"Enough!"
He turned from her, smoothing out his gloves, trying not to show the intense hurt, the agitation, he was feeling, but her voice went on, ignoring his command.
"We would ride up to the ruins of the old monastery, up in the hills above Tongjiang. Inside, in the oldest of the temples, he would lay down his riding blanket and we would strip and lie on it. And then . . ."
He turned, staring at her, compelled, despite himself, to know. "And then"—her voice, her face slowly changed, softening—"and then he would make love to me." She sighed. "So fierce and yet so—so gentle he was. As if he could feel what I was feeling. As if . . ."
She shuddered and looked away, all of the anger in her transmuted suddenly to pain.
He stared at her, for that brief moment understanding her. For the very first time understanding just what had driven her. Ai^a.' he thought. To feel that, and yet to be tied.
"I understand," he said quietly. "It ... it was not your fault. Tsu Ma . . ."
He swallowed back the sudden surge of hatred he felt for the man. She came across and stood beside him, her dark eyes looking up at him, the sweet scent of her filling his senses. And if he were to reach out . . .
Slowly he put his arms about her and bent his face to hers, her mouth opening to his, her lips warm and moist. It was the thing he had missed most all these years: being kissed by her.
He broke from the kiss and moved his head back, staring at her, suddenly afraid of what he'd done.
"Make love to me," she said softly, her eyes pleading with him. "Now. Before the moment vanishes."
He shivered, then, unable to prevent himself, nodded, letting her lift the cloak from his shoulders and begin to unbutton his robe, a boy again, the veil of years torn aside.
"Fei Yen," he whispered, his hand reaching up to caress her neck, her cheek, his fingers smoothing the side of her head as it pressed back against his touch. "Fei Yen . . ."
She drew him down, onto the bed, her soft warm kisses on his neck and shoulders blinding his senses, making him groan with sweet delight. She fumbled at his loincloth, her hand brushing intimately against his fiercely swollen sex, and then he was inside her, thrusting into her, the pain of longing in her face inflaming him, making him spasm and come immediately. And still he thrust, and still she met his thrust, her cries of pleasure keeping him hard. "Yes ... oh, yes ... Oh, oh . . ."
He felt her reach up, holding herself tightly, intimately, against him, felt the great shudder of release that rippled through her, and then she fell back, as if she'd fainted. As she did, he felt his penis slip from her and gave a tiny groan. At once she reached for him and led him back inside her, then cradled his head against her with one hand, while the other smoothed his buttocks.
He let a shuddering sigh escape him, then closed his eyes, conscious of the hard length of his flesh within her, linking them, binding them as no words or ceremonies had ever managed.
If only it could always have been thus. But the flesh was weak, the warmth illusory.
They made love again, this time beneath the blankets, his face above hers, watching her, savoring each moment, using all his skills to bring her to her climax long before he let his seed flow into her.
"I had forgotten," he said afterward, facing her, his hands tracing the contours of her body. "All these years . . ."
She watched him lazily, like a cat, all of the hardness, the resentment, washed from her; purged, it seemed, by his lovemaking.
"Do you think . . ."he began, then sighed, shaking his head.
"You can always visit me," she said. "You could tie me up."
"Is that what you like?"
She gave a soft grunt, then looked away. "You do not know the half of it, Li Yuan. The men I've known. The years . . . ach! Each year has seemed like ten. Like those years I spent in exile in the floating palace, mourning your brother's death."
He sighed, pained by this insight into her. All these years he'd blamed and hated her; all these years he'd failed to see.
"I have been blind," he said. "I never understood, did I?"
"No." She looked back at him and smiled. "So what now, my husband?"
The words sent a strange thrill through him—a shock of recognition, of Tightness. He smiled, feeling as if it were the first true smile— the first honest, open smile—he'd ever given her.
"So now ... we start anew."
He reached out, drawing her up onto him, cradling her above him and kissing her.
"Once more and then I have to go. But I'll be back for you. I promise. We'll start again, Fei Yen, and damn the world. I'll divorce Pei K'ung and make Han Ch'in a prince. I'll set things right, I promise you. I'll make things better than they were."
Then, rolling her onto her back, he climbed above her and entered her again, feeling like an exiled king, returned into his kingdom.
"Fei Yen," he whispered, her movements matching his perfectly, Yin to his Yang. "My darling wife, Fei Yen."
TSU KUNG-CHIH was drunk. He stood there, red faced, facing his uncle's Master of the Inner Chambers, Hwa Kwei, and shouted angrily. "You incompetent fool! Can't you do anything right? I pay you a fortune and you mess things up! I mean, what now?"
He tore at his rich silks in anguish, then turned away sharply. Behind him the embarrassed Hwa, his head bowed, kept his silence. Tsu Kung-chih was right. He had failed miserably. Tsu Shu-sun was pregnant and he had failed to prevent it. His potions had made her sick, certainly, but still, somehow, she had conceived.
The prince turned, one foot up on the low wall that surrounded the inner courtyard and its shallow pool. His disappointment was clear in his face. His sallow lips quivered and his eyes were moist, but he spoke more softly now, trying to control himself; struggling against the sudden impact of this news. He had learned of it only today—only an hour back. Tsu Ma had kept it from him until now. Shuddering, he looked at Hwa Kwei again. "Was it so difficult? You said it would be easy. You assured me." Hwa Kwei gave a small nod, then bowed lower. It should have been easy, but who could have known that Shu-sun would conceive on her wedding night? Who would have thought that Tsu Ma would change his mind and go to her?
Kung-chih glared at him a moment longer, then turned away, a noise of sheer exasperation escaping him. He felt betrayed. It was as if his uncle had been toying with him. And though he had pretended otherwise, it was clear that Tsu Ma had enjoyed telling him the news. As if he didn't know what it meant to him.
He laughed bitterly and threw out his hand, dismissing the middle-aged servant. What good was it, trusting in others? No, this was something he would have to do himself.
He looked around. Hwa Kwei had gone. "Good riddance," he said softly. But the words did not begin to express the turbulence of what he had felt this last hour. Now, however—now that he was alone at last—one thing seemed to surface and rise above all others, vast, bloated, obscuring the rest in its dark and awful shadow. Tsu Ma had known! He had known all along! And Hwa Kwei ...
Tsu Kung-chih closed his eyes, a faint nausea overcoming him mo-
mentarily. They had toyed with him. Played him like\aAh on a line. And now they would reel him in.
' 'No-oooh . . ."
Slowly he opened his eyes. No one had heard his cry of anguish. He turned and looked about him, making sure. But no, he was alone.
"What, then?" he said softly, talking to himself now. "Should I go to him and tell him what I've done? Go down on my knees before him and beg forgiveness?" He sighed, then shook his head. "No, I'll not do that. Not after what he's done to me."
Which left him but one choice. Smiling grimly he stared down at his reflection in the mirror of the pool.
"So be it, then."