Eight Hunting Lyons (The Lyon’s Den Connected World)

Chapter Nine

D aniel didn’t know what he meant by his own words. She wasn’t a game to him? He didn’t play games with people, so this was an obvious statement. But it wasn’t obvious to her. In fact, she clearly thought he was crazy. Which meant they had a large distance to bridge before she trusted him.

Very well. He had crossed larger chasms.

She grabbed her boots and turned to climb the steep walk back to the castle. Given the late hour and her wet skirts, that was a dangerous path. “Did you come down that way?” he asked. “That’s daring for a woman in skirts.” He knew few people—male or female—who would have done it no matter how they dressed. “There’s an easier path this way.” He gestured to the opposite side. Unfortunately, the easy way to get there was across the top of her sand painting. “Do you think you can climb over these rocks?” he asked, gesturing to the rough brush and stones that marked the edge of the beach.

“We can walk across the top,” she said.

“No. I won’t disturb—”

“I’ll make it into clouds,” she said. “Where is the path?”

He pointed it out to her, and she nodded.

“Step where I step,” she said. She gathered her discarded boots in one hand, then jumped onto the sand and feathered her feet as she moved. He could not hope to imitate her graceful movements. Worse, his big feet disturbed the sand far more than her tiny ones, but she didn’t seem to care. She jumped and twisted. She kicked to make a deeper hole for the cloud, and he struggled to both follow her footsteps and watch what she did at the same time.

Again he saw the dance in her movements. She had a lift to her body as she worked. She swished her skirts to create softer lines on the ground. And once she stepped and spun in a circle to create a dot in the sand. She smiled as she moved, and he thought he heard a giggle, but he couldn’t be sure. The wind was picking up. Then, with a final hop, she made it to the far edge and turned to look back at what she had done. Her face was alight with joy until she looked at him where he stood like a clod in the middle of the image.

When she saw him, her expression stilled and quickly settled back into that blank expression he hated. Her head bowed, and she clasped her hands before her. He knew it was her habit. When she was alone, she was the animated creature who danced on the sand. But whenever she was with another, this silent statue came forward.

He was going to break her of that habit somehow. He wanted her to be herself around him always. But at the moment, he had to find a way to get to the edge without destroying what she had created.

Meanwhile, she stepped further back along the path, presumably to give him room to leap over to her.

“I can’t do it without destroying what you’ve made here,” he said.

“It is not meant to be permanent,” she said. “The water will wash it away soon.”

“How did you learn to do this?” he asked. He did not want to leave where he stood. He was at the top of the painting, looking down on a goddess in repose. It made him feel like the divine creature’s consort.

“Children in China practice writing with a wet cloth tied to a stick. They dip it in a bucket of water and then write on stone. The sun dries the markings and then they do it again.”

“You learned to write with a stick and a rag?”

“Why waste paper and ink on a child?”

“I suppose that makes sense. But how do you go from a wet stick on stone to this?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t have a stick or a rag, so I used my feet in the dirt. My toes were my first brushes.” She gazed out at the ocean. “I got into a great deal of trouble for my large, dirty feet.”

Her feet were tiny, elegant things. Even though they were covered now by her dark skirts, he had watched with masculine interest when she’d worked. Her calves were shapely, her feet delicate, and all of her was built upon slender lines.

“Is it true that Chinese women bind their feet to make them very small?”

“Yes.” She looked away. “Noble women must be carried. It is a mark of value.”

He had seen many odd customs over the years, but this was one of the worst. “Personally, I can’t see how crippling a woman makes her more valuable.”

She didn’t respond. He didn’t expect her to, but she did look him in the eye.

“But I suppose we have stupid customs, too,” he said, hoping to draw her into conversation. “What did you find odd when you first got to England?”

“English women bind themselves until they can’t breathe. I find that very strange.”

Progress. She’d responded and was still looking him in the eye. “Can’t argue with you there.” A bird flew overhead which caused her to look up. He followed her gaze and grimly noted that the sun would be going down soon. “We need to get back.”

She nodded. “I will put on my shoes.”

“I will find a way to get to you without ruining your work.”

He moved as close as he dared to the side while still standing in her marks. By the time he made it there, she had already put on her footwear and was standing in her statue pose to the side of the path. Seeing the best way to cross over, he gathered his energy. It was a leap, but he made it easily. Unfortunately, his foot landed on a rock and turned beneath him. He stumbled forward toward her, and she shied back even as she reached out to stop his fall. He recovered on his own. His walking boots stood him in good stead there. But he did reach for her arm, just in case. And she obliged him by holding it out without allowing him to flatten her with his bulk.

“Thank you,” he said, even though he didn’t touch her.

She nodded and dropped her arm. He was watching her closely, seeing how her face tightened then smoothed. Was she wondering at her own contradictory reaction to both help him and run from him? Or did she worry because he stood close enough to touch her?

He decided to press her to see if he could break through more of her reserve. He held out his arm to her with a genial smile. There was room here for them to walk side by side, at least for the first part of the path.

He could see the uncertainty on her face, but in the end, she set her hand on his arm. He cast one last look at her sand art, then began their stroll the long away around to the castle. About a third of the way up, they would reach a viewpoint. He was anxious to get there while there was still time to see what she’d done in the sand.

“You said you were painting the goddess Yao Ji. Can you tell me her story?”

She frowned as if remembering, and then she relayed the tale. Her voice was soft with only modest inflections as she spoke, and yet with every word, he felt drawn closer to hear every nuance of her tale.

“Long ago, the goddess Yao Ji became bored in Heaven. She invited her eleven sisters to travel with her to the Wu Gorge for the moon festival.”

“When is the moon festival?”

She pursed her lips. “The fifteenth day of the eighth lunar month.”

He did not know how to calculate that according to the English calendar, but he had a rough idea. “It is an autumn festival?”

“Yes.” She paused as they navigated around a particularly pointy bush. “She and her sisters had chains tied to their feet to connect them with Heaven.”

“Sounds remarkably uncomfortable.”

She smiled at his statement. “It was the only way to return to Heaven. They would get lost in the sky without it.”

“Why not just bring a map?” he asked. He was teasing her. He knew that legends did not always make sense. His ploy worked as she gave him a look.

“You are a very practical man,” she said.

“I pride myself on it.” Then he gestured an apology. “But this is a fairy tale. I am not making fun.”

She looked like she didn’t believe him, but in the end, she continued. “When the sisters arrived at Wu Gorge, they encountered Yu the Great. He stood on the highest peak at the mouth of the gorge. He controlled the water so it did not flood and kill his people.”

“Very good of him.”

“He was a great emperor who tamed the waters of China.” Then she gestured with her hand. “Well, he became a great emperor and established the Xia dynasty. When Yao Ji met him, he had not learned water magic yet.”

“Ah, now I see what happened. She must have taught him the secret.”

“There was a scroll in Heaven that explained the secrets. She rushed there to get it, but before she could come back to Yu, the heavenly soldiers caught her and her eleven sisters.”

“There’s always a punishment for giving heavenly secrets to mortal men.”

She nodded. “While the soldiers were busy with her sisters, Yao Ji broke her chain and gave Yu the secret scroll.”

“But she couldn’t go back, could she?”

“No. She was trapped on earth. She lay down beside the river Yu controlled, and her outline can be seen there still.”

Daniel grunted. “Seems to me the least Yu could have done was give her a palace in his empire. After all, she’d given up Heaven for him.”

Li-Na smiled. “I thought the same thing as a girl. Though she is rather large.”

He helped her over a large rock. “How large? A mountain large? Big hill large? Prinny large?”

He didn’t think she’d understand his last joke about their corpulent ruler, but in this he underestimated her. She released a delicate snort, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Have you ever met him?” she asked.

“Prinny? Yes, several times. We have a rivalry of sorts as we both look for great artists.”

She tilted her head in a silent question, but his thoughts became diverted by the exquisite curve of her cheek and sweep of her brow. It was all he could do to keep enough wits to answer her implied question.

“The men he favors have talent. Prinny has an excellent eye for art. But their primary skill is in entertaining his royal highness.”

She nodded. “How are you rivals?”

“We put our favorite pieces up for sale and see who nets the highest price. I won our last challenge and have been on the outs with him ever since.”

“Perhaps you will find a way back in soon,” she said.

“Perhaps you will paint me something to tempt him with. He likes to own the best art.” He meant it as a tease. Nothing more than a hope, but she immediately shut down. Her lips pressed tight as her face turned away from him. He cursed himself for rushing his fences. He kept quiet after that and they made good time to the viewpoint. He quietly steered her to the spot, and then watched her face as she looked out.

She didn’t look down to what she had done on the sand. Instead, her lips parted in shock at the beauty of the coming sunset. She saw the ocean in its wide expanse and the way the clouds were painted bright colors. And he got to see awe on her face.

It was some time before he managed to look away to see what remained of her work in the sand. A quarter gone, but still impressive. “Is Yao-Ji’s home a mountain or a hill?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” she answered. “I have never been. I know the tale, of course, and have seen one painting many years ago.” She gestured down toward her work. “That was created from my imagination, and it is a poor imitation of what was in my mind.”

“Then your imagination must be a stunning place.”

She smiled as if he were teasing her. He wasn’t. She had no understanding of the depths of her talent. He was determined to get her to paint for him. But until she did, he was grateful for her work today, and that he alone had seen it. It made him feel like he had caught a wild bird for a few minutes before it flew away.

“Thank you,” he said. “I feel privileged to have witnessed your art today.”

She shook her head. “I am immune to flattery, my lord. The men at the Lyon’s Den have said many things to me. None have touched my heart.”

He wasn’t surprised. She was too skittish to be caught by any of the typical clientele at the gaming hell. “Do not confuse me with any of them.”

“No,” she murmured. “I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.”

Her last words were said in a whisper as she looked at him. There was no coyness in her expression, and he felt a surge of need so strong he nearly kissed her right there. She must have felt it too. He could see it in the way her lips parted in invitation. In the slight lean of her body toward him.

It was a moment poised between them with possibility, and he nearly took it. But then a gust of cold wind reminded him that they had lingered long enough. And that a rushed kiss now could very well spoil everything tomorrow.

It was time to get back to the castle.

It took another half hour before they made it to the top. He meant to walk her to the edge of the castle grounds so she could see the last of the sunset from up top. The sun might be below the horizon, but the sky was still a glory of darkening colors. Unfortunately, the moment they topped the last few feet of the path, he knew he was in trouble.

His sister-in-law stood leaning against the near side of the castle, her gaze distracted as she no doubt watched one of her sons. In her hands, she clenched a piece of paper. A letter, he guessed, with bad news. And damn it, hadn’t they had enough of that lately?