Troth searched her memory of the guests, recalling a tall, upright man with a shrewd gaze rather like Jena's. "General Ames is your father?"

"Yes. I lived in India for the first twenty-five years of my life. My mother was a high-caste Hindu."

Troth caught her breath, understanding. "Which is why Meriel wanted you to speak with me." She studied the other woman's face. "Your mixed blood is not so obvious as mine."

Jena smiled. "If you saw me wearing a sari and standing beside my husband, who is a full-blooded Indian, I wouldn't look English at all. But you're right, dressed as an Englishwoman, I merely look dark. Your Chinese heritage is more visible."

Troth leaned forward eagerly. "What is it like for an Asiatic to live among these Britons?"

"My father's position protected me from prejudice." Jena's mouth twisted. "The only time I've really suffered was in my first marriage to a man who was horrified when he learned of my 'tainted' blood. It led to... great unpleasantness. I was in the process of seeking a legal separation when he died."

There was a story to that, Troth guessed, though probably not one Jena would discuss lightly. "Your second husband is the tall Indian gentleman here tonight?"

"Yes. Curry is an Anglicized version of his family name." Jena chuckled. "Since he has chosen to spend the rest of his life in England, Kamal has adopted some of the local customs and clothing, but his beard and turban remind me that I'm not all English. Nor do I want to be."

"Have you never thought that it would be easier to be one or the other?"

"Easier, perhaps, but then I would not be myself." Jena regarded Troth with large, dark eyes. "Ease is not the purpose of life. I gather that your time in Canton was often difficult, but don't renounce your Chinese side. To be only English would be to impoverish yourself."

That was easy for Jena to say, with her features that could pa.s.s for European and a life lived under the protection of a high-ranking father. Though the first husband sounded unfortunate, the second was a striking man, with intelligence and authority in his face, and clearly the couple was accepted by local society despite their foreign blood. Jena couldn't know what it was like to live as an outcast, unable even to claim her own gender. "With my face, I couldn't renounce my breeding even if I wished to."

Jena studied her expression, but didn't take the subject any further. "Though the country folk here are rather conservative, as peasants are everywhere, there is a basic tolerance. You have married into a family that will protect you as my father protected me. When your mourning ends, you can have a rich and fulfilling life in England."

"I hope so," Troth said bleakly. "There is nothing left for me in China."

Chapter 22.

Hoshan, China Spring 1832 The trail cut sharply around a stony ridge, and there was Hoshan. Kyle halted, stunned by the beauty of the temple that lay below. His original print had shown water, but he hadn't realized that the temple was built on an island in the middle of a lake. With the sky reflected in the water, Hoshan appeared to be floating in heaven.

From the other side of the donkey, Troth murmured in the special, almost inaudible speech they'd developed, "It is truly lovely, isn't it? The blue tiles on the roofs are reserved for religious buildings."

Blue tiles for heaven. Kyle studied the temple and scattered outbuildings hungrily, scarcely able to believe that within the next two hours he'd finally enter Hoshan. Feeling an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension, he resumed walking along the narrow track that clung to the face of the mountain, descending to the lake in steep swoops. A scattering of other pilgrims could be seen above and below them.

He reminded himself to shuffle and hang his head like a feeble old man. It was difficult when he felt more like a youth who had just discovered the delicious pleasures of the flesh. The wonder of it made him want to burst into song or race down the mountain from pure exuberance.

Troth deserved the credit for his invigoration, of course, because she truly was discovering the pleasures of the flesh. Pa.s.sionate and eager, she was irresistible. After they'd cleaned up traces of their stay and left the cave shrine, they traveled from the hills down into more populated farmland. At dusk they'd stopped in a village inn similar to the one where they'd spent their first night.

Kyle's blood had been simmering all day, and no sooner were they secure in their room than he'd caught his companion in a hungry embrace. They'd ended up coupling against the rough mud-brick wall, Troth as frantic as he.

After recovering some strength with the evening rice, he'd experimented with Taoist practices, and found that it was indeed possible to withhold his seed and prolong their pleasure. Over the next nights-and one wild, indiscreet interval by a shaded stream-Troth had entered into his sometimes clumsy experiments with laughter and enthusiasm. He hadn't known it was possible to have a relationship with a woman that was, for lack of a better term, a pa.s.sionate friendship.

With Troth, there were no tears or demands or manipulations, no implication that because they were bedmates, she owned him. She was all honesty, generous and incredibly open about her physical nature. Given the intoxicated way they'd been feasting on each other, it was amazing they'd managed to reach Hoshan. But they had. Three weeks of travel, going rather slower than they'd planned because there seemed no reason to hurry, had brought them to the temple that had haunted him for half a lifetime.

As they picked their way down the trail, he was almost sorry they'd reached their goal. Until now the journey had been fueled by antic.i.p.ation. The return would be anticlimactic, with every step taking him closer to the end of his travels-and of his intimacy with Troth.

A rattle of pebbles sounded below them on the path, heralding the progress of a returning pilgrim. Soon a sedan chair appeared, carried by two bearers along the narrow track. Kyle, Troth, and Sheng squeezed against the wall in a wide section of the trail as the chair was carried by, curtained so that the occupant was invisible. The sinewy bearers trotted along swiftly, unconcerned by the sheer drop.

After the other party vanished from view, Kyle murmured, "Were they moving so fast from confidence, or the belief that if they fall off the cliff and die, they'll be rapidly reborn in a better state?"

Troth smiled. "They probably specialize in carrying invalids and pilgrims to the temple and have been along this track hundreds of times."

"Better them than me." Kyle cast an uneasy glance at the abyss to the left. "The builders of Hoshan certainly didn't want their temple to be too accessible."

"If it were easy to reach, it would be less special."

Other travelers were approaching, so they fell silent. The trail ended at the lake, where a handful of merchants catered to the needs of pilgrims. After bedding Sheng down at the livery, Troth bought richly perfumed flowers and a straw basket of fruit for offerings, placing the flowers in Kyle's arms. Then she took his elbow and escorted him to the landing, where a boat waited to take them and several others to the island.

Kyle's nerves wound tighter and tighter as the boat skimmed over the water like a swallow, propelled by the strong arms of a gray-robed young man. What if he'd come all this distance and found nothing except beauty? He'd visited shrines in many lands, seeking some elusive understanding that he couldn't even name. Occasionally he'd felt that he was close to reaching what he sought. But never close enough.

When they reached the island, Troth helped Kyle from the boat with the deference due his aged and injured state, then guided him up the broad steps that led to the temple entrance. Heart pounding, he stared through the thin gauze at the details of the structure that had captured his imagination, enchanted as much by the gilded mythical beasts that marched down the curving ridgepoles as by the perfect, harmonious proportions.

Most of all, he felt the sheer power of the place. This was like the cave shrine to Kuan Yin, only multiplied a hundredfold. Hoshan radiated a sacred energy that both humbled and enlightened. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.

The sound of chanting monks wafted out the high, arched entrance, the voices eerily beautiful. Troth's grip on his elbow tightened. One would have to be made of stone not to be affected by Hoshan.

They stepped from sunshine into mystery. The vast shrine was domed with a richly coffered ceiling of blue and gold and lit by ma.s.ses of candles. Sandalwood incense perfumed the air, so spicy Kyle could taste it on his tongue.

Shrines to other deities circled the sanctuary, but it was the towering statue of the Buddha, gilded and serene, that riveted his attention. Here was the heart of the temple's energy, the innate power of the image enhanced by twenty centuries of prayers.

Most of the many monks were seated in the lotus position as they chanted their devotions with an intensity that resonated in the mind, but a few were a.s.signed to help visitors. When one approached, Troth bowed and spoke softly to him, giving him an offering of silver coins. He accepted with a nod and gave her half a dozen tall, smoldering incense sticks.

Her grip firm, Troth guided Kyle forward so they could place their flowers and fruit in front of the altar. Troth had explained on their journey that it wasn't the image that was being worshiped, but the spiritual awareness it represented. Nonetheless, in the flickering light the Buddha's face seemed almost alive, his gaze so profound it was easy to understand why some worshipers thought the statue itself was divine.

After backing them up several steps, Troth handed him three of the incense sticks. The night before she'd explained the proper ritual. First he should kneel to pray or meditate. When he finished his devotions, he must place the joss sticks into the incense pot, then kowtow before rising.

He obeyed, moving with the slowness of an old man as he knelt on the cool marble floor. Finally he had reached the heart of this journey. Behind his gauze blindfold, he closed his eyes and let the spirit of the place fill him. Power. Goodness. Mysteries beyond the ken of mortal men.

Why had a sinner like him made this pilgrimage? Not to mock, G.o.d knew, but in search of wisdom and grace.

He deserved neither. His past ran through his mind, the memories an iron knot as he recalled every instance of selfishness and anger. He and his brother had been alienated for a decade, and the fault had lain almost entirely with his own pigheaded arrogance. He'd known how much he meant to his father, both as a son and as an heir, yet he'd deliberately withheld the warmth the old earl had secretly craved.

And Constancia... She had been his shield and his salvation, yet he'd been unable to tell her what she meant to him until literally the hour of her death.

Despair swept through him in drowning waves. He'd been born blessed, and proved himself wholly unworthy of his good fortune. He was shallow, useless, a failure at everything that really mattered. Dear G.o.d, why had he ever been born?

As tears stained his bandaged face, hesitant fingers touched his left hand. Troth. He clutched at her, desperate for an anchor in a tempest of self-recriminations. Troth.

She squeezed his hand, and in her grip he felt the pulse of her chi. Pure and bright, it glowed with a compa.s.sion that warmed the depths of his darkness. That first touch of light grew like the dawn sun rising into a globe of purifying fire, burning away his pain and doubts, pettiness and regrets. He felt scalded, melted, transformed.

Yes, he'd been imperfect, sometimes dense and other times foolish, but never had he been evil. He'd never used his power to be cruel, and even at his angriest, he'd done his duty and tried to live with honor. Now, perhaps, he could learn how to do his duty with joy. He felt a vast and powerful compa.s.sion for all the world's suffering creatures, and knew it for a shadow of the limitless compa.s.sion the Divine felt for humankind-so much compa.s.sion that there was enough even for him. Exaltation welled up within him.

Was this clarity of soul what Christians called grace? How strange to travel halfway around the world to find what priests of his own religion had tried to explain in sermons he'd scarcely listened to.

In my end, I find my beginning. For him, the beginning was the discovery of soul-deep peace. The restlessness that had driven him since he was a child dissolved as if it had never existed. Inner peace was not something found only at the ends of the earth, but a quality that could be-must be- found within his own heart.

Troth shifted beside him, and he realized that his muscles were stiff and his knees aching from the polished marble floor. He wondered how long he'd been lost in his inner labyrinth.

Feeling quite creaky enough for his aged role, he set the stubs of the incense sticks in the pot and kowtowed, then got to his feet. Troth did the same rather more gracefully.

Together they circled the sanctuary to view the smaller shrines. He tried to memorize every image, every small, rich detail, so that in the future he would be able to return to the temple in his mind even though his body would never come this way again.

Leaving the temple, they went into the gardens behind. Designed in a series of grottoes ideal for contemplation, they were exquisite. In a small rockery of fantastically shaped stones, Troth said under her breath, "Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes? I want to go into Kuan Yin's garden and pay my respects before we leave."

"Of course." He settled on a bench in the shadow of a miniature mountain made of raw stone, glad she was moved to her own private worship.

It was peaceful in the rockery. The chanting was so faint that the sound might have come from another world. Nearer to hand was the faint splashing of a small waterfall that fell from the piled rocks into a pool. Bright birds he didn't recognize bathed in the water, singing joyfully. Since there was no one about, he turned and slid the bandage from his eyes so he could see Hoshan clearly once before leaving. It was even lovelier when not viewed through a haze of gauze.

His serenity suffered a severe jolt when an elderly monk entered the rockery, his footsteps inaudible over the songs of the bathing birds. The old man glanced at Kyle and froze in his tracks.

d.a.m.nation! Kyle swore at himself for forgetting the practical realities of his situation. In the afternoon sun his blue eyes were unmistakable, and once they had been seen, it was easy to discern European features under the swaddling bandages.

He reached inside for calm, and found it, along with a possible solution. Before the monk could raise a cry, Kyle stood and pressed his hands together in front of his chest in the cla.s.sic Indian greeting of goodwill. " Namaste," he said quietly, bowing as he would have in India.

Recognizing the gesture, the monk's lined face relaxed into acceptance. Putting his hands together, he repeated, "Namaste."

Kyle bowed again, doing his best to convey sincerity and harmlessness, then withdrew from the rockery. He met Troth as she returned from the Kuan Yin shrine. "I was careless and a monk saw me for a Fan-qui," he said tersely. "I don't think he'll raise the alarm, but it's probably best to leave immediately."

Wasting no time with questions or recriminations, she took his arm and marched him to the landing. One of the boats was about to leave, so they found places and in a few minutes they were back on the sh.o.r.e.

They'd debated whether to spend a night at the lakesh.o.r.e guesthouse, but now that was out of the question. Sheng was separated from his fodder and soon they were winding their way back along the track. This late in the day, there was little traffic. Kyle calculated that they should leave the treacherous track just as darkness fell. They could stay at the tiny mountain inn where they'd slept the night before.

When they reached the spur of the mountain that would block their view of the temple, he said, "Wait."

Troth nodded, and they both turned for a last look at Hoshan. In the waning light, it looked even more unreal than it had on their journey in. "I don't see any signs of pursuit." Kyle briefly explained what had happened, adding, "I felt at the time that the monk accepted me as an honest seeker and was unworried by the fact that I was an illicit foreign devil."

"Probably he was gratified at the knowledge that a foreigner would come so far and risk so much to worship here." Troth smiled. "Or maybe he thought from your gesture that you were an Indian, not a European. Whatever the reason, the peace of Buddha reigned there."

Kyle hesitated, then asked a question that he'd wondered about for some time. "How would you describe your religious faith, Troth?"

"My father raised me as a good Scottish Presbyterian, and that is my first faith," she said slowly. "But in China, one can follow more than one path. In my readings, I've found much in common between the Buddha and Christ, so I feel no conflict in my soul when I offer my prayers to Kuan Yin and the Buddha." She glanced at him. "Has Hoshan transformed you into a Buddhist?"

"Not really." He thought of an Italian painting in the Dornleigh gallery. A crucifixion scene, it depicted Christ with a spirituality as powerful as that of the Hoshan Buddha. He'd always been drawn to the painting, and now he knew why. "But I think that for the first time in my life, I am truly a Christian."

After a silent farewell, he turned away from the sacred valley and resumed climbing. The yearning that had drawn him to Hoshan had been perhaps the truest impulse of his life.

Chapter 23.

Though Kyle's mistake at Hoshan hadn't brought on pursuit, as a precaution Troth chose a different route back to Canton. Not only did it take them through new country, but it would extend their journey by several days. That knowledge was a guilty pleasure, for every hour in his company was a delight. She had never been so happy as she was now, traveling with a man who fully accepted who she was.

On the third evening after leaving Hoshan, they approached the small city of Feng-tang. She frowned at the sight of the high mud-brick walls. "Perhaps we should go around. This is a second-cla.s.s prefecture city, so there will be many government officials and troops."

"We made it through Canton safely, and that's far larger. Besides, to avoid Feng-tang we'd have to backtrack for miles or flounder through rice paddies, which would certainly irritate the owners. Safer to carry on as humble travelers."

With a nod, Troth tugged at Sheng's bridle and they continued into Feng-tang. Her disquiet returned when they pa.s.sed through the western gate into a street teeming with people. Children raced by with scarlet paper streamers while their elders chattered with friends or watched street entertainers. As Sheng shied away from the explosion of a bamboo firecracker, Kyle asked softly, "What's going on?"

She glanced at the dragon kites soaring overhead. "Some kind of local festival. I'll ask when we register at the inn."

They were turned away from two inns before they got the last room at a third. The innkeeper was happy to answer questions, so when they were safe in their quarters Troth reported, "The local prefect is named Wu Chong, and this festival is for the birth of his first son. Apparently Wu is well along in years and none of his wives had borne him a child, so he's celebrating with offerings at all the city temples, a street fair, and a parade with a lion dance tonight."

"A lion dance? Let's go out later and watch." Kyle unwound the bandage from his head with practiced hands. She always loved the moment when he went from being grandfather to lover. Her lover.

She bit her lip, considering. "We should avoid public events. The festival will have drinking and rowdiness."

"I have faith in your ability to protect me." He removed the wig and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'd really like to see a festival. During Chinese New Year I kept looking out toward Canton and wishing I could join the celebrations."

She gave him a long, slow smile. "Persuade me."

"And what form should that persuasion take, my shameless one?" Eyes gleaming, he crossed the small room in two strides and scooped her into his arms. "Do you want to be ravished?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh, please!"

He had her tunic off before they reached the bed, and her trousers went flying moments later. How very deft he was, she thought breathlessly as he dedicated himself to a thorough ravishing. Sometimes she wanted to ask him if such fierce pleasure was normal between two people, but she didn't dare. She wanted to think that this was special, and that when they came together she was the only woman in his world as he was the only man in hers.

The only man in the world... Shuddering, she buried her hands in his hair and traded thought for rapture.

They dozed after making love, coming awake when a string of firecrackers exploded in the street just outside their window. Troth stirred in Kyle's arms, saying sleepily, "We can eat from our saddlebags. Then I can ravish you."

"What a wonderful offer." Kyle kissed the exquisite curve of her shoulder lingeringly, tempted to agree. Instead, he swung from the bed. "But I'm hungry, this is the only festival I'll see, and I can perfectly well be ravished later."

Suppressing a yawn, she rose and pulled on her clothes. "What an indefatigable tourist you are, my lord."

"Guilty," he said with a chuckle as he watched her dress. He didn't bandage his eyes until every lovely inch of her was covered. It was powerfully erotic to be the only one who knew the beauty concealed by her shapeless garments.

He wondered for the thousandth time if he should ask her to be his mistress back in England, but the answer was always the same. She was a lover beyond compare, as witty and kind as she was pa.s.sionate, but as his mistress she'd once more be relegated to a half-life, barred from polite society. She deserved better than that-not only respect, but also the opportunity to meet a man who would love her as she deserved.

What would it have been like if he'd met her before he'd met Constancia? The thought was so disorienting that he suppressed it. Constancia had molded him into the man he was now. Without her influence, he wouldn't have been worth knowing, She had taught him to love-then taken his heart with her when she died.

It was the only ill turn she'd ever served him.

Troth swallowed the last bite of her honey roll, glad Kyle had persuaded her to come out. The streets crackled with merriment, lanterns lighting the night, peddlers selling delicious tidbits, and old men gambling in corners with their cronies. A fortune-teller tugged at her sleeve. "Tell your fortune, young man? Wealth and pretty concubines surely await you."

Troth shook her head. "Sorry, Grandmother, I'd rather not know what the future holds." Which was the truth, she thought wryly.

Taking a firm hold on Kyle's arm, she continued on until they reached a puppet theater. No language was required to appreciate the farcical story of honorable men, beautiful women, and evil sorcerers. She was impressed by Kyle's ability to keep his head bent feebly while drinking in every detail through the layer of gauze.

The show ended and she dropped a coin into the basket carried around by a small daughter of the troupe. Moving on, she bought two tiny cups of rice wine from a vendor, who dipped the fiery spirit from a deep jar with a lacquered ladle. Kyle was so taken with the ladle that he signaled for another cup even though the first one left him gasping. Troth grinned; rice wine was closer to brandy than to European wines.