An Illicit Temptation (5 page)

Chapter Six

Kwan-Li had only traveled once to the encampment where
the khagan held court. He was little more than a boy at the time, riding
alongside his father as they went to pay their yearly tribute to the ruling
clan. He used the distant mountains and the sun as a guide as he’d been taught.
It wasn’t long before the land spoke to him once again.

As they reached the northern region, the land became green and
lush. The journey brought them to a cliff overlooking a wide valley down below.
Tall grass rippled in waves with a tipping of yellow that signaled the beginning
of the autumn season. The glitter of water could be seen in the distance.

The first time he’d seen An-Ming, his princess who wasn’t a
princess, was two months ago at the start of the journey. She had been wrapped
in silk and jewels as she stepped down from her palanquin. An-Ming dismounted
now and ventured to the edge to peer into the valley. Her chest rose and fell
with the sway of the breeze.

“Your land is really quite beautiful,” she said with an air of
wonder.

“It is.” He had forgotten it at times himself, but he was
rediscovering his homeland now with An-Ming beside him.

“How much longer?” she asked.

He knew what she was asking. “Two days.”

“So soon…”

Her voice trailed off. They hadn’t so much as brushed by each
other for the last few days. Not since that morning. He sensed that she didn’t
want to be wooed or coaxed back into his arms, so he had waited for her to come
to him. He stood behind her, just at her shoulder, with less than a hand’s span
between them. Not touching, but close enough for the hint of it.

“The alliance with your Emperor is important to us, but it is
not written in blood.” He wanted to try to explain to her. The different ruling
tribes formed a complicated union.

She looked away from him, her chin titled upward in a sign of
stubbornness and pride. “This is not only for me.”

Kwan-Li understood sacrifice. He also knew what it was to lose
one’s sense of self to duty. The thought of An-Ming being placed in the khagan’s
court suddenly pained him. He had desired her from the start—perhaps the way a
man coveted beautiful things he had no chance of possessing—but he admired her
now. He was in awe of her.

It wasn’t that he was afraid she would lose herself, he
realized. It was that he didn’t want to give her up.

They returned to the horses and he untacked the animals to set
them to graze. When he returned to An-Ming, he was surprised to see she had
started the cooking fire without his assistance. She started to pour herself
some tea, but he took over the task.

“You don’t have to serve me,” she protested as he handed her
the cup.

Wordlessly he poured another cup for himself. For a moment,
they sat facing the valley, shoulder to shoulder without touching. He drank. She
drank.

“Do you think that everything—” He cast her a sidelong glance.
“That our night together was me serving you?”

She almost spit out the tea.

He hid a smile as she sputtered. She deserved some punishment
for tormenting him. For the long nights he slept on the cold ground while she
lay hidden away, so temptingly close.

She looked around in desperation as she recovered. “So how good
are you with that?”

He followed her gaze to the saddle packs and extracted his bow.
“Better than any of your Han archers.”

She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Teach me then.”

He laughed.

“Don’t Khitan women know how to ride and shoot?” she asked.

“Some, but…”

An-Ming set her teacup aside and held out her hand for the bow.
“Teach me.”

“You are not strong enough to bend this one.”

“Come now. I’m not as soft as you think.”

Indeed she wasn’t, but she was soft in all the right places.
Gamely he handed the bow over. It was fashioned from wood and sheep’s horn and
designed to be fired from horseback.

He stood when she stood, taking a moment to position her with
his hands on her shoulders.

“You’re taking liberties now that I’m no longer royalty,” she
accused, shrugging out of his grasp.

“You asked for the lesson, my false princess.”

She made a face at him that he doubted he’d ever see on a
princess. As he predicted, An-Ming was unable to make any progress pulling at
the drawstring. She returned the bow after a few attempts.

“Can you hit that tree over there?” she challenged.

There was a poplar tree a good distance away. This sort of game
was commonplace to any boy growing up on the steppe. Suddenly he found himself
in the mood for bravado. He stood laconically and aligned himself with the
target.

“The first branch on the left,” she identified.

Kwan-Li nocked an arrow against the drawstring and took his
time sighting the target. “If I hit it, you spend the night with me.”

An-Ming made a choking sound as he released. The arrow flew
true, but continued past the tree to land in the grass beyond.

“You missed,” she said after exactly three heartbeats, her
voice faint.

“I didn’t.”

She gave him a doubtful look. He returned it with some
arrogance. Together, they walked toward the tree with purpose. The bark on the
underside of the branch had been grazed away. An-Ming touched her fingertips
lightly to the pale telltale mark before turning on him.

“I never agreed on the terms,” she protested.

“Another target then?” he suggested, enjoying himself more than
he had in years. His gaze moved up to a dark shadow in the sky. “I can hit that
eagle, if you wish.”

He started to take aim without any true intention behind it.
An-Ming grabbed his arm with a look of exasperation. “Scoundrel.”

She turned on her heel and strode away, leaving him to admire
the sway of her hips. The wager remained enticingly unresolved. He looked back
up to the skies, tracking the flight of the golden eagle over the valley. He was
glad to spare the creature. He felt a kinship to it at that moment as it soared
high above its domain.

He felt boastful around An-Ming today. He wasn’t the barbarian
struggling to be a gentleman in a foreign city any longer, but he wasn’t a youth
learning the ways of the steppe, either. He had come home and An-Ming was
inextricably part of that journey.

There was little conversation for the rest of the day. When
evening neared, they stopped and followed the usual routine: tying down the
horses, the fire, the tent, a simple meal of ground tea brick and millet.

His princess who wasn’t a princess then retired into her tent
without even the generosity of a single kind word for him. He grinned and let
the first stars appear over the horizon before going to her.

She lay on the rug inside with a blanket draped over her. Her
eyes were open. They glittered in the darkness.

Without a word, they were in each other’s arms. Clothing was
only a momentary distraction. They unfastened just enough for skin to find skin.
An-Ming wove her fingers into his hair to pull him to her. He liked it when she
was demanding. He liked her any way at all.

He laid himself down and pulled her on top of him. She made a
startled sound, but the confusion didn’t last. She braced her palm against his
chest as she straddled his thighs. Her hair tickled against his throat. His
hands circled her waist, angling her just so. With just a lowering of her hips
and an upward thrust of his, he was inside her, sliding into sultry heat.

This was good. Very, very good. Soon they were both shuddering,
lost in each other.

An-Ming melted onto him afterward, her curves molding perfectly
to his body. She hid her face against his shoulder.

“I must still marry the khagan,” she said, tormented.

“You don’t have to.”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him. She was determined
to bear this burden and nothing could convince her otherwise. Nothing that could
be said with words. He rolled her beneath him and hushed her, kissing her
forehead, the tip of her nose, then her lips. The sort of kisses a longtime
lover would bestow. She responded to him so sweetly. She wanted to be
hushed.

“What is your name?” he asked when they broke apart to catch a
breath. “Your real name.”

“Dao.”

“Dao.” He said it to test the feel of it on his tongue.

“But I prefer An-Ming,” she insisted. “It’s so much
grander.”

“Dao suits you.” His lips made a trail down to her shoulder.
“Like a sweet, ripe—” he curled his palm over the lush shape of her breast
“—summer peach.”

He nipped at the soft underside of it and she gasped.

“
Scoundrel
.”

“Why this new name for me suddenly?”

“Because a man changes after he has a woman,” she accused.

“How would you know? You haven’t had any men before me.”

“How do
you
know?” she
challenged.

“I know.”

She had called him her first lover. First. She had already
decided there would be another. He was like any man with his share of jealousy.
He countered it by positioning himself between her knees and easing his length
into her again. Her breath caught and she made a soft, startled sound as her
body accepted him that told him all he needed to know. That she was his.

A man did change. He became ensnared, bewitched. A handful of
days without her and his body had become impatient and greedy. He sank fully
into her sooner than he meant to. His hips lifted and pushed forward slowly. He
closed his eyes and rested his forehead against hers. Her breath grazed his
cheek. Her nails dug into his shoulder as she throbbed around him.

“This is the last time we’ll be together,” she said once they
had stilled.

Her tone was heavy, resolved. Sad. She ran her fingers lightly
over his face, tracing the lines of it as if she were etching a picture of him
in her mind. He tried to kiss her fingertips as they skimmed past, but the touch
was too fleeting to catch.

He couldn’t reassure her when he wasn’t certain himself what
would happen. Instead he hushed her again. His kiss was tender this time, trying
to reach past her stubborn head into her heart. To the part that, for all her
outward fierceness, was still abandoned and afraid.

He dreamed of more nights like this. Days as well, until the
end of time. He had dreamed about turning the horses and riding west. Or even
south back to the cities of the Tang Empire. Any place where he wouldn’t have to
give her up. But running away would mean exile and isolation and that wasn’t
what he wanted. Not for Dao or for himself.

Chapter Seven

A cluster of yurts came into view in the distance. As
they approached, more dwellings appeared. This settlement was four times the
size of the one Dao had visited in the southern region. A patrol of armed
horsemen rode out to greet them. The men dismounted and bowed to Kwan-Li. One
after another, they clasped his arms in greeting as if long lost brothers while
she looked on in confusion. After the exchange, the riders climbed back into the
saddle to escort them. With each step, she could feel Kwan-Li slipping further
away.

Her entire purpose for coming to Khitan was to become an
alliance bride. There was no place on this earth where they could be together.
She couldn’t spend their last moments in regret.

At the border of the camp, Kwan-Li instructed her to dismount
and reached out to steady her as she lowered herself to the ground. Dao took his
hand, but he held on long after she had her footing. His fingers tightened over
hers and he gave her a look so intense that her heart was in her throat.

“Is this proper?” she whispered. She had to be a princess
again.

His only answer was a half smile before he let go.

Ruan came out to meet them. His grizzled face broke into a grin
as he clasped Kwan-Li’s arms in greeting. The grin faded as he looked from
Kwan-Li to Dao.

“Princess,” he said, with more seriousness than usual.

She looked about worriedly. “What of the others?”

She didn’t see the other tribesmen who had ridden with them,
but Ruan laughed. “Good. Strong. We Khitans are tough,” he boasted.

Ruan switched to his native tongue to speak to Kwan-Li. The two
men conferred briefly before Ruan left them.

“The Uyghur delegation is here,” Kwan-Li reported to her. “They
arrived a few days ago. We are going to see the khagan now.”

His expression had become as guarded as it had been at the
beginning of their journey when they had been strangers to each other. The sight
of it sent a stab of panic through her. She wanted Kwan-Li back.

They walked toward the center of the camp. With each step, her
stomach twisted. By the time she saw the large canvas tent surrounded by
banners, she was so tangled up she couldn’t remember the greeting she had
rehearsed. The speech had sounded so stately and grandiose a few months ago.

Dao had filled her head with ideas that this would be easy. She
would be covered in jade and gold and no one would ever know that she was
nothing but a floor sweeper. For the first time, she lamented that her
ridiculously lavish procession had been left behind.

“Do I look like a princess?” she whispered frantically.

Kwan-Li’s gaze traced over her face. “Always.”

She didn’t feel like a princess. She was covered in dust and
her hair was wind-battered and uncombed. They paused at the threshold of the
yurt. The entrance flaps had been pulled wide and several grim-faced guards
stood at the opening.

“Do you truly want to marry the khagan?” Kwan-Li asked
softly.

“It doesn’t matter what I want.”

She wanted to be back in the endlessness of the steppe. With
him.

As they entered the yurt, she could feel the circular wall
enclosing her and trapping her. Each breath was forced and her tongue grew thick
and useless. Her feet sank to the floor like lead.

The structure was large enough to encompass an assembly of
thirty men, but there was only an elderly man inside flanked by two advisers.
The khagan was seated upon an intricately woven rug. His headdress was decorated
with several silver fox tails.

This was the man she was here to marry. His complexion was
swarthy from a lifetime in the sun. There were crinkles at the corners of his
eyes and creases around his mouth, but he wasn’t as fearsome or as old as she
had thought.

She knelt at the edge of the rug facing him. Kwan-Li lowered
himself between them to translate the conversation. The khagan was honored she
had come. She was honored to be there. His land was vast and plentiful. Her
empire was the greatest under the sun. How fortunate that the khagan would be
blessed with two brides.

“Two brides?” Dao ranted.

“The khagan has already given his word that the Uyghur princess
will be his first wife,” Kwan-Li explained gravely.

“Tell him he can’t catch fish with both hands!”

“I cannot tell him that.”

The khagan was looking at them with interest. Dao swallowed her
retort. All their struggle and the khagan didn’t want to marry her. She knew
what happened to secondary wives. They were used, cast aside, ignored.
Apparently it was the same for servant girls or princesses. A women’s fate was
decided by her husband.

“The khagan assures the princess that she will be treasured.
That she will be given a position of respect which is her due—”

“In his harem.” Her blood boiled. “This is an insult.”

Kwan-Li’s eyes danced with light as he pressed his mouth tight.
Was he trying not to laugh? Her future depended on this!

She wasn’t an underling anymore. She had power. For all they
knew, she was a princess. A princess from the most powerful empire in the
world.

“Tell him—” Dao grasped at the right words. How would An-Ming
react? “Tell him he’s an old lecherous goat!” she raged.

The khagan’s eyes shot wide. Kwan-Li made a choking noise.

“Tell him I won’t have this,” she told Kwan-Li. “That the
Emperor will be angry. That
I
am angry.”

It seemed Kwan-Li was spending his energy trying to calm her
down rather than serve as interpreter. That upset her even more.

“I was shot at,” she complained directly to the khagan. “With
arrows.”

The khagan said something to Kwan-Li in response, which she had
to wait impatiently for him to relay to her.

“The khagan says he thought Han princesses were supposed to be
elegant and graceful.”

“You
are
laughing,” she
accused.

Kwan-Li’s gaze was warm. He all but caressed her with his eyes,
making her heart flutter. She tried very hard to ignore it.

How could Kwan-Li be so calm? His demeanor was
impenetrable.

“You tell him the Emperor’s niece is no lowly concubine,” she
demanded. “Tell him now.”

Kwan-Li turned to the khagan and spoke with a sense of
authority. Apparently he was well-spoken in any language. Whatever he was
saying, it must have been very good because the khagan was nodding. Then a
messenger came in. Whatever he had to say sent the two advisers into a whirlwind
of chatter.

“What is it?” she asked beneath her breath. It was so difficult
not being able to understand anything.

“The Uyghur princess is now outside demanding an audience,”
Kwan-Li informed her.

“Tell him that if he marries her, I will take his fastest horse
and ride back home.”

The khagan looked like he would rather be on his fastest horse,
riding headlong into battle.

Kwan-Li presented the khagan with a stream of words that she
was certain contained much more than a translation of her threat. The khagan
made a weary gesture toward them at the end of the exchange. He appeared to have
aged a few years.

Kwan-Li stood and ushered her to the side of the yurt. “The
khagan has given me leave to explain the situation to the princess. I have
proposed a compromise.”

“What compromise?”

“Another peace marriage. Not to the khagan, but to the Yelu
chieftain’s son.”

“He wants to appease me with a marriage of inferior status—”
She stopped as Kwan-Li’s eyes darkened. The earth shifted beneath her feet
before settling again. “You’re the Yelu chieftain’s son.”

The pieces all came together. Kwan-Li would have to be a very
valuable hostage to be sent to the imperial court to ensure peace. Despite his
courteousness, he’d never acted like an underling. Throughout the entire
journey, he had commanded everyone around them. The Khitans had deferred to him,
but Dao assumed it was his affiliation with the Tang imperial court that gave
him status. She, like all others in the Tang Empire, assumed the sun rose and
set on their kingdom. She was a fool.

“You are blushing, Princess.”

She was more than blushing. Her face was on fire. Her
mortification knew no bounds. When it came to diplomacy and politics, she was an
ignorant peasant and he was practically a prince.

“But the alliance—”

Kwan-Li lowered his voice. “When you revealed you weren’t truly
a princess, I realized how little the Emperor must value this alliance. As you
can see here, it is also obvious the khagan would rather uphold relations with
the Uyghurs than the Tang Empire.”

“So no one wants this marriage?” she asked skeptically.

“Apparently not, but no one can admit this. It would cause ill
will.”

She made a face that was certainly not princesslike. “Diplomacy
is complicated.”

“I did spend twelve years in the imperial court learning about
it.” Kwan-Li smiled and she felt herself warm all the way down to her toes. He
leaned close and his voice dropped low. “So I must ask again, what do you want,
Princess? Will you accept an inferior marriage?”

His frown deepened as he waited for her reply. He looked so
serious.

“If I must,” Dao replied. It was very, very difficult not to
smile.

The khagan let out a sigh of relief when he heard the response.
“Let this be done quickly,” he declared in roughly accented Han.

Kwan-Li held his hand to the small of her back as they were
ushered outside.

“For a moment, you looked worried in there.” It was the first
time she’d seen any break in his confidence, now that she thought of it.

“I spoke of politics and diplomacy, but the one thing I could
not negotiate for was your heart.” He regarded her with an earnestness that
touched her deeply. “You have always been so adamant about what you wanted, but
I could never be certain whether you wanted me.”

Her throat tightened. Kwan-Li had given her the choice. Her. A
lowly servant who was a lowly servant no more.

“I do,” she told him. “More than all the gold in the empire.
But what would you have done if I had refused?”

“How cruel to even ask such a thing.” Kwan-Li straightened and
glanced down at her. He was quite handsome when affronted. “I have been your
slave ever since you insisted on falling off that horse.”

Her chest swelled with so much feeling that it was wonderful
and painful all at once. She had loved him from the moment they stood together
by the bonfire that very same night. She had been surrounded by strange music in
a foreign land full of mystery, but she knew she would be safe as long as
Kwan-Li was with her.

She reached out to him, lacing her fingers through his. “Once
we’re married, will you still call me ‘Princess’?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Always.”

* * * * *