An Illicit Temptation (2 page)

“She won’t be.” She positioned herself beside the horse and
prepared to mount, ignoring him.

“She will.”

“She
won’t
.”

An-Ming braced a foot onto his knee while one hand grasped his
shoulder, fully expecting compliance. He hefted her up with a bit more force
than necessary and she tottered as she clambered into the saddle.

Her eyes flashed fire down at him. He kept his expression blank
as he mounted. Her touch on him, however brief and impersonal, lingered, as did
the scent of her perfume.

Perfume. Out here among the dust and needle grass of the
steppe.

It had been easier when he had only been subjected to brief
glimpses. A tantalizing flutter of yellow silk as she went from the sleeping
tent to her sedan. He had expected the princess to maintain her distance and a
proper sense of formality throughout the journey. Instead she insisted on riding
in the open, on redirecting the entire caravan if there was some sight she
wanted to see. She was as restless and vibrant as a summer wind across the
grassland.

At least Princess An-Ming had donned more modest clothing for
riding. Those elaborate robes she wore only gave the illusion she was hidden
under layer upon layer of silk. Every movement hinted at the rounded curve of
her hips, the enticing indent of her waist, and in a swirl of color that could
not be ignored against the starkness of the plains.

“Why do you always have that scowl on your face?” she
asked.

He’d been gazing at the horizon, taking in the long-awaited
sight of the land of his birth and preventing himself from looking too long at
her.

“I am thinking.” He tried again to turn his attention away, but
she wouldn’t allow it.

“What about?”

It always surprised him how easily she fell into informal
speech with him. The intimacy was out of place. It was the same way with the
sly, sideways glance she wielded so masterfully.

She was watching him now, eyes bright, mouth pink and pressed
just so. Her face was sensually rounded and he could lose a day just watching
the expressions that danced across it. He turned to her, resigned. That
intriguing dimple on her left cheek was showing itself.

Why this woman? Why her when he’d been indifferent to all
manner of beautiful women in the capital? She was a princess and the Emperor’s
niece. Most importantly, her arranged marriage was meant to ensure peaceful
relations between their lands.

“Our progress is not as I had hoped,” he said.

“You’re still upset that I wanted to ride today.”

She smiled at him, amused. He
amused
her.

“I have no objection to you. This, however—” He gestured toward
the impossibly long trail of wagons in the caravan.

She frowned, affronted. “I didn’t ask for all this. I don’t
need people to dress and feed me.”

He eyed her skeptically.

“But I should have such luxuries…being a princess,” she
amended, lifting her chin haughtily.

There was something very, very strange about Princess
An-Ming.

“The princess must know how important it is to travel swiftly,”
he explained. “The Uyghur delegation has sent their own alliance bride to
petition for marriage. They may already be at the khagan’s central camp.”

An-Ming paled. “Another princess? But I’m supposed to be the
khagan’s bride! He wouldn’t dare go back on his word.” She paused and looked at
him imploringly. “Would he?”

Had she truly been locked away in some dark corner of the
palace? It was told that the princesses of the Tang Empire were formidable
women. An-Ming certainly upheld that reputation when it came to her
audaciousness, but she seemed to know nothing of the politics of the imperial
court.

“This was why the journey was moved ahead several months,” he
explained, a bit impatiently.

“But the Khitans asked for this alliance to our empire.”

“The alliance is important to many of the southern tribes such
as mine, but Khitan is a confederation of many tribes. We have been caught
between the Uyghur and the Tang empires for hundreds of years.”

Her usual airy tone vanished. “So there are other tribes that
support this other marriage.” She frowned and her expression took on a serious,
calculating look that he’d never seen on her before. “I thought everything was
already decided.”

His mood darkened. “So did I.”

At that moment, her horse faltered a step and the princess fell
slightly behind. She was inadvertently pulling back on the reins, signaling her
horse to slow. He started to remind her to relax her hold, but the section of
the caravan before them had come to a stop.

One of the horses had become agitated. The rider worked to
steady the animal while the other Khitan horsemen soothed their mounts. Kwan-Li
scanned the area and saw the remains of a fresh animal carcass. Signs of a wolf
attack with the smell of blood still in the air. It should have been nothing
more than a routine distraction, but the princess was still fighting to regain
control. Her horse snorted, his hooves stamping the ground in agitation.

Kwan-Li sensed disaster before it struck. The horse shook his
head defiantly and suddenly reared up. His front legs lifted from the ground and
the princess shrieked. The scream set the horse off and he bolted off toward the
open plain in a storm of dust.

He cursed and set off after her. The beast was head down in a
full run. An-Ming was reduced to a small huddled figure clinging to the saddle.
As he came nearer, he could see her clutching on to the horse’s mane. She cried
out for help, but her distress only made matters worse.

He hoped she could hear him above the pounding hooves.
“Princess!”

Kwan-Li directed his mount alongside hers, edging gradually
into the path of the runaway horse. He crouched low and used his heels to push
forward. Faster. The earth rushed by beneath him.

He had to try to slow the runaway down. The horses turned in a
wide circle, gradually matching speeds. An-Ming lifted her head to seek him out.
Her knuckles were bone-white as she held on.

“Take the reins,” he shouted.

The leather strap whipped against her knuckles as she grasped
blindly for them. She made another desperate lunge. The motion unseated her and
she was thrown over the horse’s shoulder, landing hard with a sickening thud.
Kwan-Li’s heart stopped. The runaway horse continued heedless through the
grassland while the princess lay in the dust.

Kwan-Li dismounted and ran to her. The princess was curled onto
her side.

“Princess!”

He called out her name when she didn’t respond. With great
care, he rolled her onto her back and she opened her eyes slowly. The headdress
had fallen away and her face was streaked with dust. Her chest lifted and
lowered shallowly as she struggled for breath. Only a thin wheeze escaped her
lips.

“Are you hurt? Is anything broken?”

She was able to focus on him, which was a small relief, but she
appeared confused.

Kwan-Li realized he’d reverted to his native tongue in his
panic and had to repeat himself in Han. Wincing, she pressed a hand to her
midsection.

There was no time for fear. He ran his hands along the sides of
her rib cage, trying to feel through the tunic. He unclasped the front of her
deel
, ignoring the flimsy silk garment beneath.
Pressing his fingertips lightly to her abdomen, he checked for swelling, for
pain. She didn’t wince at his touch, but continued to struggle for breath. He
ran his hands over her arms, her legs, searched gingerly along her scalp.
Nothing seemed broken. She’d simply had the wind knocked out of her.

“Breathe slowly,” he instructed, his voice low and calming.

After what seemed like ages, she was able to draw a shallow
breath followed by a deeper one. His own breath returned as she let out a sigh
and the color returned to her cheeks.

Relief flooded through him. Their eyes met as he helped her sit
up and something unspoken passed between them. He had a hand on the curve of her
waist and another braced behind her shoulder. She was watching him, her eyes
deep and dark, lips parted. Her hair was in wild disarray. He reached up to
brush at a smudge of dirt on her cheek and suddenly it was more than relief that
warmed his veins.

He’d avoided this for so long. Avoided even the thought of it,
but she was so close and his hands were on her, touching skin. Hungrily,
helplessly, he bent and pressed his mouth to hers.

Chapter Two

Dao’s eyes shot open. Kwan-Li was kissing her, his
breath becoming her breath. His fingers sank into her hair to hold her to him as
he tasted her. She went still like an animal hunted. The roughness of it sent
her heart racing, harder and faster than it had during the wild chase across the
plain. But the kiss had barely begun before he tore away.

She was left staring up at a blank sky. It was several moments
before she could gather her wits. It was much longer before she could catch her
breath. His back was still to her and his breathing was low, harsh.

“I didn’t even think you liked me,” she said, her throat
dry.

He turned to her, an incredulous look on his face as if
she
were the one who had lost her mind. “We must
return to the caravan,” was all he said.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on front of the
deel
. In the distance, she could hear the sound
of horses and in a matter of minutes, several of the nomads from the caravan
appeared on the horizon.

When Kwan-Li helped her to her feet, his expression was wooden,
but his eyes continued to burn. He kept his hands fisted by his sides, refusing
to reach out to her even when she stumbled. Her horse had finally stopped and
wandered back toward them, bending his head to graze tranquilly upon the wild
grass. The beast.

Kwan-Li retrieved both of the horses as the escort came closer.
“You’ll ride with me,” he said as he mounted.

“But that would be highly improper.” She was still dizzy from
the harrowing ride, from the fall, from his nearness. From…everything. “For a
princess,” she added. “Wouldn’t it be?”

He gave her a hard look and held out his hand, stopping all
argument. She climbed onto the horse behind him. She considered trying not to
touch him, but the danger of falling again had her holding on tight. The muscles
in his back tensed as her arms circled his waist and he flinched when she sank
her cheek momentarily against his shoulder.

What had just happened? What would happen now?

“Kwan-Li?” she began tentatively.

“Not now,” came the muttered reply.

He kicked in his heels to set the horse in motion, guiding the
second one by a rope. Her chest was pressed to his back and she could feel the
rhythm of the ride through him.

Before today, Kwan-Li had never said anything to her outside of
what was absolutely necessary. He remained just as quiet now, as if willing the
silence to scour away that one unforgettable moment. It had come and gone too
quickly for her to react, but her mind and body reacted now.

Kwan-Li. Looking at her with unmistakable desire in his eyes.
Kissing her. It was as if heaven and earth had changed places, she had never
considered such a thing.

“The princess is unharmed,” he reported tersely as they
rejoined the other riders.

They rode without a word back to the caravan, where he returned
her to the sedan, enclosing her safely away. Even when she was alone, her
heartbeat refused to settle down.

This was not good. She was adrift in a wild and foreign land.
Another princess was trying to take her place and Kwan-Li was her one tie to the
imperial court as well as to the khagan. She needed his guidance. She didn’t
need…whatever this was that had her skin flushing and her stomach all nervous
and swimming.

Dao had assumed an alliance bride would be assured a position
of respect. As a household servant, she’d had no chance of marrying well. Her
mother had been seduced and then cast aside by the master of the house. At least
her mother had been allowed to remain in the household and not forced to raise
Dao on the streets. It might have been different if Dao had been a son. Instead
she was born into the same humble servitude, growing up alongside a brother and
a sister she could never recognize as her own. Being married to a chieftain was
a brighter future than she could have ever hoped for.

Suddenly that bright future had become clouded. She had not
come to this strange land to be cast away as second wife, a concubine. Little
better than a servant. She had come here to become someone new. As a princess,
even a false one, Dao could finally determine her own fate. She had that power
now—or did she?

Thoughts of another caravan and a rival princess, a
real
princess, haunted her.

* * *

Kwan-Li had said she would be sore the next day. Dao was
already sore within a few hours. She was bone-weary and every part of her ached.
She slept inside the palanquin and continued sleeping as they reached a Khitan
settlement.

When the palanquin stopped, she lifted a heavy head to peer out
the window, searching first for Kwan-Li, but not finding him.

The settlement resembled a village. About thirty yurts, large
circular huts wrapped in felt, were arranged around a cistern at the center.
Plumes of smoke vented from the huts and pale-colored sheep flocked in pens
around the camp.

Dao stared in fascination at the women and children milling
about the dwellings. She wanted to explore, but was ushered discreetly from the
palanquin into one of the yurts. Princesses weren’t meant to be seen.

The yurt was luxurious compared to the sparse tents they had
slept in during the journey. A sturdy lattice-work frame and a fan of wooden
beams, much like the spines of an umbrella, provided the structure. While the
outside had been wrapped with a plain canvas, the inside was furnished with a
low bed and sitting area. Woven rugs in rainbow colors covered the floor and the
yurt was heated with a central stove. A precious basin of water was brought to
her. Not enough for a bath, but Dao was able to wash away the layer of dust from
her skin.

Several attendants came in bearing trays laden with bowls and
pots trailing steam. Dao took a sip of a pale, thick drink that they explained
was mare’s milk. She managed to keep her face still until the attendants left
before washing the sour taste away with a dose of strong tea.

There was no rice with the meal, but there were plates of
golden pastries and thick stews and generous portions of roasted lamb. As
delicious as the food looked and smelled, Dao was only able to finish a few
bites before exhaustion claimed her again and she fell into a deep, restless
sleep. When she awoke, the yurt was dark and she was alone.

Curse that skittish horse and her insistence on riding it!
She’d meant to summon Kwan-Li after dinner, but the day had taken everything out
of her. From outside she could still hear the drone of conversation along with
the muted wail of strings, singing an unfamiliar song. Perhaps it wasn’t too
late.

She crawled out of bed and felt her way through the darkness
until she reached the flap that covered the entrance. Dao opened it to let
herself out into the night. A scatter of torches lit the settlement and a
blanket of stars greeted her overhead. More stars than all the people in the
empire.

She stared up at the dots of light, feeling dizzy beneath their
watch. It was said that the stars told of celestial designs, the will of the
heavens. Had they always known she would be here, on a journey to be presented
to the ruler of Khitan? She, who was born to a mother who was the lowest of
servants and a father who never recognized her as daughter.

The sound of a male voice startled her. Dao recognized the
young man as one of her guardsmen.

“Where is Kwan-Li?” she asked.

He responded with a string of sounds that meant nothing to her.
Dao hadn’t learned enough of the Khitan language to make her purpose known so
all she could do was shake her head in frustration and move toward the sound of
voices. The guardsman could do nothing but trail after her. She wove around the
dwellings. The settlement was still very much awake and the voices grew louder.
Soon she arrived at a gathering around a fire pit. She stopped at the edge of
the light, not wanting to intrude.

An elderly man pulled a bow across a stringed instrument with a
long, thin neck. The wailing sound she’d heard earlier now took on an effusive,
resonating quality, filling the entire circle with a racing song, like the stomp
of hooves across the plains. The music was as indecipherable and mysterious to
her as the language and customs of this land.

She scanned the crowd and her skin flushed as she caught sight
of Kwan-Li. Dao wasn’t one to be taken by romantic notions. She had agreed to
pose as princess to elevate herself from a life of servitude. Still—to be kissed
without restraint, without warning. Kissed almost savagely by a man who was
always so impeccably well-mannered. Any woman, whether she be a lowly
maidservant or a princess would weaken a little.

He had traded the blue
deel
for one
of tanned felt, similar to what the other nomads wore. A fur cap hid his
topknot. He could have easily blended in as Khitan, yet he stood at the edge of
the circle. An outsider.

Dao had been set apart throughout the entire journey. When
night came, her attendants would see to her needs and then disappear. She was
left isolated in her sleeping tent while the entire caravan gathered around a
fire to trade stories. She could have called them back to provide her company,
but she used to enjoy that small peace at the end of the day when she was a
servant. When there were no more demands on her and her time was her own.
Besides, what did attendants have to say to a princess? She could sense their
discomfort whenever she tried to converse with them. It always left her feeling
so lonely, but she understood the boundaries of status. This was the price of
her deception.

Kwan-Li spoke more directly with her than the others, but even
he treated her with a sense of detachment. Until today.

He turned then, as if sensing her presence, and found her among
the shadows. His eyes glowed in the firelight as he moved toward her. Her palms
began to sweat.

“Kwan-Li,” she began.

“Princess.”

His voice was low and quiet. She was at a loss at what to say
now that he stood before her. There was a wariness to his expression. These next
moments would dictate how they moved on from all that had happened that
afternoon.

She stared at the curve of his mouth. How long had the kiss
lasted? No longer than a heartbeat or two. Not even as long as this strained
silence between them, yet it had changed everything forever.

“How fast can we ride to the central capital?” she asked. “If
we didn’t have to carry all those trunks and so many people How long would it
take?”

He appeared relieved. “With a small group on horseback we can
be there in perhaps two weeks, but it would be a tough journey. Staying in the
saddle all day is not easy.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can ride a horse.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I said
stay
in the saddle.”

Humor now? From Kwan-Li? She didn’t know whether to scowl or
laugh.

“It was your clan that negotiated the peace marriage. This
alliance is as important to you as it is to the empire.”

He sobered at that. “It is very important to us,” he
agreed.

“Then we’ll ride out tomorrow morning. No barbarian princess is
going to take my place.”

His expression, as usual, was unreadable. “As the princess
commands.”

With nothing else to say, the memory of the kiss once again
loomed between them. Her stomach twisted into a thousand knots. Dao considered
retreating to the safety of her bed, but her gaze drifted to the fire pit
surrounded by song. The yurt was a dark and lonely place by comparison.

The musician began another song. There was an accompanying
melody in a low drone that sounded like some sort of pipe or winded instrument.
It took her a moment to realize that the man was somehow creating the sound in
his throat. The sound of it was eerie, ethereal in quality. A sense of freedom
filled her. She was no longer hidden away in seclusion. After the long journey
through the plains, she had only now arrived.

“I never thought I would ever leave the walls of Changan,” she
said, lost in the warmth and laughter of the gathering.

“I never thought I would stand before the Son of Heaven in
Daming Palace,” Kwan-Li replied. “Then after several years in your capital, I
thought I would never return here.”

She stood very still beside him as they let the music encompass
them, very much aware of how his shoulder was just a touch away from hers. The
chill of the night air vanished.

Kwan-Li knew what it was like to leave his homeland behind. He
had lived in a foreign land and adopted a different language and way of
life.

“How old were you when you were sent to the empire?” she
asked.

“Fifteen.”

She was only a handful of years older than that. “What did you
study while you were there?”

“I learned the ways of the Tang Empire—its laws and methods of
governing. For the betterment of our land. There are many in Khitan who would be
content to become subjects to the empire. To accept its protection and adopt its
culture.”

She had indeed seen Khitan nomads living among her own people
in the settlements they had passed through the borderlands.

“Did you long for Khitan, being away for so long?”

His shoulder lifted in a gesture that wasn’t a yes or a no. “I
never forgot where I came from,” was all he admitted.

He was a tough Khitan tribesman. Of course he wouldn’t admit to
being homesick. The realization that she would never return to Changan finally
settled into her heart. This was her new home: the open frontier, a place
without walls, without roads. But she had chosen this life. She would learn what
she needed to know to become a part of it just as Kwan-Li had done in the
empire.

She had already learned a lot that day. They spoke of the
Khitan as fierce warriors. Savages even, but Dao could feel the spirit of
openness and generosity around her. Life on the steppe was harsh, yet they found
ways to celebrate.