Dragon Fire

by Linda Ladd

  "There are several extra bedchambers on this floor, Mr. Kincaid, as well as a few on the second floor. You and Mr. Wings are welcome to whichever ones you wish."

  Without a hint of a smile, Sun-On-Wings nodded, but Stone had an irresistible urge to laugh at the way she had addressed the Indian.

  "Sun-On-Wings am most grateful," the Osage said solemnly.

  Another awkward pause ensued as Mrs. Cox watched her daughter. Windsor remained silent.

  "Well, then, I know all of you must be tired. I'll leave you now so that you can get some rest. The bedchambers are prepared, and the fireplaces are readied as well, in case you should become chilly during the night. We are certainly pleased to have you here. We've been waiting anxiously for Windsor to return."

  "Thank you very much, Mrs. Cox," Stone answered politely, "and I apologize for barging in on you so late."

  "Please don't concern yourself with that. You're most welcome. I'm just happy Windsor's safe at home again. I'll see you again at breakfast, I hope. Good night."

  She hesitated, as if debating whether or not she should embrace her daughter; then she apparently decided against it and took her leave. After her mother had gone, Windsor moved into the luxurious bedchamber Stone had noticed earlier.

  Stone and Sun-On-Wings followed her, watching her walk across the deep plush carpet to the enormous bed. She ran her fingertips lightly over the lustrous red silk coverlet embroidered with flying dragons and Chinese dancers.

  "My mother doesn't know me very well. That is the reason she thought I would like this."

  "She seems very eager to please you," Stone commented, his admiring gaze circling the flamboyant room.

  "She need hang no silken draperies to please me."

  Their gazes locked, but Sun-On-Wings could not hide his fascination with the vivid colors and fine, shiny fabrics. He reached up to finger the material covering the wall.

  "What this made of? Smooth as beaver pelt."

  "It's called silk," Stone answered.

  "What creature come from?"

  "Worms."

  Sun-On-Wings' eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward and examined the material closer. "Take big worm make this," he said, shaking his head. "Worm big as buffalo."

  "I'll explain it tomorrow, kid," Stone said, grinning. "Right now, let's get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll go down to the wharf and see if I can find Clan's woman." He gave Windsor a warning frown. "And I'm going alone. You hear me, Windsor? You're to stay here with your mother."

  "I must come."

  "Dammit, I said no. You'll only complicate things."

  "If I remain here, will you give me your word of honor that you will not go after Clan without me?"

  Stone hesitated, but he finally nodded. "I'll come back here first."

  "Then I will trust you. Sun-On-Wings and I will wait."

  Much relieved, Stone sighed, massaging his tired eyes. After so many weeks of struggling just to survive, he could no longer ignore the weariness that weighed so heavily upon him. He had to get some shut-eye.

  "C'mon, kid, we'll take two rooms down the hall."

  Minutes later, he left the Osage youth examining the contents of a second lush Chinese den, the walls and carpet of which were resplendent in vibrant hues of dark blue and gold. And when he entered his own bedchamber at the back of the house, he found yet another magnificent room, this one hung with silk panels of ebony and silver.

  Tired to the bone, he unbuckled his holsters and hung them on the bedpost of the massive bamboo bed; then he pulled off his boots and lay back on the soft mattress, not bothering to undress further. He stared up at the woven tapestry of the canopy, admiring the fastidious needlework depicting blue mountains ringed with fluffy white clouds. A pagoda could be seen above a sapphire-colored lake, and just before he closed his eyes, he wondered if it could be the Temple of the Blue Mountain, where Windsor Richmond had grown into such a beautiful, fascinating, infuriating enigma.

  He drifted into sleep still hungry for her, his imagination rampant with the pleasures she could give him if only she would curl her small body up against him, her arms wrapped tight around him, her soft pink lips opening beneath his mouth.

  14

  Stone was up early the next morning. Ning-Ying brought him hot water, and he took time to bathe leisurely and shave before venturing out of his sumptuous Chinese den. He paused before the open door of Sun-On-Wings' room and discovered that the young Osage had disregarded the soft bed and chosen instead to sleep on the floor.

  A short distance down the hall, he passed Windsor's room and heard the sound that was now very familiar to him—the low drone of her chant.

  As he descended the stairs, Stone shook his head. If Windsor was deep in her self-induced trance, he was glad. He didn't want her tagging along. Eager to be away before her inner wisdom instructed her to follow him, he hurried down a second flight of steps to the main floor. He had almost reached the front door when Amelia Cox slid back the white double doors that led into the dining parlor.

  "Good morning, Mr. Kincaid. I do hope you'll join me for breakfast. I would really enjoy talking with you about my daughter."

  Stone hesitated. Lingering over a meal with Windsor's mother was the last thing he wanted to do. But she looked so hopeful and had invited him so graciously that he found it difficult to decline her invitation. And he had to admit that he was curious about Windsor's past. Her strange relationship with her mother was particularly intriguing.

  "I'd like that very much, Mrs. Cox. Thank you."

  Following the elegant lady into the dining room, he was impressed anew by her home. The dimensions alone were stunning. He was well accustomed to wealth and all its luxurious trappings. The Kincaid estate in Chicago, where Gray and Tyler lived, was large and elaborate, but it was clear that Amelia Cox had spent enormous amounts of time and money filling her home with the finest imported porcelain from the Orient and furniture crafted in the far reaches of the world. The table was a masterpiece itself, hand-carved of Chinese teak with twenty matching chairs cushioned in plush crimson velvet.

  "Please sit here beside me, Mr. Kincaid, so we can talk. I never could understand why my husband wanted such a large, impersonal table." She smiled, and Stone realized her eyes were very much like Windsor's, although perhaps a shade lighter. "Actually, I prefer dining in the kitchen with Ning-Ying. Would you care for coffee or tea?"

  "Coffee, Please."

  Stone sat down in the chair beside hers, which stood at the head of the table. Ning-Ying came forward with a large silver coffee server, and no one spoke as he poured the steaming brew into delicate blue-and-white cups painted with marvelously intricate portraits of Chinese gardens.

  "Windsor prefers tea, a special kind called oujay. I had to look long and hard, but I finally ordered it all the way from Shanghai. As you can imagine, I sent for enough to last her a very long time." She murmured a polite thank-you to the servant as she took the cup and saucer Ning-Ying handed to her. "My daughter grew up in China, you know. Or did she mention that to you?"

  "Actually, she said she was an orphan. I must say I was surprised a few days ago when she told me she had a mother."

  "I can imagine you would be."

  "I'm afraid I still don't quite understand your relationship," he added, wanting her to elaborate further. Pain creased faint lines across Amelia's smooth brow, and Stone again noted her similarity to Windsor. He had seen the exact same frown displayed on her daughter's face. Amelia continued to look down and remained silent as Ning-Ying served them from a large platter of buckwheat pancakes and honey-smoked ham. After the Chinaman had departed the room, Amelia looked up at Stone.

  "After I left last night, did Windsor say if she liked what I had done to her apartments?"

  Stone glanced down himself, wondering if Amelia had the slightest inkling that Windsor would be much more comfortable in the austerity of a monk's cell than in the elaborate room she'd gone to such expense to provide for her. He tried to conceive o
f a diplomatic reply.

  "She loves all things Chinese," he answered, endeavoring not to sound evasive.

  "Did she tell you what happened to us all those years ago in China?"

  "No. All I know is that she was raised by some kind of priests in a place called the Temple of the Blue Mountain."

  Amelia settled back in her chair. Her sigh was long and deep.

  "Windsor's father was a Methodist minister named Jason Richmond. We were so young when we married, and he wanted so desperately to save the world. It was his mission in life. He was a dear man, and I was hopelessly in love with him and his ideals." She shook her head, as if remembering. "When he decided to go to China and talked about his mission with such glowing eyes and fervent words, I was enthralled. I was only sixteen then, and so very naive. I'm afraid the idea of becoming a missionary in a foreign land sounded incredibly romantic at that age."

  She smiled faintly. "I'm sure you can imagine my shock when I got to China and saw the customs there firsthand. I found Chinese beliefs so heathen and uncivilized that I was simply appalled. Especially the way they treated their poor women. As long as I live on this earth, I'll never, ever forget how horrified I was the first time I heard a poor little girl crying in agony because her parents had her feet broken and bound tight so that they could not grow. Dainty feet are a sign of femininity there, you see. Have you ever been to China, Mr. Kincaid?"

  Stone shook his head. "No, but I realize the culture is very different from ours."

  "Yes. They called us the barbarians." She took a moment to stir her tea. "I never got used to that, either. I hated it there, especially after Windsor was born. I couldn't bear to think of her growing up in a place where women were forced to deform their feet, and where newborn girls were thrown out into the street to die just because they were females. I myself picked up half-starved infants and took them to Western orphanages, more times than I like to remember." She shuddered slightly. "Yes, my greatest fear was for Windsor to grow up in China, and that's exactly what happened to her. Ironic, don't you think?"

  Amelia looked so terribly sad for a moment that Stone felt the need to comfort her. He gentled his voice. "What exactly did happen to Windsor, Mrs. Cox?"

  Amelia bit her lip, then rose and moved away from Stone and stared out the front window. Keeping her back to him, she fixed her eyes on the street.

  "In the beginning Jason was too intent on his work to listen to my fears. So we stayed. Windsor was born there, and we remained for nearly a decade before I could persuade him to take us home. All that time we lived apart from the Chinese and associated mainly with the Europeans, but there were very few of us. In all that time Jason managed to make true converts out of only a handful of Chinese."

  Her voice changed pitch slightly, and her shoulders tensed. "Windsor was ten years old when we finally left. We took a riverboat down the Yangtze River. I'll never forget how beautiful it was, so wide and swift with hundreds of junks with their graceful sails, and even more of the small, covered boats that the peasants used to take their produce to market. We were to go to Peking, then on to the nearest seaport."

  She put her hand to her throat as she continued. "We never made it. One night while our boat was anchored, a thunderstorm swept down on us. It was so sudden and swift, and the winds so high, that we overturned before we knew what was happening. Jason managed to get us out from below-decks, but Windsor was swept out of my reach. I never saw either one of them again." She stopped, her throat clogging. "For years I couldn't speak of that night without going to pieces."

  "What happened to you?"

  "I managed to cling to a piece of the boat, and when I awoke the next morning, I had washed up on a dirty beach. Several Chinese fishermen were trying to revive me."

  "What about Jason?"

  "They found his body several days later, miles down river. There was no trace of Windsor. I waited and searched for three months, praying and hoping, and I went into such a deep despair afterward that I couldn't function. Some British friends of ours sent me home and promised to keep looking for her. I thought she was dead, I truly did. If I'd had any hope at all, I could never have left her there alone."

  Her voice broke again. "If I'd known she was alive, growing up in some cold, godforsaken place where she couldn't even understand the language, I would have gone mad. She's my only child, Mr. Kincaid. Even years later, when I met William Cox and married him, I never stopped grieving for my beautiful blond-haired girl. Then William died, too, and I was left with all of this." She carelessly swept her arm to encompass the spacious house. "And still I had no one to love."

  "How did you find out Windsor was still alive?"

  "The friends from England I mentioned before wrote to me last year and told me they'd heard rumors of a white girl living in an isolated monastery in the mountains." Amelia suddenly turned, her eyes studying Stone. "You know, Mr. Kincaid, it's very strange. But the moment I read that letter, I knew that the girl was Windsor. I knew it here." She touched her breast. "My heart told me it was her, and I was so filled with joy that I couldn't say a word."

  "Did you go there?"

  "No. I wrote to my friends and told them to find this girl and tell her about me. I sent money for her to come home to me, if that's what she wanted. I knew I could not force her to love me, not after all these years."

  "You were wise to let her make the decision on her own."

  "Apparently so, because she did come to me. But it took her six months to decide whether or not to make the trip. She told me later that it was her good friend Hung-pin who persuaded her to come here. I've tried very hard to treat her like a daughter and show her how much I love her, but she's been so strange and reserved. Most of the time she looks at me as if I'm the barbarian. In her eyes, I guess I am."

  "I imagine it'll take time for the two of you to get to know each other. But it'll happen someday. If it makes you feel any better, I find her hard to understand, too."

  "I'm terrified she'll go back to China, Mr. Kincaid, and then I'll never see her again."

  "Believe me, Mrs. Cox, she won't go anywhere until she finds the man who killed her friend Hung-pin."

  "That poor young man died in such a horrible way. And he was one of the kindest, gentlest men I have ever met."

  Amelia returned to the table and took her seat beside Stone. "When she left here in November, soon after Hung-pin died, she didn't even tell me where she was going. But I had a feeling she was searching for his murderer. She took his death hard, but she had a peculiar expression on her face, tranquil yet so filled with determination, I feared for her."

  "Yeah, I know that look."

  "Tell me, Mr. Kincaid, how did you meet my daughter?"

  Stone grinned, wondering what she would think if he told her the truth. But he didn't want to upset her any more than she already was. "Let's just say our paths crossed because I'm after the same man she is. He's killed before. Some friends of mine died because of him."

  "I'm very sorry to hear that."

  "I'll get him."

  Amelia suddenly reached out and put her hand over his, where it lay on the arm of his chair. "Windsor seems to consider you her good friend, Mr. Kincaid; that's why I've told you all of this. Do you think you can help me persuade her to stay here in America? I am so frightened that I'll lose her again. And this time if she goes away, it'll be forever, I know it will."

  "She'll have to make that decision herself, Mrs. Cox. Neither one of us can force her to care about us."

  A faint look of surprise registered on Mrs. Cox's features. Her eyes searched his face. "Could it be that you love her, too?"

  "I care what happens to her. She saved my life once," Stone answered carefully. But even as he did, he realized with some alarm that it was more than that. Lord, he hoped he wasn't stupid enough to be falling in love with Windsor Richmond. Nope, that wasn't it, he told himself firmly; he just felt the strongest physical attraction to her that he had ever experienced before. Nevertheless,
the idea of never seeing her again didn't sit well with him. And the ramifications of that admission were frightening to contemplate. Abruptly, he pushed back his chair.

  "If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Cox, I do have some important business to take care of. I'd really appreciate it if you'd do me a favor and try to keep Windsor and the Indian kid here with you, if you possibly can. Tell them I'll be back later on tonight and not to try to find me."

  "Of course, Mr. Kincaid, I'd love nothing better than to spend the entire day with my daughter."

  "Then I'll see you this evening."

  "Good-bye, Mr. Kincaid."

  Stone took himself away from the dining parlor with a good bit of haste, not in the least certain that Mrs. Cox could keep her daughter from following him, not if Windsor got it in her head to go.

  15

  Near noonday when the sun shone directly overhead, Windsor sat by herself on a low stone wall dividing the private garden from her mother's coach house. Sun-On-Wings and Ning-Ying stood a few yards away, practicing their marksmanship with the handcrafted bows Windsor and Hung-pin had brought with them from China.

  Windsor wasn't surprised that the two boys had taken a liking to each other. They appeared to be close in age, though the Indian was much bigger and stronger. At the moment, Sun-On-Wings was exhibiting his impressive prowess at archery as best he could with Jun-li clinging to his shoulder, chattering and grabbing his arrows.

  Stone Kincaid had not returned. According to Ning-Ying, he had risen early, breakfasted with her mother, then ridden away on a horse borrowed from the stable. He had gone alone to find the woman called Ruby Red, and Windsor was afraid he would not return. Her feelings for him were burgeoning with each passing day. No longer was her desire to find Hung-pin's murderer the mainstay of her thoughts. Her eyes longed to gaze upon Stone Kincaid; her body wanted to press close against him; her heart cried out with loneliness now that he had gone away from her.

  Windsor's breaths grew shallow and rapid from just such thoughts, and she realized she was unprepared to handle these devastating new sentiments. Physical desire was a powerful force, but she had never expected to be afflicted with it.