Mary Putney - The China Bride

She regarded him gravely. "How did that happen?"

"In Hoshan I experienced profound spiritual awareness," he said slowly. "It began with a devastating recognition of my failures and shortcomings. Only when all my pride and arrogance had been stripped away did I experience divine compassion so infinite that it could forgive all my weaknesses and fill me with light.

"For those of us who are less than saints, I think it's impossible to stay in such an exalted state, but I left Hoshan feeling closer to spiritual grace than I'd ever been. Then I was captured, and it seemed as if I'd lost everything I had learned. Only now do I see that in prison I was being taught another essential lesson."

"Suffering to enhance compassion?"

"That was surely part of it, but more important was to endure complete loss of control." He smiled wryly. "For most of my life, I've had a great deal of power to shape my world. In prison, I had no power at all. When and what I ate, my physical movements, even my very existence, were all in the hands of others. When the fever struck, I wasn't even master of my own body. By the end of my captivity I was praying for death. It was as if the essence of my being had been wrenched away."

"Aaahhhh." She exhaled softly. "No wonder you were in such dire straits when you returned to England. Your soul had been separated from your body, and they were slow to find each other again."

"That's a good way to put it." He studied her face. "Your experience was similar, wasn't it? Your captivity was gentler, your cell larger, but you were also imprisoned, unable to be a woman or to reveal both sides of your heritage. No wonder that now that you've escaped one prison, you're reluctant to enter another."

Her eyes widened. "Yes! That's it exactly. Marriage does seem like a prison."

"I'll never cage you, Troth Mei-Lian," he said softly. "If my experience in Feng-tang was to show me that I have only as much control over my life as God is willing to grant, I'd be a thrice-damned fool to try to control a free spirit like yours."

She swallowed. "You're a dangerously persuasive man, Lord Maxwell."

"On the contrary." His gaze went to the cross on the altar. "I'm a clumsy fellow who needs to learn his lessons over and over again."

"In each lesson, the student advances a little further in his spiritual studies." Her clasp tightened on his hand. "Do you wish you had become a minister of your church?"

"I wouldn't be much good in a vicarage. My personal ministry, I think, is to use the power I've inherited with justice and compassion. And for myself-well, in the future I'll remember to visit places like this often enough to prevent more holes from developing in my spirit." He raised their linked hands and kissed her knuckles. "Shall we continue our climb to the top of the castle?"

She gave him a dazzling smile. "Yes, my lord."

When they reached the highest place and could see miles in all directions, he'd ask her to marry him, he decided. After all, marriage was the goal of a courtship.

And if she didn't accept him today-well, he'd ask again tomorrow.

« ^ »

Her hand in Kyle's, Troth climbed to the next level of the castle, feeling buoyant from the pure, clean rush of his chi . Even if he hadn't spoken, she would have known that the chapel had crystallized his spiritual healing. Wholeness had been coming gradually, she realized, as he fought his way back to physical and emotional health after the ordeal he'd endured in China.

Ruefully she recognized that she hadn't been much help to him. She'd gone from anxious servility to prickly anger, skipping the intermediate stage of being a caring, helpful friend, let alone a true wife. She'd been of no use to either him or herself. The weeks since his return had been difficult for them both. Yet they'd survived, and were both regaining internal harmony. What might that lead to?

The second level of the castle contained low, crumbled stone sheds that had been used for storage, workshops, and livestock. Rather than explore, they continued climbing and went through the gate of the third and highest level. The keep, guardhouses, and other essential buildings, all roofless now, were set around three sides of a courtyard. The fourth side, on the south, was formed by the high stone wall that they'd just passed through, which separated the main level from the workshops.

The approaching storm had stiffened the wind to the point where it would take a man's hat off, but that only added to the barbaric splendor of the setting. Troth threw back her head and laughed, because she was happy and Castle Doom was as wild and free as the wind itself.

The main keep ran along the east wall to their right, but Kyle gestured left to the stone steps that ran up to the battlements in the southwest corner of the courtyard. "If you can manage one last climb, you'll be able to see half of central Scotland."

She gave him a teasing glance. "I shall manage. I'm not so sure that you will."

Before he could reply, an ear-numbing boom shattered the air. Troth winced, thinking it was thunder from the coming storm.

As another bolt shook the skies, Kyle grabbed her around the waist and physically dragged her through the empty doorway of the keep. More thunder sounded while he yanked her left from the door and flattened her against the stone wall. Disoriented, she gasped, "What are you doing? "

"Someone's out there, and he's shooting to kill," he said grimly.

Before Troth could protest, several more cracks sounded, and she saw debris flying upward from the ground inside the doorway, less than a yard away from them. She stared in horror at the pockmarked earth. "Why would someone be shooting at us?"

"I wish I knew. Perhaps it's a madman who has taken up residence here and resents intruders."

She could feel the beating of his heart where they pressed together. He was protecting her, she realized. No bullet could strike her without going through him first. "How did you know so quickly?"

"In India I joined some army patrols on the North-West Frontier. Very educational. The Afghans are excellent shots. One doesn't forget the sound of a rifle when it is aimed at one's heart."

She was willing to bet he'd never mentioned such expeditions to his father. The thought of him there horrified her, and she hadn't even known Kyle then.

The shooting had stopped after they disappeared from view, so he withdrew a step and pulled off his coat. After bunching the fabric, he edged the coat into the open doorway at head level. Another ragged volley sounded, and from the way the fabric jerked she guessed that at least one bullet had struck Kyle's decoy. As he put the coat on again, she saw the white of his shirt through scorched, smoldering holes.

"I think there must be at least two men, and they're carrying multishot rifles," he said coolly. "Probably they're in the guardhouse directly opposite us, so they have a clear view of the whole courtyard, including the gate that leads to the lower level. We'd be riddled with bullets before we moved ten feet toward the gate."

"I didn't know there were multishot rifles."

"Several of the most expensive London gunsmiths make them. It's not the kind of weapon a poor, crazed Scottish hermit would be carrying."

Grasping for hope, she asked, "You always travel armed, don't you?"

"Yes, but all I have is a single-shot pistol that would be good only at close quarters. Useless against two rifles."

When she started to ask another question, he placed his hand over her mouth as he listened. The only sound was the wail of the wind. If someone was moving stealthily across the courtyard toward their refuge in the keep, there was no warning sound. The knowledge that the killer might be approaching even now made Troth's skin crawl.