Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,57

gazed up at him in surprise. She had thought there might be a celebration of some kind to honor their marriage.

Hardane smiled at his bride. She had never looked more beautiful. The gown of shimmering green velvet made her golden skin glow and deepened the red of her hair. Her eyes were sparkling with love and excitement. And she was his, for now and for always, this wondrous creature who had stolen his heart and his soul.

“Hardane?” She was gazing up at him, waiting for his answer.

“Tomorrow,” he said. “Tomorrow night there will be feasting and dancing and tournaments,” he explained as he led her out of the temple, “but tonight is ours alone. We will celebrate in our own way, just the two of us.”

His words, softly spoken, brought a quick flush to Kylene’s cheeks as she realized that what she had only dreamed of was about to become reality.

She felt as if every eye were watching them as they left the temple.

Hand in hand, they walked down the hill toward the keep. Caught up in the magic of the night, in the glow of being Hardane’s bride, Kylene imagined that the wind was whispering her name, wishing her luck in her new life. It even seemed as if the moonlight were following her, wishing her well.

She grew increasingly nervous as they neared the castle. She was Hardane’s wife now, his to do with as he pleased, and though her every thought had been centered around him since the day they met, it occurred to her that she really knew very little about him.

“I won’t hurt you, lady,” he vowed.

His words were low and reassuring; only the faint tremor in his voice betrayed his inner anxiety. With some relief, she remembered that he was as inexperienced as she.

Hardane slid a glance in Kylene’s direction, wondering if she was as aware of his uncertainty as he was of hers.

They were still holding hands when they entered the keep and climbed the long, winding staircase that led to the sleeping quarters.

Hardane paused at the top of the steps and then, swinging Kylene into his arms, carried her down the hall to his bedchamber and opened the door.

Stepping into the room, he held her for a long moment, unable to believe that she was there, in his room, in his arms at last. His, to do with as he pleased. His, for now, for always.

He was glad now that he had never broken the vow he’d made to his mother, glad that he was as chaste as his bride. And yet, perversely, he wished he had some experience with women beyond what he had imagined.

Slowly he lowered Kylene to her feet, acutely conscious of every inch of her warm feminine form as her body slid across his.

Flustered by his nearness, Kylene took a step backward, and let out a little gasp of delight. The glow from a dozen candles filled the room with a soft yellow light. An engraved silver flagon of red wine and two delicate glasses stood on a silver tray next to the bed. And the bed . . . Kylene pressed her hand to her breast. The blue counterpane was covered with hundreds of snowy white rose petals. Their fragrance wrapped around her; their presence, and Hardane’s thoughtfulness, made her heart ache with tenderness.

“When did you do all this?” she asked, touched beyond words by the romantic gesture.

“I asked Hadj to do it while we were gone.”

“But . . . how did you know I’d be at the temple, that I’d brave the flames?”

“I didn’t know. I only hoped.”

Uncertain of what she expected of him, he was almost afraid to touch her, to surrender to the desire that was raging through him for fear he might hurt or frighten her. But even more compelling than his desire was the knowledge that he had not been entirely truthful with her.

“Kylene, there’s something I need to tell you.” He gazed down at her, into eyes as soft and brown as the earth, eyes filled with fire and mystery.

“Tell me, then,” she replied quietly.

Hardane cringed inwardly, shaken to the core by the trust shining in her eyes. Would she still love him when she knew the truth?

Slowly, he shook his head. “Lady, I . . .”

Lifting her hand, Kylene caressed the rugged outline of his jaw.

“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, praying that she would be forgiven for such a small lie. For she was afraid; afraid of the unknown, afraid she