but she was still shivering from a chill so deep it was painful.

Then he stripped off the last of his own saturated clothing. Since he'd left the basket here earlier, the picnic blanket was dry. He pulled it around his shoulders, slid to a sitting position against the wall, and drew her down onto his lap. When she was cradled against him, he folded the blanket around them both, tucking it carefully around her feet.

She burrowed into his warm body and rested her cheek against the silky hair of his chest. His familiar scent made her feel safe.

He rocked her gently, and for a long time neither of them spoke, the only sound the drumming rain on the roof. She guessed that like her, Kyle was recovering from the shocking violence and death they'd barely survived.

He was far less chilled than she, and gradually his warmth began to thaw her. In a whisper, she said, "I can hardly believe that two men are lying dead out there in the rain."

"I wish to God this had never happened," he said tightly. "When I think that what I said in Canton caused repercussions that reached halfway around the world and almost killed you…" His embrace tightened.

She opened her eyes to free herself of the vision of Logan pitching backward, blood spurting from his chest. "But we survived, and I can't be sorry Logan is dead. If not for his false message, my father might still be alive."

He stroked her nape and back, kneading a little in a way that made her numb flesh come alive again. "I can't be sorry about either of them," he said. "I don't doubt that Scouse had committed more than his share of sins. As for Logan-not only was he indirectly responsible for your father's death, but his actions sent you into near-slavery in China when you could have been here and loved by your family."

She thought of what it would have been like to grow up with her father's family: scones and barley soup, cousins who would have become as close as brothers and sisters. Acceptance. "Living with them would have been wonderful, and far easier than my life in China," she said slowly. "And yet… I can't be sorry that my path took me to Canton instead. If I had not lived there for so many years, I would have lost most of my Chinese nature. Now I am truly both Chinese and Scottish."

He laughed a little. "And God be thanked for that. There's not another woman in the world like you, Troth Mei-Lian Montgomery."

"Probably not." And there was not another man in the world who would accept both sides of her nature as fully as Kyle did. The Montgomerys saw her as basically Scottish, with an odd but harmless twist to her gallop. Chenqua had seen her as odd but useful, deserving of his protection and respect because of her unusual skills and the fact that she was her father's daughter.

But Kyle had trusted her as an equal, sending her to fight the enemy because she could attack more effectively than he. And when she had faced certain death, he had drawn Logan's murderous fire to himself. He might have been killed…

Feeling her shiver, he said, "Are you still cold? "

"No, I'm fine." More than fine, for she was in Kyle's arms.

Her ribbon was long gone, so he brushed her damp hair back from her face. "Danger clarifies the thinking wonderfully. When I thought you were going to die, I realized how much I love you. Will you marry me, all right and proper this time?"

She pulled her head back so she could see his face. "I thought that you could not love again."

"I did think that," he said wryly. "Sometimes my mind works very slowly. I knew that with you I felt more passion and caring than I had known in years, and that I craved your company. But because what I felt was different from my feelings for Constancia, I was sure it couldn't be the kind of love you deserve."

She supposed that it was inevitable that the ghost of Constancia would always be with them. "I can be second best as long as you love me, my lord."

"You're not second best!" He cupped her face in his hands. "Love can't be measured and weighed, and it should never be compared. Constancia was my heart-and you, my dearest girl, are my soul." His mouth closed over hers, true and sweet with a declaration that went beyond words.

She caught her breath. "I've always loved you, Kyle." Needing to touch, she slid her hands down his bare skin under the blanket. "From the beginning you've been lord of my body, heart, and soul."

He hadn't intended more than a kiss, not in a holy chapel in the aftermath of terror and death, but passion flared into an inferno that could be quenched only by joining in a celebration of love and survival. As they kissed feverishly, his hands found her breasts under the loose folds of the plaid, and he felt the swift beat of her heart in the soft swells against his palms. Her movements in his lap drove him mad until she turned and straddled him.

As he kissed her throat, she slowly rocked back and forth, liquid heat caressing him until he could stand it no longer. She gasped as he sheathed himself inside her.

For the space of a dozen heartbeats they held each other without moving, trembling with tension. Then his hips began thrusting out of control. She ground into him as passion blazed into urgent fulfillment. They cried out together, their voices blending with the rain and the distant rumble of thunder.

As she melted against him, he felt a contentment beyond any he'd ever dreamed of. He rolled onto his side and tucked her against him. And then, exhausted, they slept sheltered in the warmth of the Campbell plaid.


He wasn't sure how long they dozed, but when he woke, the chapel was full of sunshine. Propping himself up on one elbow, he admired the play of light across her marvelous face. She was unique, the rarest and loveliest flower of East and West.

Her eyes flickered open. "I'm not sure that those who built this chapel would approve, but that was a very good way to warm up."

"I don't think God can blame us too much, since He was the one who gave us this divine gift of love." He kissed her on the tip of her lovely nose. "But we should be on our way if we are to reach somewhere warm and safe before dark."

She smiled up at him in a way that made him want to make love to her all over again. "I shall be happy never to set foot in Castle Doom again."

"I do hope that what we just did means you've accepted my proposal." Reluctantly he separated himself from her delectable body. "Because we might have started a child today. I hope so."

She rose and watched him with feline intensity as she pulled on her wet clothing. "I'm quite sure that we already did that at Dornleigh."

"Good Lord!" He was pulling his damp shirt over his head, and almost strangled himself as he yanked it down so he could look at her. "When were you planning on mentioning this to me?"

"I was going to tell you if we decided to wed."

There was challenge in her gaze. He pulled on his ghastly wet trousers, wishing they were as loose as Troth's Chinese garments. "In other words, if you'd decided not to marry me, I might never have learned that we had a child. You didn't want me to use that as a way of coercing you into marriage."

Seeing that he wasn't angry, she relaxed. "Your wits are not slow at all. I did not want to take a husband simply because everyone else thought it a good idea." With a flourish, she wrapped the plaid around her.

He shook his head ruefully. "You're a true Scot, Troth-willing to pay any price to go your own way, and devil take the consequences."

He folded the blanket into the picnic basket and they went outside into a world washed clean. The breeze shook raindrops from spring flowers, and the Highlands rolled to the far horizon in layers of misty blue and lavender.

Water was rushing down the center of the track, so they walked to one side, hand in hand. "I just want to confirm that you have agreed to marry me, haven't you?"

She looked up at him, her eyes almost golden in the afternoon sunshine. "Yes, my dearest lord, I shall be your wife, and make friends with your dragon father, and perhaps even become the grand hostess you claimed I could be."

He'd been happy before, but that was nothing compared to the exhilaration that flooded through him at her words. He tossed the basket aside and caught both of her hands in his. "Then let's marry right here. Wrexham will probably want something more formal later, but we have running water and we're in Scotland, so this time there will be no question about the validity. I want you for my wife, my dearest love, and I can't bear to wait any longer."

Laughing, she stepped across the path so that the water flowed between them. Clasp firm, she declared, "Kyle Renbourne, I pledge you my troth-my heart and body, my loyalty and my fidelity, for as long as we both shall live."

He smiled into her eyes, thinking of that first exchange of vows, which had bound them more truly than either of them had recognized then. "Troth Mei-Lian Montgomery, I pledge you my love, my protection, and my fidelity for eternity, and beyond."

He raised her hands and kissed first one, then the other. "I know now why I was so compelled to roam the world. It was to find you, my China bride."

"Divine plan, my dearest lord." She smiled at him radiantly. "Yin and yang, one and inseparable."

Man and woman, in perfect balance. Forever.

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