My Fair Concubine

As always, I have to thank my editor, Anna Boatman, and my agent, Gail Fortune, for their continued insight and support, no matter where my writing takes me. This story owes a lot to the Tuesday critique group: Amanda Berry, Shawntelle Madison, Kristi Lea and Dawn Blankenship. Thank you for all the feedback, brainstorming and gossip sessions. To my last line of defence: Little Sis, Inez Kelly and Bria Quinlan—I don’t know how I’d be able to ever let a story out of my hands without you. Finally, a special thanks to Inez’s husband, Ryan, and Louise Harrison for their help in the archery scenes.

THE DRAGON AND THE PEARL

‘Chang Ai Li flees her wedding and her enraged

bridegroom in Lin’s exciting debut, an adventure tale

set in turbulent eighth-century China.

Especially vibrant writing describing the culture,

clothes, and countryside …’

—Publishers Weekly starred review

‘If Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon merged with A Knight’s Tale, you’d have the power and romance of Lin’s dynamic debut. The action never stops, the love story is strong, and the historical backdrop is fascinating. —RT Book Reviews

‘In BUTTERFLY SWORDS, Jeannie Lin tells a classic

tale of courage, adventure, and impossible love—and she

sets it in a fascinating new world: Tang China, where a

warrior princess must fight for her family and her country

with only a barbarian swordsman to help her. Jeannie

Lin is a fresh new voice in historical romance, and

BUTTERFLY SWORDS rocks!’

—Mary Jo Putney,

New York Times bestselling author of NEVER LESS THAN A LADY

‘Swords, warrior princesses, and a barbarian to love!

BUTTERFLY SWORDS was a delight!’

—Jade Lee, USA TODAY bestselling author

‘What is this?’ he asked slowly. His gaze swept briefly over her face. The frown line between his eyes sharpened.

Her face burned so hot that she doubted she needed the rouge on her cheekbones.

‘We purchased some make-up at the East Market yesterday.’

Fei Long’s lip curled. ‘You look ridiculous.’

Her heart squeezed tight. Then it plummeted, like a crushed and ruined butterfly.

In so few words he had scattered all her confidence, all her hopes. There was no pleasing Fei Long. Not looking at him, she scrubbed at the tint until her lips were raw. She wanted it off—all of it. The powders, the perfume, and all pretence that she could be a lady worth any notice.

‘Yan Ling.’

He rose from his desk to move towards her. She tried to slip past.

In the next moment she caught a glimpse of Fei Long’s face, of his dark and tortured eyes. A muscle tensed along his jaw before he lowered his head …

AUTHOR NOTE

This story was a little bit of a departure from the high drama of my previous works. The Tang Dynasty was a golden age of Chinese culture, and I wanted to explore the vast capital city of Changan with its infamous entertainment district and teeming marketplaces. MY FAIR CONCUBINE allowed me to play a little with a beloved classic theme while adding a Tang Dynasty twist of my own.

For history buffs, the practice of heqin, or peace marriage, was a very important diplomatic practice which the Tang rulers used more than in any other era to keep the peace with neighbouring kingdoms such as Tibet and Khitai. The alliance brides ranged from daughters or nieces of the Emperor to palace women to daughters of court officials. A substantial body of poetry and writing exists about and by the heqin brides, and they achieved a certain legendary status. A famous poem by Princess Xijun, lamenting her marriage ‘to the other side of heaven’, is referenced in the book.

The collection of characters in this tale allowed me to explore people from more humble origins, and their actions unfolded before me like the scenes of a play. There is not much detailed writing on the lives of servants, tea house girls or actors, so I took liberties to fill out the players with my imagination. I hope you enjoy the journey through tea houses and city parks, as well as an adventurous jaunt to the bawdy, seedier side of the imperial capital.

I love hearing from readers. For more information about my stories, or to contact me, I can be found online at www.jeannielin.com

About the Author

JEANNIE LIN grew up fascinated with stories of Western epic fantasy and Eastern martial arts adventures. When her best friend introduced her to romance novels in middle school the stage was set. Jeannie started writing her first romance while working as a high school science teacher in South Central Los Angeles. After four years of trying to break into publishing with an Asian-set historical, her 2009 Golden Heart®-winning manuscript, BUTTERFLY SWORDS, was sold to Harlequin Mills & Boon.

As a technical consultant, backpacker and vacation junkie, she’s travelled all over the United States as well as Europe, South Korea, Japan, China and Vietnam. She’s now happily settled in St Louis, with her wonderfully supportive husband, and continues to journey to exotic locations in her stories.

You can visit Jeannie Lin online at: www.jeannielin.com

Previous novels from this author:

BUTTERFLY SWORDS

THE DRAGON AND THE PEARL

Available in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone! eBooks:

THE TAMING OF MEI LIN

THE LADY’S SCANDALOUS NIGHT

CAPTURING THE SILKEN THIEF

Did you know that these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

My Fair

Concubine

Jeannie Lin

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

China, Tang Dynasty—AD 824

Fei Long faced the last room at the end of the narrow hallway, unsheathed his sword and kicked the door open.

A feminine shriek pierced the air along with the frantic shuffle of feet as he strode through the entrance. The boarding room was a small one set above the teahouse below. The inhabitants, a man and a woman, flung themselves into the corner with nowhere to hide.

His gaze fixed on to the woman first. His sister’s hair was unbound and her eyes wide with fear. Pearl had their mother’s thoughtful features: the high forehead and the sharp angles that had softened since the last time he’d seen her. She was dressed only in pale linen underclothes. The man who was with her had enough daring to step in between them.

Fei Long glanced once to the single wooden bed against one wall, the covers strewn wide, and his vision blurred with anger. He gripped the sword until his knuckles nearly cracked with the strain.

‘Bastard,’ he gritted out through his teeth.

He knew this man he’d come to kill. This boy. At least Han had been a boy when Fei Long had last seen him. And Pearl had been a mere girl. Now she was a grown woman, staring at him as if he were a demon risen from the underworld.

‘Fei Long.’ Pearl’s fingers curled tight over her lover’s arm. ‘So now you’ve come.’

The soft bitterness of the accusation cut through him. Pearl had begged for him to come back a year earlier when her marriage had first been arranged, but he’d dismissed her letters as childish ramblings. If he had listened, she might not have thrown herself into ruin and their father’s spirit wouldn’t be floating restlessly between heaven and earth.

The young man stretched himself before Fei Long, though he failed to match him in stature. ‘Not in front of Pearl,’ he implored.

Though he trembled, the boy fought to keep his voice steady as Pearl clung to him, hiding just behind his shoulder. At least the dog managed to summon some courage. If Han had cowered or begged for his life, he would already be dead.

‘Step away, Little Sister,’ Fei Long commanded.

‘No.’

‘Pearl.’

‘I’d rather die here with Han than go to Khitan.’

She’d changed in the five years since he’d seen her. The Pearl he remembered had been obedient, sweet-tempered and pleasant in all things. Fei Long had ridden hard from Changan to this remote province, expecting to find the son of a dog who had stolen her away.

Now that she stood before him with quiet defiance, he knew she hadn’t been seduced or deceived. Zheng Xie Han’s family lived within their ward in the capital city. Though lower in standing, the Zheng family had always maintained a good reputation. His sister had turned to Han because she’d had no one else.

The tension drained out of Fei Long, stealing away his rage. His throat pulled tight as he forced out the next word. ‘Go.’

The two of them stared at him in disbelief.

‘Go,’ he repeated roughly.

Fei Long lowered his weapon and turned away while they dressed themselves. Shoving his sword back into its sheath, he faced the bare wall. He could hear the shuffle of movement behind him as the couple gathered their belongings.

The bleakness of the last few weeks settled into his gut like a stone. When he’d left for his assignment to the north-western garrison, Fei Long had believed his home to be a harmonious place. Upon news of his father’s sudden death, he’d returned to find his sister gone and debt collectors circling the front gates like vultures.

His father’s presence had been an elaborate screen, hiding the decay beneath the lacquered surface of their lives. Fei Long now saw Pearl’s arranged marriage for what it was: a desperate ploy to restore the family honour—or rather to prolong the illusion of respectability.

When he turned again, Pearl and Han stood watching him tentatively. Each of them had a pack slung around their shoulder. Off to face the horizon with all their belongings stowed in two small bags.

Han bowed once. ‘Elder Brother.’

The young man risked Fei Long’s temper to deliver the honorific. Fei Long couldn’t bring himself to return the bow. Pearl met his eyes as they started for the door. The heaviness of her expression struck him like a physical blow.

This was the last time he would ever see his sister.

Fei Long took his money pouch from his belt and held it out. The handful of coppers rattled inside. ‘Here.’

Han didn’t look at him as he took it.

‘Thank you, Fei Long,’ Pearl whispered.

They didn’t embrace. The two of them had been apart for so long that they wouldn’t have known how. Fei Long watched their backs as they retreated down the stairway; gone like everything else he had once known to be true.

‘Jilted lover,’ the cook guessed.

Yan Ling’s eyes grew wide. The stranger had stormed up the staircase only moments earlier with a sword strapped to his side and the glint of murder in his deep-set eyes. She’d leapt out of the path of his charge, just managing to hold on to her pot of tea without spilling a drop.

She stood at the edge of the main room, head cocked to listen for sounds of mayhem upstairs. Her heart raced as she gripped the handle of the teapot. Such violence and scandal were unthinkable in their quiet town.

‘Should someone stop him?’ she asked.

‘What? You saw how he was dressed.’ Old Cook had his feet in the kitchen, but the rest of him strained as far into the dining area as possible. ‘A man like that can do whatever he wants.’

‘Get back to work,’ the proprietor barked.

Yan Ling jumped and the cook ducked his head back through the beaded curtain that separated the main room from the kitchen.

‘Worthless girl,’ her master muttered as she rushed the pot of tea to its intended table. She pressed her fingers against the ceramic to check the temperature of the pot before setting it down. Cooler than ideal, but still hot enough to not get any complaints.

It was late in the morning and the patrons had thinned, but that was never an excuse to move any slower. Lately it seemed nothing she did was fast or efficient enough. She’d never known any life but the teahouse. The story was she’d been abandoned as an infant in the room upstairs, likely the very same one where a new scandal was now unfolding.

She paused to stack empty cups onto a tray. At that moment, the young woman and her companion hurried down the stairs, leaving not even a farewell behind as they swept out the door. Yan Ling expected the sword-carrying nobleman to come chasing after them, but only an uncomfortable silence followed their exit.

The patrons began to whisper among themselves. Her master should be happy. This incident would have the townsfolk lingering over more than a few extra teapots worth of gossip.

When he finally emerged, the gentleman appeared surprisingly calm. He descended the stairs with a steady, powerful stride and his expression was as still as the surface of the moon. Instead of leaving, he marched directly over to the proprietor and flashed an official-looking jade seal. At that point, even the proprietor’s wife flocked over to welcome him. They ushered him to an empty table at the centre of the room, nearly breaking their backs bowing with such enthusiasm. Her master shot Yan Ling a sharp look, which she understood immediately. Bring tea and fast. She rushed to the kitchen.

‘Is there a lot of blood?’ the kitchen boy asked as she pushed through the curtain.

‘Shush.’

She poured hot water over a fresh pot of leaves and flew back out with her hand around the bamboo handle. Back out in the main room, the stranger didn’t even spare her a glance as she poured the first cup for him.

His robe was of fine woven silk and richly dyed in a dark blue. He wore his thick hair long, the front of it pulled back into a knot in the style of aristocracy. She was stricken by the strength of his features: the hard line of his cheekbones and the broad shape of his face, which narrowed slightly at the chin.

With a cursory bow, she set the pot down and moved away. There were other tables to tend to and most patrons wanted to drink their tea in peace. Yet her attention kept on wandering back to the stranger.

Hours later, he was still seated in the same spot. He wasn’t even drinking his tea any more. Instead, he had taken to staring into his cup.

Government official, they guessed in the back room, though he travelled without any escort and had a sullen expression that continued to sink lower as the day slipped by. Her guess was that he needed something stronger than tea.

By the end of the day, Yan Ling moved from table to empty table in a restless circle, wash rag in hand, as she wiped away at wooden surfaces rubbed bare from use. The teahouse crowd had long returned to their homes. Only the nobleman remained, still hoarding his cold tea.

As long as he stayed there, she was supposed to attend to him. Her master had made that very clear while he sat comfortably in the corner, tallying up the cash. The wooden beads of his abacus clicked together, signalling that the day should be done.

Her feet ached and no matter how much she wriggled her toes in her slippers, the feeling wouldn’t quite return to them. The clang from the kitchen meant that the cook and his boy were cleaning their pots. A mountain of cups and bowls and little plates would be waiting for her.

Cook tried to get her to pry information from the man, but of course she wouldn’t do such a thing. He’d suffered enough public scrutiny that day to deserve some privacy. She guessed him to be twenty-five years, with a slight crease between his eyes that she imagined came more from deep contemplation than age.

Gingerly, she approached the table. ‘Does the honoured guest need anything?’

She reached for the clay teapot, only to have him wave her back with an irritated scowl. For a gentleman, he was uncommonly rude, but she supposed wearing silk and jade gave him that privilege. He propped his elbows onto the table, shoulders hunched, to return to his vigil. From the emptiness of his stare, the young woman had to have been someone close to him. His wife? But no man would let his wife escape with a lover after catching them together.

Yan Ling turned to wipe down her already-cleaned table once more when the stranger spoke.

‘I need a woman,’ he mumbled. ‘Any woman would do.’

Her stomach dropped. She swung around, her mouth open in shock. The stranger raised his head. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, looking her up and down.

‘Perhaps even you.’

Any sympathy she might have had for him withered away. If his tone had been leering, or his look more appraising, it might have been less offensive. But the coldly pensive way he’d said it along with the addition of ‘perhaps’, as if to plunge her worth even further—Yan Ling grabbed the teapot and flung the contents at the scoundrel.

The stranger shot to his feet with a curse. With a choked cry, her master jumped up from his table and his wife soared like a windstorm from the kitchen, apologising profusely. Even the cook and his boy were gawking through the curtained doorway.

‘Get out!’ the master’s wife shrieked at Yan Ling before turning to fuss at their precious patron. The front of his expensive robe was stained dark with a splatter of tea.

‘We are so sorry, my lord,’ she crooned. ‘So sorry.’

Yan Ling clutched the teapot between both her hands while she stared.

The nobleman swiped the tea leaves away in one angry motion while his eyes remained fixed on her. He had lost that distant, brooding expression he’d worn all day. The look he gave her was possibly worse than the one she’d seen as he’d charged up the stairs. Heat rose up her neck as she stumbled back.

What had she done?

‘That know-nothing, good-for-nothing girl,’ her master railed.

Her ears rang as she ducked into the kitchen through the beaded curtain. Steam enclosed her, but the clang of the pots couldn’t block the sounds of her master and his wife apologising profusely to the nobleman.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been taunted before, but over the last years the teasing had taken on a different tone as her bone-thin figure had curved its way into womanhood. She’d learned to deafen her ears and stare ahead, never meeting any of the not-so-subtle glances thrown her way. Yet to suffer such insult from someone who appeared so refined—it was unbearable.

Ignoring the curious stares from cook and the kitchen boy, she slipped through the back door. Her palms were damp and she wiped them restlessly against the sides of her grey tunic. Fear set her heart skittering.

The teahouse was where she’d lived all her life, but it was not home. The proprietor and his wife were not her father and mother. This had always been clear to her and she’d had to earn her bed, this roof and every meal with service and obedience.

One moment of hot-headedness. She’d lashed out at a well-dressed nobleman, of all people. She wasn’t even a servant when it came to this man. She was the humble servant of humble servants. Who was she to be outraged?

She would certainly be scolded by both master and mistress, each separately and then together. Yan Ling could hear them already. She had become too much of a burden to feed, to clothe. She wasn’t even pretty enough to bring in more customers. They might even be angry enough to take a bamboo switch to her.

A beating was all she’d have to suffer, if she was lucky.

Fei Long rose after no more than three hours of sleep in the very same sparse boarding room where he’d found Pearl, above the cursed teahouse. There weren’t any other lodgings in this small town. To add to his shame, he’d needed to leave a promissory note with the proprietor affixed with his family seal in return for his stay. All of his money had gone with his sister.

The morning sun streaming through the shutters didn’t bring any more clarity. Brooding over the situation hadn’t given him any solutions either. Once he returned to the capital, he’d have to face the consequences of letting Pearl go. He tied back his hair and dressed himself, attaching his sword at his belt. The robe had dried from the tea that the she-demon had thrown at him. It was a minor mishap in an epic tale of disaster. The tragic tale had started with the unexpected news of his father’s death and would likely end with him throwing himself on the imperial court’s mercy.

A stretch of dirt road separated the inn from the town centre, which was a cluster of wooden buildings overlooking the market area. Beyond this road, the cities would shrink to the tiny villages and settlements barely known to the heart of the empire.

Pearl’s future was left to the open road and to fate now. Perhaps it was a better situation than his. His sister was free without the weight of the family name bearing down on her. As eldest son, as only son, preserving their honour was his burden.

An attendant brought his horse from the stable. As he headed toward the animal, a small, grey figure shot out into the street.

‘My lord!’

A quick glance revealed the teahouse girl scurrying in his direction. He turned his back on her as he took the reins from the attendant.

‘My lord, please wait.’ She sounded harried and out of breath behind him. He didn’t answer as he faced the horse to the street, leading him by the bridle.

‘I must beg your pardon,’ she continued, her footsteps trailing behind his.

So, none of the impudence she’d shown the previous night. He could be generous. It was a small insult considering, and not worth the trouble.

‘Granted.’

He braced his foot in the stirrup to prepare to mount, when a tug at his sleeve stopped him.

The young woman recoiled as he turned to her. ‘Please. Forgive my intrusion, honourable sir. My lord …’

The list of courtesies made him impatient. He frowned as he waited for her to finish. She clasped her hands together nervously and spoke faster.

‘I’ve been thrown out by the teahouse owner!’

Her bottom lip trembled and she looked away, trying to hide the unsightly outburst of emotion. Her hair was tied in a simple fashion and allowed to sweep down over one shoulder. For the first time, he noticed that her eyes were red and slightly swollen.

‘That was not my intention,’ he replied gravely.

Once again, he tried to mount. Again, she reached for him. This time, he stopped before she needed to tug at him. She took two steps away instead of one when he swung around. Did propriety mean nothing to her?

‘I am truly sorry for ruining your robe. I’ll wash it myself,’ she promised. ‘If you can just speak to the proprietor and his wife.’

The horse tossed his head, agitated with the delay. Fei Long felt the same agitation growing within him.

‘This matter is not my concern.’

‘I’m being punished—’

‘As you should be,’ he replied simply.

There was no cruelty in his words. Despite being attacked without provocation, he hadn’t demanded retribution. She was fortunate he didn’t believe in beating servants.

‘But I’ve apologised.’ She blocked his path now, this willow-thin girl who was all eyes and hair. ‘Sincerely, humbly, with all my soul, apologised. Please take pity. Won’t you help me?’