The Path (10 page)

Perhaps
, his thoughts continued,
the Dalai Lama should pass such a law here
.

Yet the Dalai Lama had made it clear he would not listen to Duncan’s warnings. Despite being the ruler of his country, the
Dalai Lama was an innocent as well. It was a nation of innocents, and Duncan wondered, a bit sadly, if there was truly anything
that could be done to protect them.

The feeling of sadness and fatalism did not leave him as he waited for the Dalai Lama’s messenger to come escort him to the
young man’s company. When the monk arrived, however, he stood in the doorway and bowed formally to MacLeod.

“His Holiness, the Dalai Lama, sends a message to Duncan MacLeod,” he said. “His Holiness begs your understanding, but he
cannot meet with you this morning. Other matters have come to him that demand his presence and attendance. He says that he
will see you at the evening meal.”

As the young monk spoke, MacLeod’s brow furrowed with concern fed by the dark foreboding that had filled his night. Perhaps
danger was closer than he realized. The Dalai Lama might, even now, be trying to deal with matters whose full consequence
he could not possibly understand. Duncan almost rose to push past the monk and go to the Tibetan’s leader’s side.

His past dealings with royalty stopped him. Undesired interference often caused more harm than it prevented. Once more Duncan
reminded himself that he was only a visitor in Tibet.

“Is His Holiness all right? he asked, carefully watching the monk’s face for any signs of worry or confusion. “I would happily
lend my aid, if he has any need for my services.”

The only emotions the young monk showed were peaceful confidence overlaid with a touch of hauteur. “The Dalai Lama has no
need of your help,” he said. “He is the Ocean of Wisdom and needs no advice from the unEnlightened.” The monk bowed and turned
away.

Well
, Duncan thought, slightly amused,
I’ve been put in my place. If I’m to have my day free, I think I’ll go into the hills. Perhaps I’ll find those hot springs
His Holiness once mentioned
. He quickly changed his soft-soled boots for his stout fur-lined pair, grabbed his coat, and headed for the outdoors. The
prospect of wandering alone in the hills was suddenly extremely appealing.

Duncan exited the Potala through the palace gardens, stopping to sit for a while beside the lake. The peace of the setting
helped him lay to rest, at least for the moment, the fears that had kept him awake all night, and he was able to set off for
the hills with a lighter step.

Not many minutes had passed before he realized how much he needed this day of freedom. He’d had enough of indoor hours and
occupations. He needed
movement
, and even doing
kata
twice a day was no substitute for the feel of his own feet under him. This had always been his way, even as a child.
Whenever he was confused or troubled, he had gone off alone to wander the Highlands until his thoughts cleared again.

The trail into the hills was a good one, and MacLeod soon fell into a steady rhythm. He began to notice that the hills were
not as barren as they had looked from a distance. Lichens and cresses spread intricate patterns of greens, grays, and muted
reds across the rocks while stands of tiny wildflowers provided splashes of unexpected color. The silence of the mountains
closed in on him again, but for the moment he welcomed it.

As he walked, Duncan felt the remainder of his worries drain away. Instead of feeding his loneliness, as the silence had done
on the trip into Lhasa, today it was as if the mountains absorbed all troubles of the heart and mind and by their massive
existence made human concerns insignificant.

Here, in the bright sunlight, he nearly laughed at himself.
Two hundred years has turned you into a clucking old hen
, he thought,
seeing predators where none, perhaps, exist
.

But that has kept you alive
, another part of him whispered.

He continued walking, slowing his pace as the trail steepened, letting the combination of movement and fresh air soothe him.
It took a few minutes for him to become aware of the sound he heard growing in the distance. It was a gentle sound—the sound
of women’s laughter.

Duncan slowed his pace again. Whoever the women were, whatever they were doing, he did not want to frighten them away. In
all his long life, he had never seen anything more miraculous than a woman. Old or young, women were, in his opinion, the
true glory of creation.

The vegetation was thicker here, indicating the presence of water, and the chatting, laughing voices were louder. Coming around
a bend in the trail, he was met by a sight that filled him with wonder.

Whatever he expected from the hot springs, it was not what he saw now. The pool was surrounded by wild flowering shrubs, tall
enough to provide a sense of privacy but not so tall as to block the sun. The rocks provided ledges and gentle steps down
into the water that was deep and wide enough for the women in it to splash and swim with ease.

And the women themselves—MacLeod realized he was staring and quickly backed away, but not before the sight of two
naked bodies, shining with water and sunlight, imprinted itself on his memory. He stood for a moment, fighting the desire
to steal into the bushes and quietly watch them at their ablutions. Perhaps it was only good manners that kept him from the
impulse, perhaps a sense of chivalry and honor, but it was enough.

He wondered what to do. Should he return to the Potala or find some place to wait until he saw the women coming back down
the trail? Looking around for a place to sit comfortably, he noticed the bell hanging from a tree limb. It was old, and the
mosses that covered it made it blend with its surroundings, but MacLeod could guess its use. He crossed to it and rang it
once, its deep gong filling the silence.

He heard the sound of the women’s voices change. Their laughter stilled and there was a moment of purposeful splashing, then
all was silent. A few minutes later they appeared, properly attired in long wrapped skirts, boots, and short jackets. As they
neared, Duncan saw that one of them was the young woman he had noticed yesterday at the well.

The women passed by him, hardly sparing him a glance. On impulse, he stepped out onto the trail after them.

“Wait,” he called. Both women turned to look at him, but he could hardly tear his eyes from the one. She was even more beautiful
here in a natural setting than she had seemed yesterday. Duncan stepped toward her.

“Please,” he said, “who are you? What is your name?”

She glanced at her companion, then lowered her eyes. “I am Xiao-nan Choi,” she said softly.

Her voice was low and had a breathless quality, like an intimate whisper. Duncan was at once entranced by it.

“Xiao-nan Choi,” he repeated. “Please don’t go. I do not know the area around here. I would be glad of some company.”

Xiao-nan looked up at him, her dark eyes wide with surprise. “Did you not come here for the water?” she asked.

Duncan smiled. “I can bathe another time. I would rather have your conversation.”

Behind her the other woman giggled. Xiao-nan quickly turned and hushed her.

“I meant you and your companion,” MacLeod added, not wanting to violate any cultural taboos.

“No,” Xiao-nan answered. “My sister must return home. Our
mother will be waiting. I will stay and talk with you for a time.” She stopped and smiled at him. “But you must tell me
your
name.”

Duncan found that when she smiled she was among the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Her large dark eyes sparkled like
polished jet and yet were gentle even in her laughter. Her skin shone like the golden sky when still touched by the first
blooming light of dawn. Even, white teeth stood like petals of a flower behind flowerbud lips so red Duncan found himself
wanting to kiss them, to see if they were indeed as soft as they must be.

She was looking at him expectantly now, still waiting for him to speak. “I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod,” he said
almost automatically, still dazed by her beauty. “Your sister may assure your mother you are safe. I mean you no harm or disrespect.”

Xiao-nan laughed gently. Duncan found he was as delighted by the sound as by everything else about her.

“She already knows this, Duncan MacLeod,” she said his name slowly, as if embracing it with her lips and tongue. “You are
the friend of the Dalai Lama, and he would not have one with him whose heart could not be trusted.”

This simple statement of faith, in the Dalai Lama and in himself, touched Duncan. He bowed deeply and formally to Xiao-nan
Choi. She acknowledged his bow with one of her own, then turned and said a few rapid words to her sister. As the young girl
started off down the trail, Xiao-nan turned again to MacLeod.

“If you have not come to this place for the waters, have you another place you wish to see? There are many beautiful places
in the mountains.”

Duncan smiled at her. “Lead the way wherever you wish, Xiao-nan Choi,” he said, “and I will surely follow.”

Xiao-nan led the way farther into the hills, up to a glen where the wild marmots played in the sunlight. It was a quiet place
where she often came when she wanted to sit and feel the world in balance.

She did not know why she had chosen this place to bring MacLeod; there were many others just as beautiful and less personal
she could have shown him. But somehow, she thought as they settled on the stone outcropping where she habitually sat and waited
for the marmots to lose their fear of intruders, it felt right that he should be here.

Soon, a small white-and-brown face peeked out from the bushes across the glen. Xiao-nan saw it and gently touched MacLeod’s
arm. Slowly, using no swift motions that might again frighten the creature, she pointed. MacLeod saw the marmot and smiled.

It is a good smile
, Xiao-nan thought,
a smile of the heart as well as the face
. It warmed Xiao-nan to see it.

Why should it matter if he smiles?
she asked herself, knowing only that it did. What was there about this man that so instinctively drew her. She felt as if
somewhere inside, far beyond the realm of conscious thought, a spark of recognition flared, touching soul to soul.

They stayed in the glen, speaking only occasionally and in muted voices. But the silences between the words were not empty.
Unlike many people whom Xiao-nan knew, even the most quiet moments seemed to ring with his calm, unfrenzied strength.

The marmots soon accepted their presence. MacLeod watched them as they scampered in the sunlight, and Xiao-nan continued to
watch him out of the corner of her eye. She would
not be so impolite as to stare, but she liked the way his white teeth shone against the weathered tan of his skin when he
smiled; of the soft waves in his dark hair, so unlike her own, which fell in a straight black cascade to her waist, and she
liked the look of his strong fingers as he absently twirled a leaf he had found on the stone next to where he sat.

His look pleased her, but it was his company that affected her most deeply. She felt comfortable and safe, and again she asked
herself why? Had they known each other in some previous life? she wondered. Or had they always been searching for each other,
wandering through the circles of existence until the Great Wheel should bring them together?

It was something only time could answer.

When Duncan returned to the Potala several hours later, he felt better than he had for many weeks. Xiao-nan’s company had
worked on him like a patent medicine “guaranteed to lighten the heart and brighten the eyes.”

It was not anything she said that so affected MacLeod. Her conversation had, in fact, been limited. But her smile had been
eloquent, and her gentle laugh of delight had said more than words ever could.

Laughter came easily to Xiao-nan. It was the laughter of true innocence, like a child at play unafraid of adult censure. Nor
did that laughter come at anyone’s expense. Instead it was the feel of the breeze lifting her long hair from the back of her
neck, the sight of the marmots they had watched and the birds flying their intricate mating ritual that brought joy to her
lips.

From her lips to Duncan’s heart; she fascinated him and even as he left her at her parents’ door he knew that he must see
her again.

Duncan had barely reached his room in the Potala when the familiar young monk appeared at his door.

“His Holiness has sent for you,” he said solemnly.

“Then let’s not keep him waiting, m’lad,” MacLeod answered, his voice loud and full of life. He walked over and gave the monk
a good-natured slap on the shoulder, nearly laughing aloud at the wide-eyed look of surprise that spread over the young man’s
face.

Duncan stepped past him, this time leading the way to the
audience chamber himself. His companion had to rush to keep up.

“What are you called, boy?” MacLeod asked. “What’s your name?”