An Illicit Temptation (3 page)

She studied Kwan-Li more carefully now. There were so many
things she hadn’t known about him. Kwan-Li was educated, cultured,
well-mannered. He was an expert horseman who rode off to rescue princesses. And
the way he kissed…

It was a good thing she wasn’t a swooning romantic.

“I should go now,” she said in a rush. “We have a long journey
tomorrow.”

He moved to accompany her without being asked. Would he be so
attentive if she weren’t a princess? If it wasn’t his duty to watch over
her?

As they neared the yurt, she realized he was no longer beside
her. He held himself back, out of arm’s reach.

The darkness highlighted the hollows of his face and the
distinguished shape of his cheekbones. He was striking with a rugged
handsomeness that she had somehow overlooked. He was impossible to overlook
now.

“I should be punished for what happened today,” he said
grimly.

It took a moment to find her voice. “It was my fault. I didn’t
know what to do when the horse started running.”

“I wasn’t speaking of that.”

“Oh. That…”

A wind picked up and rustled through the grass, punctuating
their conversation.

“That was an accident,” she said faintly. “Wasn’t it?”

He straightened. “It will never happen again, Princess.”

She could see his chest rising and falling while the rest of
his body remained still, tense. Some part of him didn’t want to leave and some
part of her didn’t want him to, either.

She should have kissed him back. They had been alone out on the
plains and no soul but the earth and sky would know what happened. They were
alone now beneath the light of the stars.

Her pulse quickened and she took a step toward him. No. Heaven
and earth, no! She immediately took a step back with two additional ones for
good measure.

She wasn’t nearly brave enough for that.

Kwan-Li didn’t move from his position. Not a hair. He was
watching her curiously.

“Sleep well,” she said, her tongue struggling with those two
simple words.

He nodded.

Dao retreated into the yurt and lay down, staring up into the
darkness for a long time. Finally she closed her eyes and tried to recapture
that perfect storm of heat and pressure and touch. Kwan-Li was probably too
honorable to ever attempt another kiss, even if she happened to once again be
caught on a runaway horse. And that itself was highly unlikely. A shame.

Chapter Three

Kwan-Li enjoyed the freedom of riding from sunrise to
sunset unburdened for the next week. This was the land he remembered from his
youth. Princess An-Ming rode beside him while the sun casted its final rays of
the day. The golden light washed over her and she glanced over at him with a
soft and fleeting look. A look drunk with warmth and the pleasure of the open
air. He wanted to touch her so much he ached with it.

The single touch of her lips he’d stolen continued to torment
him. He buried that feeling most days, but there were moments, like this one,
when something burned hotter inside him than desire. The spirit of the steppe
was seeping back into his blood and An-Ming was there for every rediscovery. He
could see in her face how the sight of the earth and sky affected her. He was
coming home while she was a stranger to the steppe. Yet here they were…fellow
wanderers between worlds.

They were flanked by Ruan and three of his fellow tribesmen.
Each of them led two additional horses by a tether, providing a small fleet for
their use. The horses were rotated throughout the day to distribute the burden
of carrying a rider. This allowed them to cover a greater distance with shorter
rest periods in between.

“Old Wolf!” the princess called out to Ruan who had taken the
lead.

“Young Dragoness!”

“How does anyone find their way in this land with no
roads?”

Ruan laughed. “The sun, the rivers and the distant hills tell
us where we are.” He went on to describe how to use the shadow of the sun to
determine direction.

The hidden language of the steppe had once been second nature
to Kwan-Li. He, too, knew how to read the clouds and sky. The rhythm of the wind
across the plains was in his blood. But for the last twelve years, he had lived
in the imperial city of Changan, confined within walls surrounded by more walls.
He had studied a new sort of knowledge that came from scrolls and books. The
same books had proclaimed that his people were barbarians. That they had no
language of their own. That they worshipped the sun like savages.

At times he had almost believed that his people were ancient
and primitive. The Tang Empire had swallowed his spirit whole and he had come
back changed.

Before sundown, Ruan navigated them down into a ravine and they
set up camp beside the river. Belu and Ruan took care of setting up the sleeping
tents while Kwan-Li brought the horses to water and refilled their gourds and
waterskins in preparation for the next day’s journey.

An-Ming came and knelt at the edge of the stream, dipping a
cloth into the water. He watched transfixed as she washed the dust from her
face. Her skin had taken on a warm, golden tint from the sun, with a faint
scattering of freckles appearing on her cheekbones. The Han women he’d known in
the empire had valued pale skin as a sign of beauty. They used powders to appear
like porcelain dolls and hid behind parasols and curtains at the faintest ray of
light.

When he had first seen An-Ming in the palace, her face was
similarly powdered. Her lips were painted red, her cheeks unnaturally pink. Her
hair was pinned and laced with ornaments and she was encased in silk and gold.
He had only caught a glimpse before she was shut away.

The princess had been impossible at the beginning of the
journey, insisting on delicacies at every meal, baths at inconvenient times
because she was hot, entertainment because she was bored. Such behavior was
expected of a spoiled princess, but An-Ming seemed to grow weary of it. On the
steppe, where the journey became most difficult, she was no longer willful and
demanding. She’d become curious to learn their ways.

Her hair had fallen loose as she sat by the river. The ends of
it trailed over her shoulder to tease at her breast. He watched in fascination
as she gathered it up and twisted it into a knot, exposing a slip of pale skin
at her neck. His chest tightened as well as other, more insistent parts of
him.

“You’re staring at me.”

She had stopped what she was doing to meet his gaze. The
washcloth was still pressed to her cheek. He was caught.

“There is not much else to look at out here.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile that once again
revealed her dimple. “Where I come from, there’s a penalty for that.”

“What would that be?”

“Twenty lashes.”

It would be worth the risk. His heart was beating fast from
nothing more than this careless banter. He willed himself to show nothing.

An-Ming filled a basin with water and disappeared into the
sleeping tent while he forced his attention elsewhere. He turned to find Old
Ruan grinning at him. There was no escape.

“You need a wife, Tailuo.” Ruan used his name. His true
name.

He scowled at the elder tribesman.

“A woman then,” Ruan amended.

He’d had lovers during his time in the empire. Courtesans who
knew how to smile and speak and sway in ways that made a man burn. This was a
different sort of woman. This heat within him, a different kind of fever.

Kwan-Li regarded the elder tribesman with a grave look. “This
agreement with the Tang Emperor. Will the khagan to honor it?”

Ruan’s grin faded. “We have served as vassals of the Uyghur
Empire for nearly a hundred years.”

“But their hold is weakening. We can be free of them.”

“By paying tribute to the Tang Emperor instead? Many of the
chieftains of the eight tribes don’t see the difference.”

The Uyghurs were another tribal confederation. They wanted
Khitan land and horses and men to fight in their wars. With the Tang Empire,
there was at least chance for diplomacy. For peace. That was why his father had
sent him there to learn from them.

“You must be discussing serious matters.”

An-Ming returned from the tent and settled in beside them at
the fire without a moment’s hesitation. Her hair was damp and pinned up in a
loose knot with a few strands pulling free. Beads of moisture remained on her,
pooling at the hollow of her throat.

“Princess.” Kwan-Li bowed his head in deference. What he really
wanted to do was put his mouth on her and run his tongue over her neck. He
swallowed forcibly.

“It’s only because you can’t have her.” Ruan spoke in Khitan.
His grin was back, but there was a dark wisdom in his eyes.

“I’m no fool. I just need to get her to the khagan,” Kwan-Li
retorted.

An-Ming looked expectantly between them, not understanding. She
pouted when neither of them offered any explanation. “You have to teach me your
language once we reach the central capital,” she said to Kwan-Li.

That stopped him short. “I am not staying, Princess.”

Confusion crossed her face, then alarm. “But I thought—”

Ruan conveniently backed away to help the others with the
provisions.

An-Ming looked so lost that he was reminded of his own journey
long ago into a foreign land. He’d been left adrift there, practically a hostage
trapped in the imperial city.

He and An-Ming had embarked on this journey together. He had
never considered she would expect him to stay with her. He had never considered
she would ever want him to.

His throat clenched. What she was asking for was impossible. He
was the one who had negotiated the peace marriage from his position within the
imperial court. The responsibility lay in his hands, but duty and honor weren’t
enough to keep him away from her. His control had already slipped once and if
Ruan wasn’t hovering nearby now…

“There are others within the khagan’s court who speak your
language. They can teach you.” He shouldn’t have to explain, but he did anyway.
“I have my own tribe to return to. My own kinsmen.”

For the first time, he saw a break in her resolve and the
loneliness underneath. He wanted to protect her. If this fire inside him were
nothing but desire, An-Ming wouldn’t have such power over him. He was angry at
himself for this weakness.

“I don’t suppose I can command you to stay,” she said
softly.

He responded with an iron look. “I am not your servant to
command, Princess.”

* * *

Kwan-Li took the lead that day. Ruan had explained the
route. They would follow the river north to where the ravine opened into a
valley. From there they would be only days away from the khagan’s camp.

An-Ming chose not to speak with him, favoring Ruan’s company
instead. She was pointedly asking the Old Wolf to teach her Khitan.

The day was otherwise uneventful, until around midday as they
navigated along the inclines of the ravine. Kwan-Li noticed movement in the pass
ahead. A dark shape moved out of the shadows followed by another.

“Riders,” he called out.

Ruan came up beside him. “A hunting party?”

A low sound punctuated the air. Kwan-Li knew it at once and his
heart seized. One of their companions doubled over in the saddle, the shaft of
an arrow protruding from his chest.

“Stay back!” Kwan-Li commanded.

There was a startled cry from behind him. The princess.

Confusion spread as the additional horses became untethered.
Ruan moved to the front, bow in hand to return fire, while Kwan-Li positioned
himself between An-Ming and the intruders in the distance. Her face was pale,
her eyes wide with shock.

“Head for the other side of the river. Go!” He leaned over to
strike her horse’s backside.

An-Ming held on as the horse took off while he followed behind
her at a gallop. There was little cover in the ravine. She needed to get out of
range of the archers.

He led An-Ming behind a growth of brush by the bank. Her horse
pranced in agitation, his hooves splashing in the shallow of the river. She was
fighting to keep her hands from shaking, but she managed to steady the
animal.

“Uyghurs?” she asked.

“Khitan,” he replied without emotion.

They were outnumbered and he needed to decide now. Fight or
flee. Tension rippled through his body as he detached his bow from the saddle
pack.

“If I fall, you ride north.” Kwan-Li indicated the direction
with his hand. “Ride hard.”

“Wait—”

There was no time to see if she understood. He hooked the bow
over his shoulder and gave her one final look before kicking his heels in to
ride back into danger.

His kinsmen had regrouped to face the oncoming riders. The
attackers outnumbered them two to one, by his quick assessment. A few of them
had broken through the pass and were charging forward.

Kwan-Li urged his knee against the horse’s side, using the
pressure to direct the animal, while he reached for an arrow and nocked it. The
rhythm of the earth thrummed through him. The cadence of his breathing joined
it. The pace of the enemy horsemen rushing toward them became a dissonant
harmony. He took it all in.

Kwan-Li sank his weight onto the iron stirrups and rose,
standing upright in the saddle. His horse continued its charge. This technique
of shooting from the saddle allowed the Khitans to dominate the steppe, but it
had been years since he had done this. A lifetime. He drew the arrow back and
let it fly.

The body remembered. The heart remembered.

Kwan-Li aimed and fired again, his arrow once again finding its
mark.

“Go!” Ruan shouted. “They only want the princess.”

Kwan-Li hesitated. His tribesmen had pushed the attackers back
to the pass and were holding their ground.

Ruan exchanged his bow for a halberd. “Go.” His face creased
into a grin.”This Old Wolf won’t be dying today.”

With a bellow, Ruan rode into battle.