An Illicit Temptation
Autor
Jeannie Lin
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Chapter One
Tang Dynasty China, 824 A.D.
Pretending to be a princess wasn’t any hardship. Dao hadn’t grown up in a palace, dressed in silk and jewels. She didn’t miss her cot in the Chang family’s servant quarters. Now there were no more clothes to mend, floors to sweep, chamber pots to empty. The only thing required of her was that she recline inside a gilded palanquin while the wedding procession made its way through the steppe toward the Khitan central capital. She even had an army of her own attendants to wait on her. No hardship at all…another day of it and she would go mad.
Dao stabbed her needle through the eye of crane she was embroidering. The afternoon was lazy and warm as the palanquin rolled over the wild grass of the northern plains, lulling her to sleep with the rhythm. It seemed that was all she did on this journey: embroider or nap.
With a snap of her wrist, she pulled the curtain aside. A square of sunlight opened up revealing the endless green of the steppe and cloudless sky beyond. Khitan tribesmen on horseback surrounded the procession to serve as her escort. She was in an exotic land and she was squandering the experience in meager glances through this tiny window.
She searched among the riders. “Kwan-Li!”
Kwan-Li was tasked with bringing her to Khitan to be married to the khagan, the chieftain over all chieftains of this land of nomadic tribes. The khagan was without a wife so the two empires had negotiated for a peace marriage.
Kwan-Li was astride a horse at the head of the procession and absorbed in conversation with one of the tribesmen. Despite his responsibilities, she didn’t have to repeat herself before he broke away to ride up alongside the window. Princesses gave commands and others obeyed. Dao still felt a foolish little thrill whenever it happened.
Kwan-Li was tall and looked more like an imperial soldier than a statesman. He wore the traditional deel, the heavy folded tunic favored by the nomads, except for his was fashioned from a vibrant blue brocade. A broad yellow sash wrapped around his waist, highlighting a lean, masculine frame. His features were strong, almost harsh, with a distinctiveness that she couldn’t quite place.
“Princess An-Ming,” he acknowledged, his expression stern.
The court had also seen fit to bestow an imperial name upon her. It meant Bright Peace and she quite liked it. The name sounded very princesslike to her ears unlike her own name, which simply meant Peach. She was so very tired of being plain.
“I want to ride,” she said.
He blinked once. “Now?”
His eyes had the sharpness of an eagle’s with gold flecks within them that caught the sun.
“Yes, now,” she said simply, pleasantly.
The procession continued to move along. He kept pace with her as he took in the caravan of wagons transporting gifts from the imperial court as well as an army of attendants to take care of her every need.
“It’s nearly time for us to stop and rest, isn’t it?” she asked.
She could see from the uncompromising line of his jaw that it wasn’t.
“The princess might find it more suitable to practice at the end of the day when the sun is low,” Kwan-Li suggested coolly. This is what a refusal sounded like from the very proper diplomat.
“I’m not afraid of a little sunlight. Have a horse ready for me when we next stop for rest.”
Dao let the curtain fall back in place, ending the discussion. When she stepped out of the palanquin an hour later, the Khitans were tending to the horses while her attendants erected canopies set on bamboo poles to shield the party from the sun while they had their tea and refreshments.
A tent was erected for her privacy. Moon, her personal attendant, helped Dao change out of the light silk hanfu into the sturdier deel. The tunic was long, reaching almost to her ankles, and was lined with fox fur at the collar. Dao tried not to fidget as she watched Moon secure the clasps. Not two months ago, Dao had been in the girl’s place, dressing and tending to her own mistress.
Pearl had been more than her mistress. They shared the same father, though the two of them had never acknowledged that they were related by blood. Pearl’s mother was First Wife while Dao’s mother was a household servant who was never even a concubine. Pearl had been chosen by the imperial court to go to Khitan, but when she ran away with her lover, Dao had taken her place.
Marriage to a chieftain was a better future than she had ever hoped for. It didn’t matter that her husband was much older than her or that she had to leave her home behind. These were small sacrifices. She was very fortunate, she had to remember that.
When Dao emerged from the tent, the caravan was in the process of repacking. Kwan-Li oversaw everything with quiet efficiency. He had the respect of the nomads and spoke their language with impressive fluency. She could see why he objected to the small delay she had caused. There was nothing simple about managing all the wagons and trunks and people.
Ruan, the eldest of the Khitans, was waiting with her horse, saddled and ready as she had commanded.
“Old Wolf,” she greeted.
“Dragoness,” he returned cheerfully.
Ruan had been given the nickname due to a wolf attack that had left ragged scars across the right side of his face. He was old, grizzled and surprisingly good-natured, making frequent use of what remained of his smile. As one of the few tribesmen who spoke Han, he’d quickly become her favorite.
It was Kwan-Li, however, who came to help her onto the saddle. She braced her foot into his hands and had to grab onto his shoulders as she wobbled. The sudden press of his body against hers startled her. He was made of hard, unyielding muscle. As he lifted her, their eyes met briefly and her face flushed with heat. Princesses shouldn’t get embarrassed so easily, should they? His expression was serious, his movements brusque. After a few moments of struggle and indignity, she was able to seat herself. Kwan-Li lifted himself onto his horse with a natural grace that she envied.
“Stay beside me,” he instructed.
Dao held her back straight and tried to relax into position, determined to show him she wasn’t entirely incompetent. It was said the children of Khitan could sit on horseback before they could walk. If she was to live among them, she had to be able to do something even the youngest among them found to be second nature.
Kwan-Li guided her toward the center of the line and rode beside her as the caravan started moving once again in its endless trek across the planes. Dao had grown up in the city where distance was measured by wards and divided by gates. Out here there were no walls, no streets, and the grassland seemed to go on forever. An expanse of blue sky hovered over them and a cool breeze swirled around her. There was something meditative about the rhythm of the horse beneath her and the feeling of being suspended between heaven and earth. No boundaries existed.
“You’re displeased,” she said when Kwan-Li remained silent and brooding. Yes, brooding was what it was, the way he stared into the distance and purposefully avoided even looking at her, though they rode side by side.
“Of course not, Princess,” he said.
“What’s the loss of one hour in a month-long journey?”
“Indeed.” A terse pause followed. “Princess.”
She wouldn’t go so far as to call him rude. He was the court’s appointed official and treated her with deference, yet he had always been distant toward her. Almost cold in nature. Perhaps he hadn’t wanted this appointment. It was common knowledge in the imperial city that Khitan was a wild, uncivilized land.
“I can demand you explain yourself,” she said lightly, only teasing in part. He was one of the few people who would speak openly to her on the journey. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood when all she wanted to do was enjoy the touch of the breeze on her face.
Kwan-Li met her gaze. A flicker of defiance lit in his eyes. It lent something daring and exciting to him and her heartbeat quickened. She looked away, searching for something to lighten the air between them.
“Such barbarian customs they have here,” she murmured, watching one of the nomads place his fur cap over his head.
“Barbarian?” Kwan-Li echoed stiffly.
“It seems odd to shave the top of your head like a monk, but then leave the sides so long,” she mused.
“It is to open themselves to the grace of the sun,” he explained.
Alarm crept into her voice. “Will I have to do the same?”
“The princess has nothing to worry about. The women do not follow the same practice.”
He nudged his horse forward and she did the same, keeping stride beside him as he had instructed. As a ranking official from the imperial court, Kwan-Li was the only one who felt he could speak to her without averting his eyes and agreeing to her every word. She found herself missing the comfort of conversation.
“You seem to have studied their customs very thoroughly,” she said.
He regarded her with an odd expression. “I am from Khitan.”
Her eyes widened. “But you don’t look—”
“Like an unwashed barbarian?” He allowed a slow smile to reveal itself.
“I didn’t say unwashed,” she protested.
In the capital, they spoke of the barbarians of the northern steppe to be a roughened, warlike people. The Khitans that rode along with them certainly had the hard-eyed look of survival amidst the unforgiving elements. Yet Kwan-Li’s bearing had the mark of education and culture.
“But you speak our language so fluently,” she said fascinated. “You even look Han.”
“You are mistaken, Princess.”
She traced over the shape and line of his face with unabashed curiosity. Kwan-Li grew his hair long and had it pulled back into a topknot as they did in the empire. His skin also lacked the dark, sun-drenched quality of the nomads. Perhaps there was a slight difference in the shape of his eyes, a broadness of his nose and chin that she had overlooked before.
“How unexpected! I would have never known.”
He was taken aback by her reaction. “I assumed the princess would have been told—” He stopped himself, his eyes narrowing as he considered her.
Dao’s pulse jumped. “I have no knowledge of the day-to-day dealings of the outer court,” she said quickly. “We princesses are kept so sheltered away in the palace.”
She attempted a smile. He frowned, but seemed to accept her answer. Or rather he rode on in silence. Dao realized she was gripping the reins too tight when her horse tossed his head, flicking his ears in agitation. She relaxed her hold and concentrated on the trail in front of her.
She had to be careful what she said around Kwan-Li. He was intelligent and likely well-versed in court etiquette and politics while she knew none of the things a princess should know. It was fine for him to think of her as a vacant and innocent as long as he was convinced she was a princess.
When she dared to glance at him again, he was looking over the caravan, ever watchful. She had assumed that he was a diplomat, appointed by the court to accompany her. This new information made her even more curious about him.
“Your name sounds Han,” she remarked.
He turned and regarded her as if surprised she was speaking again. “Kwan-Li is the name I was given by the imperial court. A courtesy name.”
She refused to be intimidated by his cold demeanor. She was the princess here after all. “How long were you in Changan?”
“Twelve years.”
“You came to the capital to study?”
“I came to be educated.” There was a pause. “And for diplomatic reasons.”
All sorts of foreigners lived within the walls of Changan. The public markets were full of stalls set up by merchants from neighboring lands, but this was the first she’d known of a barbarian—of a foreigner—who was taken into the imperial court.
“I remained in the capital to ensure peace between our two lands,” he said in response to her questioning look.
“Much like an alliance bride then,” she suggested.
He paused to think. “Perhaps a very similar arrangement…”
She grinned. “But in your case, you weren’t bound into marriage.”
He blinked at her, taken aback, looking flustered. “No…I was not.”
In that confusion, his expression lost its sternness, his eyes their coldness, and his speech relinquished that distinctive formality that she now knew was due in part to his having come from a foreign land. Without that wall in place, his entire demeanor changed.
“No woman would have you, barbarian that you are,” she teased.
His mouth curved upward slightly, with a crookedness to the smile, which sent a small flutter to her belly. He suddenly appeared approachable. More than approachable. For all its hardness, his face wasn’t an unpleasant one to look at. A slow rise of heat invaded her cheeks and she had to look away.
Dao prided herself on being practical. She had lived a life of servitude and constant toil. Cunning was more important than charm. She fought to keep her observations impassive as she gazed at Kwan-Li in profile: the hard shape of his jaw, the arch of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth that took on an unexpected sensuality when he smiled.
Wayward dreams of romance would lead only to ruin. She had known that truth since birth. So Dao had no such romantic thoughts now as she rode beside Kwan-Li. Instead she tried very hard to forget that in a few weeks she would be wed to a stranger.
* * *
They stopped to rest again several hours later after which Princess An-Ming insisted on getting back onto the saddle.
“The princess will be sore tomorrow,” Kwan-Li advised.
“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.
