Free The Path by Rebecca Neason

coming. Duncan had barely had time to remove his coat when the young monk appeared at his door. With a silent
     bow, he turned and Duncan followed him. As they walked down the long corridors MacLeod tried for a conversation, hoping to
     gain some insight into the Dalai Lama’s feelings about the missionaries before he reached the young man’s presence. The Dalai
     Lama was, after all, a ruler, and in Duncan’s experience rulers tended to keep their true feelings hidden behind the veil
     of necessity.
    “I went down into Lhasa today,” Duncan said pleasantly. “ ’Tis a beautiful city. Do you go there often?”
    “When my duties allow,” the monk answered.
    “Have you met the other Westerners then, the priests who live in the city?” Out of the corner of his eye, MacLeod watched
     the monk’s face, looking for any subtle change of expression that might reveal the young man’s feelings.
    The monk’s face remained impassive as he gave a barely perceivable shrug. “I’ve met them,” he said. “They are just men like
     any other, and so in need of compassion.”
    “In need of—” MacLeod swallowed back the retort that nearly sprang from his lips. “Do many people in the city visit the priests?”
     he asked instead.
    “Everyone visits them.”
    MacLeod was surprised by the answer, and immediately anxious for the welfare of this gentle people.
    “Does His Holiness know?” he asked.
    The monk smiled faintly. “The Dalai Lama knows everything,” he said in a tone that ended the conversation.
    Aye
, Duncan thought,
I’m sure he does at that. He has his spies everywhere, no doubt. Are you one, my young monk? Is that why you’re the one who
     comes for me each day?
    MacLeod found the thought of royal spies was, in an odd way, comforting. He had been in courts around the world, been friend,
     advisor—and sometimes lover—to all manner of nobility. All of them had an intelligence system, a means of keeping their ears
     and eyes on the actions of their people. How else could they rule effectively?
    It seemed the Dalai Lama, at least in this respect, was no different.It made Duncan feel that he had a better idea of what he was dealing with now and how to act accordingly.
    They reached the room Duncan had come to think of as the audience chamber. Without another word, the young monk bowed and
     turned away. Duncan watched him go. Their conversation had only firmed his resolve to make certain the Dalai Lama was told
     the truth about the Jesuits. He might know his people visited them, but that did not mean he understood their zeal for conversion
     or the havoc their condemnation could incur.
    Duncan knocked once on the door and then entered. As always, the Dalai Lama sat on his cushion, smiling serenely.
    “Come in, Duncan MacLeod,” he called his customary greeting. “Come and sit so we may talk.”
    As Duncan moved to obey, he wondered how to keep the conversation off his past travels and bring up the subject of the missionaries.
     For once, however, the Dalai Lama had no questions about foreign lands.
    “You went down into my city today, I hear,” the young man said. “Was your visit enjoyable?”
    “Much of it was, Your Holiness,” Duncan replied. “But not all.”
    “Tell me, Duncan MacLeod, what troubled you. Were my people unkind?”
    “Oh, no, Your Holiness, it was not your people.” Duncan stopped and took a deep breath, then plunged ahead. “I met Father
     Edward today.”
    “Ah, one of the missionaries,” the Dalai Lama said with a nod. “But why does he trouble you, Duncan MacLeod?”
    “Because I have known others like him and have seen what their presence can do. You should banish them from your city, Your
     Holiness.”
    “No, Duncan MacLeod.”
    “But do you know what their purpose is?” Duncan could hear his voice becoming gruff, his tone curt as he tried to find the
     words that would make this young man listen to what experience had taught him. The price of those lessons