Mary Putney - The China Bride

Kyle laughed. "I think she already is."

James Montgomery leaped onto a chair and called out, "Now that we're all here and merry, I'd like to propose a toast, so if ye havena a glass in yer hand, get one!"

After everyone complied, James raised his glass to Troth. " 'Tis blithe to meet, woe to part, and blithe to meet once more. May the sun always shine upon ye, niece, for ye've brought my brother home."

Tears in her eyes, Troth clutched her lemonade as everyone drank to her. She wanted to say something in return, but her throat had closed up.

Then Kyle said in a voice that carried to all corners of the room, "And here's to the Montgomerys of Melrose, who have proved that there is no hospitality in the world to match that of Scotland."

Everyone drank to that gladly. Troth's tears almost spilled over as Kyle gave her an intimate smile. No one else in the world could understand what tonight meant to her.

A wild skirling pierced the conversation, transfixing everyone in the room. "The piper's come! Aye, the piper's here!"

As people flooded out into the courtyard, Kyle kept an arm around Troth to keep her from being squashed. He always made her feel so safe when there was physical threat. It was emotional situations that made her wary.

Wind-tossed torches in the courtyard illuminated the approach of a Highland piper in full regalia, kilt swinging and bagpipes wailing to set the hair on a man's neck straight up. Troth watched, rapt. No wonder soldiers would follow a piper to hell and back.

She also understood why the pipes were played outdoors-the sound would be shattering inside. When the first tune ended and the crowd was applauding, she asked Kyle quietly, "I thought pipes were more from the Highlands?"

"Yes, but all Scots mourned when Highland dress and customs were suppressed after the Forty-Five uprising. Now that kilts and pipes are legal again, they're welcome everywhere in Scotland, especially since the Highland regiments won such honor fighting Napoleon. He called the Highlanders 'devils in skirts.' "

James Montgomery emerged from the crowd with a pair of swords and ceremoniously crossed them on the ground, then announced, "My sister Annie's husband, who fought with the Gordon Highlanders at Waterloo, will do a sword dance."

Troth had met Tam Gordon, a slight, quiet uncle by marriage, but hadn't known of his military past. The piper began to play and Tam stepped forward. His feet moving with dazzling agility, he danced around the swords, his arms raised and exultation on his face.

Kyle said in her ear, "It was considered an omen of victory the next day if the dance could be done without touching one of the swords."

"Can you do the sword dance?"

"I learned it as a boy, but one must wear a kilt to do it properly. Trousers are too tight for true Highland dancing." He placed a warm hand on her shoulder. "Dominic is fond enough of Scotland, but it never spoke to him as strongly as it did me. Perhaps it was because I was given a Scottish name and he wasn't."

Troth had a brief, dizzying image of Kyle in full Highland dress. He'd be a sight to send any female heart into palpitations. Her skin prickled as she remembered their lovemaking among the apple trees of Dornleigh. For a brief time there, minds and doubts had not come between them…

Sword dance finished, the piper began to play a reel. As couples formed, Kyle caught Troth around the waist and swung her into the music. "It would take a heart of stone not to feel like a Scot tonight."

"And my heart isn't stone, my lord!" Laughing, she surrendered to his lead, her skirts swinging and her hair spilling loose as they danced with the fierce freedom their ancestors had known. Under the black sky and flaring torches, she forgot past and present, forgot everything except the wild wail of the pipes and the man whose masterful hands and strong body warmed the night and ignited all her senses.

She tried to remember the good reasons for not lying with him again. But pain and pride seemed distant and unreal, while the call of the blood was hot and urgent and infinitely more compelling.

Perhaps on their journey to the Highlands they could have one last fling-and the devil take the consequences.

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Despite her late night at the cèilidh , Troth rose early enough the next morning to creep from the cottage and do her chi and wing chun routines. She half hoped that Kyle would come, but he didn't. He must have given up on her.

After the previous night's vigorous dancing, her muscles welcomed the gentler chi exercises. It was chilly, though. Even this far into spring, Scotland in the early morning was bracing. Not the best part of the world for outdoor exercise. Nonetheless, the familiar movements warmed and soothed her.

She was startled from dreaminess by her grandmother's voice. "Is this some kind of heathen dancing, lass?"

Troth spun around, a little embarrassed to have been caught in her loose Chinese garments. "It's not really dancing. In China it's believed that chi , the energy of life, is in all things, and the right kind of movement helps balance it."

Mairead's brows rose skeptically. "I suppose the exercise is good, if ye don't catch lung fever dancing about in those indecent trousers. I came out to see if ye'd like some breakfast after such a vigorous night."

"It was a wonderful cèilidh , and breakfast would be lovely." Shivering a little now that she wasn't moving, Troth accompanied her grandmother inside, then raced up to change into a dress while Mairead fried eggs and toasted bread.

Properly garbed, she enjoyed the meal and the relaxed time alone with her grandmother, since James and Jean were both away from home. She was just finishing her meal when Mairead disappeared for a moment, then returned and set a ribbon-tied bundle of papers on the scrubbed pine kitchen table.

"I thought ye might like to read some of yer father's letters," Mairead explained as she poured more tea.

Troth caught her breath as she took the first letter from the bundle. Plainly it had been read over and over again, but she would recognize her father's bold, clear hand anywhere. Since his own father had been a schoolteacher, he'd been taught to write well.

The first sentence said exultantly, We have a daughter! Li-Yin is well, though ashamed of not having given me a son, foolish girl. We've named the baby Troth Mei-Lian ("Beautiful Willow"), and I fell in love the instant I clapped eyes on her, for she's the bonniest infant imaginable .

Biting her lip, Troth read through the letters, hearing her father's voice in her ears. During her years in Canton, she had forgotten how well she had been loved as a child.

When tears blurred her eyes so much she could no longer read, her grandmother handed over a handkerchief. "Ye were the joy of his life, Troth. I only wish Hugh had lived long enough to bring ye home himself."

Troth buried her face in the soft, embroidery-edged square, wondering if it was a sign of pregnancy to cry so easily. "Thank you for letting me read the letters, Grandmother. I feel as if he's standing right here beside me."

"Sometimes when I couldna bear the thought that he was dead, I'd reread the letters and pretend he was alive and well on the other side of the world." Tenderly Mairead retied the ribbon around the bundle of letters. "It's nae good to outlive your children."

Feeling very close to her grandmother and wanting to talk about what was occupying her mind, Troth said hesitantly, "I… I think I may be with child."

Mairead glanced up swiftly. "Are ye sure?"

"It's too early to be sure-but my heart is convinced."

"Ye're probably right, then-a woman can know long before she has proof." Mairead smiled. "So ye'll be marrying Maxwell for good, then. I assume it's his-I wouldna like to think otherwise of my granddaughter."