She found Maxwell's knife where he'd dropped it and slid it back into the clever sheath concealed in his boot. Then she shook his shoulder. "Get up! We must go now."

He groaned, but didn't move. She shook him again, harder, but he was too deeply unconscious to respond.

A fragment of conversation she'd heard between Maxwell and Elliott floated back to her: Maxwell had said that he'd had a Scottish nurse when he was a boy. Perhaps an authoritative voice that sounded like one from his childhood would affect him in a way that her whispery, Chinese-accented English didn't.

Speaking with her father's accent, she snapped, "Get up, ye damned lazy fool! Do ye want your gizzard sliced to ribbons?"

It worked. Feebly he attempted to rise. She dragged him upright, needing all the strength she'd developed in her years of wing chun training.

"I'm taking you home now, laddie." Pulling one of his arms over her shoulders, she guided him toward the end of the alley. Thirteen Factories Street would be quiet at this hour, and with luck, anyone seeing her would think her companion merely drunk.

Maxwell was weaving, but he managed to stay upright. As they moved into Thirteen Factories Street, he said in a gasp, "You can't be… a Scotswoman. No European females… closer than Macao."

"I'm no Scotswoman. Your wits are wandering." She prayed he'd remember none of this later.

She was drenched with sweat by the time they reached Elliott's hong. Maxwell was heavy, and she was barely able to keep them both from falling to the street.

Disguising her voice, she spoke in Chinese to the porter in the gatehouse. "Your Fan-qui has no head for samshu."

The porter laughed as he opened the door. "Need help, boy?"

"And share the tip he gave me to get him home? No, thank you!" She moved inside. With Maxwell draped over her like a shawl, the porter probably wouldn't recognize her, and she knew how to slip out later without being seen.

She was tempted to lay Maxwell out in a quiet corner of the warehouse, but it would be better to take him to his bedroom even though it meant climbing two flights of stairs. Luckily she knew the hong well enough to find her way in near darkness. When they reached the back stairs, she used her Scottish voice again. "Steps. Climb."

He was starting to recover and used the narrow iron railing to haul himself upward. With her as a human crutch they managed, though twice they almost lost their balance and pitched down the steep staircase.

Panting, she finally got him to his bedroom door. "Do ye have the key, laddie?"

Maxwell fumbled toward an inner pocket. She reached into his coat with her free hand and pulled out the key, then opened the door.

Inside the room, she steered him to the bed and dumped him unceremoniously. She would have loved to fall onto the mattress to recuperate, but the sooner she escaped, the less likely he was to remember her involvement. Being seen to fight off six gang members would draw too much attention to Chenqua's meek clerk. She would wake Gavin Elliott and let him take charge of his trouble-prone partner.

After lighting a lamp, she performed a more thorough examination than had been possible in the street. Maxwell would have plenty of bruises and the devil's own headache, but there didn't seem to be any serious damage. Already his eyes were flickering open. "You're not so badly off, laddie. I'll send someone to care for you."

She was turning from the bed when his hand shot out and caught her wrist. Blinking to focus, he asked, "Who are you?"

"No one you know."

"But I do know you. Jin Kang?" His brows drew together as he stared at her, struggling to clear his mind. Amazing eyes, intensely blue and edged in darkness.

She tried to pull free, but his grip was surprisingly strong, and she didn't want to risk hurting him by using too much force. She rattled off several sentences in Chinese, hoping he'd remember that rather than the English she'd used earlier.

Before she could twist away, he reached up and pulled off her dark blue skullcap, baring her head. "My God," he whispered. "Jin Kang is a woman."

Chapter 7

She looked like a trapped fawn, her brown eyes huge and alarmed. Removing her cap revealed that she didn't shave the front part of her head as Chinese men did. Her shining hair was dark but with subtle auburn highlights, unlike the blue-black of most Cantonese. The features that had seemed almost too pretty for a man were now so obviously female that he wanted to kick himself for his stupidity.

And not only female, but strikingly lovely. Shaken, he released her wrist. "I'm relieved to learn that my response to you was not so odd as I thought. You're Eurasian?"

She nodded, watching him warily. He guessed that she wanted to bolt, but knew that it was already too late for that.

He pushed himself to a more upright position against the pillows, gasping at the pain. "Sit down, I won't hurt you. But if you don't tell me who you really are, I may perish of curiosity, which would be a waste of your rescue."

With a tired sigh, she perched on the edge of the bed. "I am truly Jin Kang, Chenqua's linguist. But once I was Troth Mei-Lian Montgomery."

That explained the crisp Scottish accent. Her natural voice was very different from the hesitant tones of Jin Kang. Listening to her made him homesick for his mother's Highland home. "Your father was a Scottish trader?"

"Yes. His name was Hugh Montgomery. My mother was his concubine. I was born and raised in Macao, and educated in both languages and cultures." Unlike diffident Jin Kang, Troth Montgomery met his gaze with the directness of a Western woman.

"Your father died?"

"When I was twelve. My mother had died the year before. There was no money, so Chenqua took me in. He'd been my father's agent. Since I could be of more value to him as a male, I… became one. I have been Jin Kang ever since."

"All the time? To everyone?"

She nodded. "Chenqua's household knows I am female, but there is a… a kind of tacit agreement that I am officially male. That is how I dress, and how I am treated."

He tried to imagine her life-denied her true nature, a product of mixed blood in a nation that despised foreigners. "So you live between worlds in more ways than one."

For the first time her gaze dropped, concealing her thoughts. He took the opportunity to study her more closely. The slant of her eyes was pure Chinese, exotic and lovely, but her Scottish father's influence was in the modeling of her features, longer and more pronounced than the face of a Cantonese woman. She'd also inherited height from her father, but her build was light and graceful, more Asiatic than British.

It was hard to tell much about her figure. The loose, high-necked Chinese garments concealed her body very effectively. Her masquerade would be much harder to carry off in Britain.

How could that slender frame conceal such strength? Knowing she had the ability to defeat half a dozen men was both intimidating and curiously alluring. "I've never seen anyone fight like you. How the devil did you do it?"

"I am skilled in kung fu, the fighting arts," she explained. "There are many forms. I practice wing chun, which was originally developed to use female strengths and weaknesses."

He rubbed his throbbing head, trying to absorb the wild improbability of the young woman in front of him. Troth. A fine Scottish name, meaning truth and loyalty. "I've never seen anything like your wing chun. Can all Chinese do what you did? "

"If they could, you'd be dead," she said dryly. "Mastery of the fighting arts is rare and secret, the skills passed from teacher to disciple. My nurse in Macao was hired to be my mother's servant and protector, and she was an expert in wing chun. She began to teach me as soon as I'd learned to walk."