Jena smiled. 'If you saw me wearing a sari and standing beside my husband, who is a full-blooded Indian, I wouldn't look English at all. But you're right, dressed as an Englishwoman, I merely look dark. Your Chinese heritage is more visible.'
Troth leaned forward eagerly. 'What is it like for an Asiatic to live among these Britons?'
'My father's position protected me from prejudice.' Jena's mouth twisted. 'The only time I've really suffered was in my first marriage to a man who was horrified when he learned of my 'tainted' blood. It led to… great unpleasantness. I was in the process of seeking a legal separation when he died.'
There was a story to that, Troth guessed, though probably not one Jena would discuss lightly. 'Your second husband is the tall Indian gentleman here tonight?'
'Yes. Curry is an Anglicized version of his family name.' Jena chuckled. 'Since he has chosen to spend the rest of his life in England, Kamal has adopted some of the local customs and clothing, but his beard and turban remind me that I'm not all English. Nor do I want to be.'
'Have you never thought that it would be easier to be one or the other?'
'Easier, perhaps, but then I would not be myself.' Jena regarded Troth with large, dark eyes. 'Ease is not the purpose of life. I gather that your time in Canton was often difficult, but don't renounce your Chinese side. To be only English would be to impoverish yourself.'
That was easy for Jena to say, with her features that could pass for European and a life lived under the protection of a high-ranking father. Though the first husband sounded unfortunate, the second was a striking man, with intelligence and authority in his face, and clearly the couple was accepted by local society despite their foreign blood. Jena couldn't know what it was like to live as an outcast, unable even to claim her own gender. 'With my face, I couldn't renounce my breeding even if I wished to.'
Jena studied her expression, but didn't take the subject any further. 'Though the country folk here are rather conservative, as peasants are everywhere, there is a basic tolerance. You have married into a family that will protect you as my father protected me. When your mourning ends, you can have a rich and fulfilling life in England.'
'I hope so,' Troth said bleakly. 'There is nothing left for me in China.'
Chapter 22
Hoshan, China
Spring 1832
The trail cut sharply around a stony ridge, and there was Hoshan. Kyle halted, stunned by the beauty of the temple that lay below. His original print had shown water, but he hadn't realized that the temple was built on an island in the middle of a lake. With the sky reflected in the water, Hoshan appeared to be floating in heaven.
From the other side of the donkey, Troth murmured in the special, almost inaudible speech they'd developed, 'It is truly lovely, isn't it? The blue tiles on the roofs are reserved for religious buildings.'
Blue tiles for heaven. Kyle studied the temple and scattered outbuildings hungrily, scarcely able to believe that within the next two hours he'd finally enter Hoshan. Feeling an odd mixture of excitement and apprehension, he resumed walking along the narrow track that clung to the face of the mountain, descending to the lake in steep swoops. A scattering of other pilgrims could be seen above and below them.
He reminded himself to shuffle and hang his head like a feeble old man. It was difficult when he felt more like a youth who had just discovered the delicious pleasures of the flesh. The wonder of it made him want to burst into song or race down the mountain from pure exuberance.
Troth deserved the credit for his invigoration, of course, because she truly
Kyle's blood had been simmering all day, and no sooner were they secure in their room than he'd caught his companion in a hungry embrace. They'd ended up coupling against the rough mud-brick wall, Troth as frantic as he.
After recovering some strength with the evening rice, he'd experimented with Taoist practices, and found that it was indeed possible to withhold his seed and prolong their pleasure. Over the next nights-and one wild, indiscreet interval by a shaded stream-Troth had entered into his sometimes clumsy experiments with laughter and enthusiasm. He hadn't known it was possible to have a relationship with a woman that was, for lack of a better term, a passionate friendship.
With Troth, there were no tears or demands or manipulations, no implication that because they were bedmates, she owned him. She was all honesty, generous and incredibly open about her physical nature. Given the intoxicated way they'd been feasting on each other, it was amazing they'd managed to reach Hoshan. But they had. Three weeks of travel, going rather slower than they'd planned because there seemed no reason to hurry, had brought them to the temple that had haunted him for half a lifetime.
As they picked their way down the trail, he was almost sorry they'd reached their goal. Until now the journey had been fueled by anticipation. The return would be anticlimactic, with every step taking him closer to the end of his travels-and of his intimacy with Troth.
A rattle of pebbles sounded below them on the path, heralding the progress of a returning pilgrim. Soon a sedan chair appeared, carried by two bearers along the narrow track. Kyle, Troth, and Sheng squeezed against the wall in a wide section of the trail as the chair was carried by, curtained so that the occupant was invisible. The sinewy bearers trotted along swiftly, unconcerned by the sheer drop.
After the other party vanished from view, Kyle murmured, 'Were they moving so fast from confidence, or the belief that if they fall off the cliff and die, they'll be rapidly reborn in a better state?'
Troth smiled. 'They probably specialize in carrying invalids and pilgrims to the temple and have been along this track hundreds of times.'
'Better them than me.' Kyle cast an uneasy glance at the abyss to the left. 'The builders of Hoshan certainly didn't want their temple to be too accessible.'
'If it were easy to reach, it would be less special.'
Other travelers were approaching, so they fell silent. The trail ended at the lake, where a handful of merchants catered to the needs of pilgrims. After bedding Sheng down at the livery, Troth bought richly perfumed flowers and a straw basket of fruit for offerings, placing the flowers in Kyle's arms. Then she took his elbow and escorted him to the landing, where a boat waited to take them and several others to the island.
Kyle's nerves wound tighter and tighter as the boat skimmed over the water like a swallow, propelled by the strong arms of a gray-robed young man. What if he'd come all this distance and found nothing except beauty? He'd visited shrines in many lands, seeking some elusive understanding that he couldn't even name. Occasionally he'd felt that he was close to reaching what he sought. But never close enough.
When they reached the island, Troth helped Kyle from the boat with the deference due his aged and injured state, then guided him up the broad steps that led to the temple entrance. Heart pounding, he stared through the thin gauze at the details of the structure that had captured his imagination, enchanted as much by the gilded mythical beasts that marched down the curving ridgepoles as by the perfect, harmonious proportions.
Most of all, he felt the sheer power of the place. This was like the cave shrine to Kuan Yin, only multiplied a hundredfold. Hoshan radiated a sacred energy that both humbled and enlightened. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.
The sound of chanting monks wafted out the high, arched entrance, the voices eerily beautiful. Troth's grip on his elbow tightened. One would have to be made of stone not to be affected by Hoshan.
They stepped from sunshine into mystery. The vast shrine was domed with a richly coffered ceiling of blue
