He'd wanted to see the world. Now it had been reduced to stone walls, illness, and despair.
'Drink.'
He fought the bitter potion forced into his mouth, wanting to return to his dream of England. If even his dreams turned punishing, death truly would be a blessing.
'Drink!'
Coughing and spitting, he came partially awake and realized that a well-dressed Chinese man was trying to force a bitter drink down his throat. Medicine? Poison? No longer caring which, he swallowed, then drifted into darkness again.
He had a vague sense of being carried, of rattling along in some kind of vehicle. Long spells of unconsciousness were punctuated by short bursts of feverish awareness.
When his wits fully returned, he was in a blessedly clean bed. Slowly his gaze moved over carved screens and silk hangings. On a table sat a porcelain vase with one perfect flower. He was in the household of a wealthy Chinese. Surely not Wu Chong?
An elderly female servant peered in at him, then left the room. A few minutes later another woman arrived. This one was also aged, but dressed like the mistress of the household. As she laid a cool hand on his forehead, he said tentatively, '
His voice was a croak, but she smiled appreciatively at his recognition of her rank as she made him drink something. Bitterness again. This time he realized that the potion contained Peruvian bark. Rare and expensive, it came from South America and was the most effective treatment for malaria, when it could be obtained.
The next time he woke, the servant bustled off and returned with Chenqua, leader of the Cohong. Finally understanding, Kyle inclined his head. 'Greetings, Lord Chenqua. I gather that I owe you my life. You have done far more than I deserve.'
'Indeed,' the merchant said with unmistakable dryness. 'Your crimes cost me many taels of silver, but at least you live. Your death would cost much more.'
Kyle closed his eyes, feeling as if he were five and being scolded by his father. 'I'm sorry. It was wrong of me to enter China, but… I wanted very much to see Hoshan.'
Voice slightly softened, Chenqua said, 'Understandable, but stupid.'
'Am I in Canton?' When Chenqua nodded, he continued, 'Will I be imprisoned again now that I've recovered?'
'No. You go to Macao, return to England. Wu Chong says he never intended death, merely imprisonment while he sent word of your capture to Peking, very slowly.' The merchant's expression turned satiric. 'Not possible to prove otherwise.'
So Wu Chong would not be punished for overstepping his authority. If Kyle had died of fever it would have been unfortunate, but not the prefect's fault. The mock executions had been mere pranks, much less than the
'The Company, and a letter from Mei-Lian.'
So he owed Troth his life-again-and Chenqua knew something of their relationship. By now, she must be almost to England. His family must endure months of mourning before they could learn he was alive. Well, there was no help for that. He hoped the news didn't kill his father-the guilt of that would never go away.
Wondering how much his lawbreaking had cost Chenqua, Kyle said, 'I shall reimburse you for the fine you had to pay.'
'No. Go home, and live with the knowledge of what your foolishness has cost.'
Unsmiling, Kyle said, 'You drive a hard bargain.'
'Always.' Chenqua gathered his robes about him, then hesitated. 'You stole my best interpreter. Swear to provide for her.'
'I have already pledged myself to that.' Kyle studied the merchant's face, trying to read his expression. What had Troth meant to him? Not a daughter, not really a friend, but surely there had been some affection. 'Have you a message for Mei-Lian?'
Chenqua hesitated. 'Tell her… I miss her kung fu.'
'I shall.'
After the merchant left, Kyle lay back exhausted. His last grand adventure had ended in humiliation and near death. Had it been worth it?
He'd endured months of suffering, the crushing knowledge of his own reckless stupidity, a disease that would probably dog him for months, perhaps years. He'd also contracted a marriage that he'd intended to last for hours, not a lifetime. In trying to help Troth, he'd failed her.
He was a thrice-damned fool.
Chapter 30
Shropshire, England
Early spring 1833
Troth drew her horse to a halt at the top of the hill overlooking Warfield's long driveway. As she contemplated the pale blue sky and the first wary sprigs of greenery, she said, 'I'm beginning to believe England might actually have a summer.'
Beside her, Meriel laughed. 'I can't blame you for doubting, but spring is truly on the way. My favorite time of year, when the whole earth comes alive.'
'I'm looking forward to seeing your gardens in all their glory.'
'You must help me design a Chinese garden,' Meriel said, eyes glinting.
Dominic had also reined in his horse, but didn't join the conversation. He seemed tense, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, though he'd been the one to suggest this afternoon ride. He and Meriel rode as if born in the saddle, but they were willing to accommodate Troth's more modest riding skills. Though she'd made progress, she was still grateful for Cinnamon's docile nature and smooth gaits.
Months had passed since she'd arrived in England. It was time she left her safe refuge. She must fulfill the pledge she'd made at her father's grave and visit Scotland. After that, she must decide how and where she wanted to live. 'I need to sit down with Dominic and learn what my financial situation is. I gather that I should be able to afford a small house.'
'A good deal more than that, but you should stay here,' Meriel said promptly. 'The children adore you. So do Dominic and I.'
Troth smiled but shook her head. 'I can't live here forever.'
Meriel glanced at her husband and frowned when she saw that he hadn't been listening. 'Dominic, is something wrong? '
He started a little as her words pierced his reverie. 'Sorry. I've been having the strangest thoughts.' He hesitated, as if unsure whether he should say more, before continuing painfully, 'I… I keep feeling as if Kyle will ride through the gates. I even dreamed that last night. Ridiculous, of course, but I… can't stop wishing.'
Wordlessly Meriel touched his hand, her eyes compassionate. Troth understood the difficulty Dominic had in accepting his brother's death. She felt it, too, and had her own dreams in which Kyle came riding home, laughing that his death had been a misunderstanding and he was alive and well. She would run into his arms-and from there her dreams became so explicit that she blushed to think of them in broad daylight.
Offering distraction, Meriel said, 'Let's ride up to the castle. On a day like this we should be able to see
