Authors: Mary Jo Putney
He'd wanted to see the world. Now it had been reduced to stone walls, illness, and despair.
"Drink."
He fought the bitter potion forced into his mouth, wanting to return to his dream of England. If even his dreams turned punishing, death truly would be a blessing.
"Drink!"
Coughing and spitting, he came partially awake and realized that a well-dressed Chinese man was trying to force a bitter drink down his throat. Medicine? Poison? No longer caring which, he swallowed, then drifted into darkness again.
He had a vague sense of being carried, of rattling along in some kind of vehicle. Long spells of unconsciousness were punctuated by short bursts of feverish awareness.
When his wits fully returned, he was in a blessedly clean bed. Slowly his gaze moved over carved screens and silk hangings. On a table sat a porcelain vase with one perfect flower. He was in the household of a wealthy Chinese. Surely not Wu Chong?
An elderly female servant peered in at him, then left the room. A few minutes later another woman arrived. This one was also aged, but dressed like the mistress of the household. As she laid a cool hand on his forehead, he said tentatively, "
Tai-tai
?"
His voice was a croak, but she smiled appreciatively at his recognition of her rank as she made him drink something. Bitterness again. This time he realized that the potion contained Peruvian bark. Rare and expensive, it came from South America and was the most effective treatment for malaria, when it could be obtained.
The next time he woke, the servant bustled off and returned with Chenqua, leader of the Cohong. Finally understanding, Kyle inclined his head. "Greetings, Lord Chenqua. I gather that I owe you my life. You have done far more than I deserve."
"Indeed," the merchant said with unmistakable dryness. "Your crimes cost me many taels of silver, but at least you live. Your death would cost much more."
Kyle closed his eyes, feeling as if he were five and being scolded by his father. "I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to enter China, but… I wanted very much to see Hoshan."
Voice slightly softened, Chenqua said, "Understandable, but stupid."
"Am I in Canton?" When Chenqua nodded, he continued, "Will I be imprisoned again now that I've recovered?"
"No. You go to Macao, return to England. Wu Chong says he never intended death, merely imprisonment while he sent word of your capture to Peking, very slowly." The merchant's expression turned satiric. "Not possible to prove otherwise."
So Wu Chong would not be punished for overstepping his authority. If Kyle had died of fever it would have been unfortunate, but not the prefect's fault. The mock executions had been mere pranks, much less than the
Fan-qui
deserved, or so the official story would go. No diplomatic incident, only a law-breaking Briton graciously restored to his people by the Chinese government. "How did you learn of my captivity?"
"The Company, and a letter from Mei-Lian."
So he owed Troth his life—again—and Chenqua knew something of their relationship. By now, she must be almost to England. His family must endure months of mourning before they could learn he was alive. Well, there was no help for that. He hoped the news didn't kill his father—the guilt of that would never go away.
Wondering how much his lawbreaking had cost Chenqua, Kyle said, "I shall reimburse you for the fine you had to pay."
"No. Go home, and live with the knowledge of what your foolishness has cost."
Unsmiling, Kyle said, "You drive a hard bargain."
"Always." Chenqua gathered his robes about him, then hesitated. "You stole my best interpreter. Swear to provide for her."
"I have already pledged myself to that." Kyle studied the merchant's face, trying to read his expression. What had Troth meant to him? Not a daughter, not really a friend, but surely there had been some affection.
"Have you a message for Mei-Lian?"
Chenqua hesitated. "Tell her… I miss her kung fu."
"I shall."
After the merchant left, Kyle lay back exhausted. His last grand adventure had ended in humiliation and near death. Had it been worth it?
He'd endured months of suffering, the crushing knowledge of his own reckless stupidity, a disease that would probably dog him for months, perhaps years. He'd also contracted a marriage that he'd intended to last for hours, not a lifetime. In trying to help Troth, he'd failed her. He was a thrice-damned fool.
Shropshire, England
Early spring 1833
Troth drew her horse to a halt at the top of the hill overlooking Warfield's long driveway. As she contemplated the pale blue sky and the first wary sprigs of greenery, she said, "I'm beginning to believe England might actually have a summer."
Beside her, Meriel laughed. "I can't blame you for doubting, but spring is truly on the way. My favorite time of year, when the whole earth comes alive."
"I'm looking forward to seeing your gardens in all their glory."
"You must help me design a Chinese garden," Meriel said, eyes glinting. Dominic had also reined in his horse, but didn't join the conversation. He seemed tense, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, though he'd been the one to suggest this afternoon ride. He and Meriel rode as if born in the saddle, but they were willing to accommodate Troth's more modest riding skills. Though she'd made progress, she was still grateful for Cinnamon's docile nature and smooth gaits.
Months had passed since she'd arrived in England. It was time she left her safe refuge. She must fulfill the pledge she'd made at her father's grave and visit Scotland. After that, she must decide how and where she wanted to live. "I need to sit down with Dominic and learn what my financial situation is. I gather that I should be able to afford a small house."
"A good deal more than that, but you should stay here," Meriel said promptly. "The children adore you. So do Dominic and I." Troth smiled but shook her head. "I can't live here forever." Meriel glanced at her husband and frowned when she saw that he hadn't been listening. "Dominic, is something wrong? "
He started a little as her words pierced his reverie. "Sorry. I've been having the strangest thoughts." He hesitated, as if unsure whether he should say more, before continuing painfully, "I… I keep feeling as if Kyle will ride through the gates. I even dreamed that last night. Ridiculous, of course, but I… can't stop wishing."
Wordlessly Meriel touched his hand, her eyes compassionate. Troth understood the difficulty Dominic had in accepting his brother's death. She felt it, too, and had her own dreams in which Kyle came riding home, laughing that his death had been a misunderstanding and he was alive and well. She would run into his arms—and from there her dreams became so explicit that she blushed to think of them in broad daylight. Offering distraction, Meriel said, "Let's ride up to the castle. On a day like this we should be able to see halfway across Wales."
They started ambling down the hill just as the distant estate gates swung open and a carriage entered. Troth had learned to recognize different types of vehicles, and this one didn't look like a neighbor coming to call. Actually, it resembled the hired post-chaise that had brought her to Shropshire. Dominic made a choked sound as he stared at the chaise with agonizing intensity.
What on earth… ?
Abruptly he urged his horse into a gallop and tore down the hill at breakneck speed. After a startled moment, Meriel raced after him. Wondering what the devil was going on, Troth followed at a more sedate pace. Was some cherished relative visiting? That carriage didn't belong to Wrexham or Lady Lucia and her husband—Troth would have recognized those.
Dominic intersected the road and waved the driver of the chaise to a halt, then vaulted from his horse and wrenched the vehicle's door open. A thin figure emerged, almost falling into Dominic's arms.
Gods above, it couldn't be.
It couldn't be
!
Heart hammering, Troth kicked her mount into a wild gallop, clinging to the saddle desperately as she raced to join the small group by the chaise. It couldn't be—but it was. Face haggard, Kyle was embracing his brother as tears ran down Dominic's face.
Barely managing to pull Cinnamon safely to a halt, Troth dismounted in a flurry of skirts, then hesitated, feeling it would be wrong to interrupt the brothers' reunion. Throat tight, she whispered, "This can't be happening." Meriel glanced at her. "You didn't actually see him die." Her comment cut to the heart of what had happened. Troth had heard the sentence of death, and listened to the blasting guns—but she hadn't seen Kyle die. She pressed one hand to her mouth as she accepted that miraculously Kyle was truly here, gaunt but alive.
Alive
!
Kyle turned toward the women, though Dominic kept one arm around him, as much for support as from affection. It wasn't hard to tell the twins apart now—while Dominic glowed with health, Kyle looked as though he'd just risen from a sickbed.
Troth's desire to embrace him was checked when he looked at her with blank, shadowed eyes. Dear heaven, he couldn't have forgotten her! Or perhaps— her stomach cramped as if she'd been kicked—he no longer wished to see her.
Then a faint smile curved his lips. "Troth. I'm glad you made it here safely."
At least he had acknowledged her. In England as in China, public affection between husband and wife was frowned upon. Even a couple as devoted as Dominic and Meriel were usually restrained in the presence of others. Telling herself that he was only following English custom, she stammered, "I… I was sure you were dead, my lord."
"I never really believed you were gone, Kyle," Dominic said, his face radiant. "Yet after listening to Troth's story of your execution, I had to."
"I almost was. Strange sense of humor, Wu Chong. He had a fondness for mock executions." Kyle shrugged. " Because of Troth's messages to Chenqua and the Company, I was rescued from Feng-tang before malaria could put paid to my account."
He stepped away from his brother and almost fell. Alarmed, Dominic caught him again. "You look like death walking."
"It's not that bad, Dom," Kyle muttered as he swayed on his feet. "Malaria takes a long time to fully heal. Troth will know how it's treated."
"I'm sure she does, but you're coming up to the house right now. I'll ride with you. Meriel, will you lead my horse back?" Not waiting for an answer, Dominic half lifted his brother into the chaise and they set off again. It was the illness that made Kyle so unresponsive, Troth decided. He was exhausted by his imprisonment and the long journey home, and malaria was not a disease that one recovered from quickly.
Nonetheless, she felt a deep sense of hurt as she led Cinnamon to a rock so she could remount. He'd treated her like a casual acquaintance, not a cherished wife.
As she scrambled into her sidesaddle, awareness of what his return meant struck with the force of a blow: Kyle had proposed marriage only to protect her—he'd never intended for her to actually be his wife. She'd been his mistress. If not for his death sentence, that was all she would ever have been. Her hands began to tremble.
Meriel swung onto her own mount easily. "You mustn't be upset about the bond between Dominic and Kyle," she said gravely. "It takes nothing away from you or me. I think their closeness has made them better able to love their wives."
Troth swallowed hard, not sure whether to be glad or sorry that Meriel was so adept at reading minds. "Perhaps their bond takes nothing from you, but Dominic loves you. With Kyle and me… it's different." Meriel started up the drive, leading Dominic's mount. "Different, yes. You never had the chance to know each other in normal circumstances." She glanced at Troth. "But you love him, and he would never have suggested marriage if he didn't care deeply for you. For now, he's exhausted from illness and travel. Have patience."
Troth had no other choice. But as she headed up the drive, she remembered bleakly her dream of her husband miraculously returning from the dead and sweeping her into his arms. Such a fool she'd been. The marriage contracted with honorable intentions had gone disastrously wrong.
Kyle awoke gasping from a nightmare of Wu Chong's prison to find a warm female body lying beside him. The light of the bedside candle showed a cloud of dark hair spilling onto his shoulder. Fully dressed, Troth lay beside him on top of the covers. She must have been sitting up with the invalid and decided to rest for a bit.
It took every remaining shred of will not to roll over and put his arms around her. Not from passion—desire had died in Feng-tang. Yet he still had a weak, desperate craving to cling to her for comfort, especially when images of horror racked his mind.
On the long voyage home to England, he'd had ample time to think about Troth. If their marriage had been unquestionably legal, they'd have had no choice but to make the best of the situation, but the legality was doubtful at best. That meant it was his duty to release her from an obligation that had never been intended to last more than a few hours. She wanted—and deserved—freedom to choose her own life.
Yet now that she had been publicly and privately accepted as Lady Maxwell, it would be damnably difficult to undo their union without a scandal. Kyle owed Troth an unblemished name as well as freedom. He'd hoped not to find her at Warfield. Ideally, she'd made it safely to England, brought the news of his death to Dominic, then gone on her way to Scotland, so he wouldn't be confronted with the temptation of seeing her again.