Authors: Mary Jo Putney
As soon as they were inside, Kyle started tugging off her sodden garments. Shocked from her numbness, she tried to stop him. "What are you
thinking
of?"
He smiled crookedly. "Not what you have in mind, you wicked wench. We're both soaked, and the way the temperature has dropped, we risk pneumonia if we don't get warmed up quickly."
Realizing he was right, she said, "I can manage. Take your own clothes off."
He obeyed, pausing only when she was down to bare skin to wrap the nearly dry plaid around her icy flesh. The scratchy wool helped, but she was still shivering from a chill so deep it was painful.
Then he stripped off the last of his own saturated clothing. Since he'd left the basket here earlier, the picnic blanket was dry. He pulled it around his shoulders, slid to a sitting position against the wall, and drew her down onto his lap. When she was cradled against him, he folded the blanket around them both, tucking it carefully around her feet.
She burrowed into his warm body and rested her cheek against the silky hair of his chest. His familiar scent made her feel safe.
He rocked her gently, and for a long time neither of them spoke, the only sound the drumming rain on the roof. She guessed that like her, Kyle was recovering from the shocking violence and death they'd barely survived. He was far less chilled than she, and gradually his warmth began to thaw her. In a whisper, she said, "I can hardly believe that two men are lying dead out there in the rain."
"I wish to God this had never happened," he said tightly. "When I think that what I said in Canton caused repercussions that reached halfway around the world and almost killed you…" His embrace tightened. She opened her eyes to free herself of the vision of Logan pitching backward, blood spurting from his chest. "But we survived, and I can't be sorry Logan is dead. If not for his false message, my father might still be alive."
He stroked her nape and back, kneading a little in a way that made her numb flesh come alive again. "I can't be sorry about either of them," he said.
"I don't doubt that Scouse had committed more than his share of sins. As for Logan—not only was he indirectly responsible for your father's death, but his actions sent you into near-slavery in China when you could have been here and loved by your family."
She thought of what it would have been like to grow up with her father's family: scones and barley soup, cousins who would have become as close as brothers and sisters. Acceptance. "Living with them would have been wonderful, and far easier than my life in China," she said slowly. "And yet…
I can't be sorry that my path took me to Canton instead. If I had not lived there for so many years, I would have lost most of my Chinese nature. Now I am truly both Chinese and Scottish."
He laughed a little. "And God be thanked for that. There's not another woman in the world like you, Troth Mei-Lian Montgomery."
"Probably not." And there was not another man in the world who would accept both sides of her nature as fully as Kyle did. The Montgomerys saw her as basically Scottish, with an odd but harmless twist to her gallop. Chenqua had seen her as odd but useful, deserving of his protection and respect because of her unusual skills and the fact that she was her father's daughter.
But Kyle had trusted her as an equal, sending her to fight the enemy because she could attack more effectively than he. And when she had faced certain death, he had drawn Logan's murderous fire to himself. He might have been killed…
Feeling her shiver, he said, "Are you still cold? "
"No, I'm fine." More than fine, for she was in Kyle's arms. Her ribbon was long gone, so he brushed her damp hair back from her face. "Danger clarifies the thinking wonderfully. When I thought you were going to die, I realized how much I love you. Will you marry me, all right and proper this time?"
She pulled her head back so she could see his face. "I thought that you could not love again."
"I did think that," he said wryly. "Sometimes my mind works very slowly. I knew that with you I felt more passion and caring than I had known in years, and that I craved your company. But because what I felt was different from my feelings for Constancia, I was sure it couldn't be the kind of love you deserve."
She supposed that it was inevitable that the ghost of Constancia would always be with them. "I can be second best as long as you love me, my lord."
"You're
not
second best!" He cupped her face in his hands. "Love can't be measured and weighed, and it should never be compared. Constancia was my heart—and you, my dearest girl, are my soul." His mouth closed over hers, true and sweet with a declaration that went beyond words. She caught her breath. "I've always loved you, Kyle." Needing to touch, she slid her hands down his bare skin under the blanket. "From the beginning you've been lord of my body, heart, and soul." He hadn't intended more than a kiss, not in a holy chapel in the aftermath of terror and death, but passion flared into an inferno that could be quenched only by joining in a celebration of love and survival. As they kissed feverishly, his hands found her breasts under the loose folds of the plaid, and he felt the swift beat of her heart in the soft swells against his palms. Her movements in his lap drove him mad until she turned and straddled him.
As he kissed her throat, she slowly rocked back and forth, liquid heat caressing him until he could stand it no longer. She gasped as he sheathed himself inside her.
For the space of a dozen heartbeats they held each other without moving, trembling with tension. Then his hips began thrusting out of control. She ground into him as passion blazed into urgent fulfillment. They cried out together, their voices blending with the rain and the distant rumble of thunder.
As she melted against him, he felt a contentment beyond any he'd ever dreamed of. He rolled onto his side and tucked her against him. And then, exhausted, they slept sheltered in the warmth of the Campbell plaid.
He wasn't sure how long they dozed, but when he woke, the chapel was full of sunshine. Propping himself up on one elbow, he admired the play of light across her marvelous face. She was unique, the rarest and loveliest flower of East and West.
Her eyes flickered open. "I'm not sure that those who built this chapel would approve, but that was a very good way to warm up."
"I don't think God can blame us too much, since He was the one who gave us this divine gift of love." He kissed her on the tip of her lovely nose.
"But we should be on our way if we are to reach somewhere warm and safe before dark."
She smiled up at him in a way that made him want to make love to her all over again. "I shall be happy never to set foot in Castle Doom again."
"I do hope that what we just did means you've accepted my proposal." Reluctantly he separated himself from her delectable body. "Because we might have started a child today. I hope so."
She rose and watched him with feline intensity as she pulled on her wet clothing. "I'm quite sure that we already did that at Dornleigh."
"Good Lord!" He was pulling his damp shirt over his head, and almost strangled himself as he yanked it down so he could look at her. "When were you planning on mentioning this to me?"
"I was going to tell you if we decided to wed."
There was challenge in her gaze. He pulled on his ghastly wet trousers, wishing they were as loose as Troth's Chinese garments. "In other words, if you'd decided not to marry me, I might never have learned that we had a child. You didn't want me to use that as a way of coercing you into marriage."
Seeing that he wasn't angry, she relaxed. "Your wits are not slow at all. I did not want to take a husband simply because everyone else thought it a good idea." With a flourish, she wrapped the plaid around her. He shook his head ruefully. "You're a true Scot, Troth—willing to pay any price to go your own way, and devil take the consequences." He folded the blanket into the picnic basket and they went outside into a world washed clean. The breeze shook raindrops from spring flowers, and the Highlands rolled to the far horizon in layers of misty blue and lavender. Water was rushing down the center of the track, so they walked to one side, hand in hand. "I just want to confirm that you
have
agreed to marry me, haven't you?"
She looked up at him, her eyes almost golden in the afternoon sunshine.
"Yes, my dearest lord, I shall be your wife, and make friends with your dragon father, and perhaps even become the grand hostess you claimed I could be."
He'd been happy before, but that was nothing compared to the exhilaration that flooded through him at her words. He tossed the basket aside and caught both of her hands in his. "Then let's marry right here. Wrexham will probably want something more formal later, but we have running water and we're in Scotland, so this time there will be no question about the validity. I want you for my wife, my dearest love, and I can't bear to wait any longer."
Laughing, she stepped across the path so that the water flowed between them. Clasp firm, she declared, "Kyle Renbourne, I pledge you my troth—
my heart and body, my loyalty and my fidelity, for as long as we both shall live."
He smiled into her eyes, thinking of that first exchange of vows, which had bound them more truly than either of them had recognized then. "Troth Mei-Lian Montgomery, I pledge you my love, my protection, and my fidelity for eternity, and beyond."
He raised her hands and kissed first one, then the other. "I know now why I was so compelled to roam the world. It was to find you, my China bride."
"Divine plan, my dearest lord." She smiled at him radiantly. "Yin and yang, one and inseparable."
Man and woman, in perfect balance. Forever.
Authors Note
My mother lived in China when she was a child, and I grew up with stories about the rabbit in the moon, and how my mother acted as a translator for her parents. She had a musician's ear for the subtleties of the Chinese language, in which slight changes of inflection can completely change the meaning of a word.
On special occasions I was allowed to wear some of my mother's Chinese jewelry and the magnificent embroidered garments that my grandmother had bought from "the silk man." (I had a particular fondness for a certain splendid rooster hat.) None of this made me even remotely an expert on China, but it did leave a lasting interest in this most ancient and fascinating of cultures.
Though
The China Bride
takes place more in Britain than in China, I had to do major research to do justice to the Asian parts of the story. Since this is a romance, I looked for the ideas and details that would best illuminate my characters and the setting without bogging the story down in too many explanations.
The Temple of Hoshan is my invention, but based on descriptions of real temples. Troth and Kyle's journey through South China is also somewhat fictionalized.
In Scotland, my Castle Doom is based on Castle Campbell near Dollar, which is often called Castle Gloom. This highly romantic structure overlooks the Burn of Care and the Burn of Sorrow.
Starting in Roman times, the Silk Road became the conduit for goods between Asia and Europe. Even then, governments complained that too much of their treasure was being spent abroad to buy luxury goods. Once trade resumed between East and West in the seventeenth century, balance of trade was an issue again for Europeans eager to buy tea and other goods from a self-sufficient Chinese empire that wasn't much interested in what Europe had to offer. Hence the Cantonese trading system, designed by China to minimize the possible infection of foreign ideas.
Europeans who believed that trade was a natural right hated the restrictions the system put on their movements. They also needed goods to trade, which is where opium came in. In pursuit of profits, European traders poured illegal opium into China, creating millions of addicts. The Opium War began in 1839, several years after
The China Bride
. Britain used its military strength to bully trading concessions out of the Chinese government, and it took a century to throw the Europeans out so China could regain its sovereignty. This was not the West's finest hour. I avoided trying to reproduce the pidgin trade language of South China, since it sounds so ugly to the modern ear. However, for lack of better terms and because they are historically accurate, I occasionally used
Asiatic
and
Oriental
, even though the words have acquired some negative connotations. I hope you enjoyed seeing Kyle and Troth Mei-Lian build their own personal bridge between East and West.