Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,104
Truly, she didn’t know what she asked. And yet . . . how could he leave her? He let his mind walk in hers, reading the deep-seated fear that she had not acknowledged. She was afraid he would leave her, as her father had left her. Afraid of being alone and unloved.
He gazed into her eyes, seeing the love, the fragile hope. Was she really asking so much?
Hardane drew her up against him, taking pleasure in her nearness, her warmth. His hand slid between them, resting on the warm swell of her stomach. And there, beneath his callused palm, he felt the life stirring within her.
His sons. He had no right to do anything that might deprive his sons of a father’s love and protection. No right to put his need for vengeance above the needs of his bride.
“I won’t go after Renick,” he said quietly.
It was the hardest decision he’d ever made.
Kylene gazed into his eyes, her expression solemn. “But what of your vow?”
“The vows I made to you in the Temple of Fire on the night we wed are more binding, Kylene. My place is here, with you. I’ll not leave you to bear our sons alone while I seek vengeance against Renick. I swear it to you on the lives of our unborn children, and on my love for you.”
Humbled by his words, by the depth and strength of his love, she buried her face against his chest so that he couldn’t see her tears. She had cursed him and wrongfully accused him of lying to her, refused him his place in her bed, and he had begged her forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, Hardane,” she sobbed, “so sorry.”
“Don’t weep, lady,” he murmured. “Please don’t weep.”
Feeling helpless, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the maze toward the keep, and all the while he whispered that he loved her, would always love her, that nothing had changed between them.
Up the winding staircase, through the long narrow corridors, to his bedchamber, he carried her, absorbing her nearness, welcoming the weight of her in his arms.
His room was dark, but he moved unerringly toward his bed. Lowering her gently to the mattress, he stretched out beside her and drew her into his arms.
“Promise me,” he said urgently, “promise me we’ll never again sleep apart.”
“I promise.”
“Tomorrow I want you to move your things in here. We can use the other room as a nursery, if you like, but I don’t want you to have a room of your own anymore.”
“Whatever you wish, my lord wolf.”
“Tell me you love me.”
She stroked his hair, his cheek, traced the line of his jaw. “I love you.”
“Kylene . . .”
Whispering her name, he covered her mouth with his, drinking in her sweetness, savoring the taste of her on his lips, his tongue.
Kylene ran her fingers through his hair, loving the way it felt in her hands. She reveled in his easy strength, in the power that flexed and relaxed at the mere touch of her hand. His arms and legs were long and corded with muscle; his belly was hard and flat.
Their clothing fell away and she let her hands explore every inch of his hard-muscled body, reacquainting herself with the width of his shoulders, the contours of his broad back, the springy black hair on his chest.
She murmured his name as she pressed kisses to his lips, his brow, his fine straight nose, his strong square chin. And when she was on fire for him, quivering with need and desire, she wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him home.
Chapter 45
Gradually, life at the castle returned to normal. Hardane’s brothers and sister took their leave one by one, returning to their own lands. Morissa promised to send word as soon as her child was born.
In the days that followed, Kylene noticed that her father and Sharilyn were spending more and more time in each other’s company.
She often saw them strolling through the gardens, walking side by side, so close that Sharilyn’s skirts brushed against Carrick’s legs, though they never touched hands. On rainy days they could usually be found sitting in one of the small anterooms, companionably quiet as they watched the wind and the rain.
When she remarked on it to Hardane, he simply shrugged. They were of a similar age, he remarked. Carrick was in a strange land. Sharilyn was in need of solace. It seemed logical that they would seek each other out.