Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [65]
I reached my hand toward his arm, which was trembling. I slipped both arms around the bulk of his waist. He hugged my shoulders as tightly as our fur-lined cloaks would allow. He put his hand behind my neck and tilted my face up to his. His eyes seemed dark and deep, roaming over my features. My nose tingled with the spicy scent of him. Inside my cloak, my body pushed hard toward him, resisting the layers between us.
His face drew closer, and I could feel the bristly softness of his beard against my cheek. Suddenly, his lips were on mine, soft and wet, and his mustache tickled my upper lip. A wondrous tingling sensation flooded through my body.
For a long moment, I luxuriated in the unexpected, glorious feel of his touch. Then the urgency of his embrace, the full moonlight, the sound of the rushing stream brought me back with a jolt.
I pushed him away. “What was that?” I asked.
He seemed chastened. “We call it bacio. What is the word in your language?”
I shook my head. “We have no such word. People do not do this.”
“I meant no offense,” he said.
The bacio was strange but also delicious. I wanted to try again. I began to move toward him.
“Emmajin! Where are you?” Suren’s yell sounded frantic.
“Stay here,” I whispered to Marco. Suren must not see us together alone. I headed back toward the village. Just as I reached the bend, my cousin rushed toward me.
“Emmajin! Thanks be, you’re safe. Where have you been!” he grabbed my arms and looked me over.
“Taking a walk, that’s all.”
“Are you all right?”
I adopted a commanding tone. “Of course!”
Suren looked past me and saw Marco still standing by the rock. My cousin looked at me, eyes full of questions and accusation. “It’s freezing. Come back now.”
As I walked back with him, I could sense his anger mounting. He led me to a military ger, secured the tent flap, and stirred the fire while I sat cross-legged on a sleeping fur. He added some wood to the fire, then knelt, facing me.
“What were you doing?” His eyes showed concern and disappointment.
I sat straight. What right had he to question my doings? “Talking to Marco.”
“Marco. What did you have to say to Marco at this time of night?”
I did not deign to answer.
“Emmajin.” He sat next to me, less accusing. “Be careful. Others are watching.”
The firelight flickered on the white walls of the ger. I looked away. I could still feel the bacio on my lips.
“It’s my fault,” Suren said. “I will never leave you alone again.”
It would have been pointless to argue. I knew he was right. To risk harming my reputation in the military was like stabbing my own foot with a dagger. I could not explain to myself this forbidden attraction.
“Suren,” I said, with as much authority as I could, “do not fear.”
After that night, Suren would not leave my side. He slept inside my tent. Even when I went to relieve myself, he stood guard. The other soldiers did not notice. If Marco noticed, he did not show it. He kept his distance, but I could feel his eyes on me. Suren’s watchfulness made Marco seem more forbidden, more desirable. Just one glance from him made me feel connected. It was too late for Suren to pry us apart.
Within a few days, we had passed out of Tibetan territory and into the province of Caindu, a verdant, forested land with mountains, not quite as steep, but still arduous. At every village, people came out, trying to sell us turquoise stones and freshwater pearls. I bought a string of them, to give to my sister.
After ten days of riding, we came to a huge river, called the Brius, or Long River in Chinese. It was the second great river of China and ran all the way to the ocean. Even here, thousands of miles inland, it was wide and swift. We crossed it by ferry.
On the other side, at last, was the province of Carajan—a large mountainous region with seven separate kingdoms, each of which had a distinct tongue and a unique