Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,103
she couldn’t bring herself to swallow her foolish pride and beg his forgiveness, because she wanted him to come to her.
The tears fell harder, faster, as she imagined the days and weeks slipping by while the abyss between her and Hardane grew ever wider, ever deeper, until bridging it became impossible.
Perhaps it was already impossible.
The hours slipped by. The moon rose in the sky, shedding her bright white light on the gardens below, inviting Kylene to come outside and wander in the moon-dappled night.
Rising from the window seat, she made her way down the staircase and out into the darkness. The fragrant scent of winter roses filled the air, reminding her of the hundreds of white velvet petals that had covered their bed on the night of their wedding.
“Hardane, forgive me,” she murmured as she plucked a white rose and breathed in its sweetness. “Please forgive me.”
Lady, come to me.
His voice, low and resonant, whispered like a nearly forgotten melody in the quiet corridors of her mind.
Lady . . .
The flower fell, unnoticed, from her hand as she turned to follow the siren call of his voice, her pulse racing with hope and trepidation.
She found him in the heart of the maze, standing beside the small stone bench beneath the ancient willow tree.
Her heart gave a little leap of joy at seeing him. He was so tall, so incredibly handsome. The moonlight played in his hair, that long black hair that she so loved to touch. He wore a forest green shirt that complemented the color of his hair and skin. Fawn-colored breeches clung to his legs, outlining his muscular thighs. Knee-high kidskin boots covered his feet and hugged his calves. Never had he looked more masculine. More unapproachable.
Her gaze was drawn to his face. To eyes that were deep and dark and gray. Eyes that had once held secrets she longed to know. Eyes that had once viewed her with warmth and affection. Now, they regarded her without expression, and that was more frightening than anything else.
The silence stretched between them. Kylene plucked at the folds of her skirt, conscious of the gentle bubbling of the crystal geyser, of the sweet scent of the marsh flowers that grew in rich profusion around the edge of the maze. Tall green and gold ferns swayed to the music of the breeze.
He continued to watch her, his arms folded across his chest, his dark gray eyes unfathomable. Was he waiting for her to break the silence?
“You summoned me, my lord?” she said at last.
“Aye, lady.”
“I’m here.”
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over her from head to heel, missing nothing. “Are you well?” he asked gruffly.
“Well enough.”
Hardane ran a hand through his hair, then released a heavy sigh. “I’ve missed you, Kylene.”
“Have you, my lord?” she asked tremulously.
“Aye, lady,” he replied quietly. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I was afraid you’d send me away . . .”
“Kylene . . .”
“You shut me out of your thoughts.” She made no effort to conceal her pain, or to stem the tears that welled in her eyes. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I wanted to go to you, but my pride . . . I was too proud, too afraid . . .”
Too afraid he’d reject her. “Lady . . .”
The word was laced with sorrow and self-reproach. Each tear she shed was like a knife in his heart. On the night of their wedding, he’d made a solemn promise that he would never cause her pain, and now, only a few months later, he had broken that vow. He could see the anguish in her eyes, hear it in her voice, read it in her thoughts.
His throat grew thick with unshed tears as he held out his arms.
“Forgive me, Kylene,” he murmured. “Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.”
Feeling as though a crushing burden had been lifted from her heart, she crossed the short distance between them, and when his arms folded around her, it was like walking out of darkness into the light.
She wept then, copious tears that washed away all the hurt of the past.
“Forgive me?” he asked again.
“Aye, my lord wolf, if you’ll forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Kylene. You were right to be angry with me.”
“Then you won’t . . .” She bit back the words, afraid to make him angry by mentioning the Interrogator.
A muscle worked in Hardane’s jaw. How could he let his father’s death go unavenged?