realizing it, Ariane’s free hand
sought thesoothing folds of the dress whose
rich color matched her eyes. The longer she wore the luxurious
fabric, the more she appreciated its calming texture.
As much as Ariane enjoyed stroking the cloth, she
was careful not to look into the
uncanny fabric. She needed no more frightening, tempting visions of
herself arching like a drawn bow at Simon’s touch, pleasure a
rush of silver lightning stitching through her soul…
Simon felt the subtle tremor that went through
Ariane’s body as he led her toward Amber and Duncan.
God’s teeth, am I that
disgusting to my bride ?
The icy anger of Simon’s thought didn’t
show on his face or in the gentleness with which he drew Ariane to
his side.
“Ah, there you are,” Duncan said,
spotting Simon. “Impatient for the rest of the festivities,
are you?”
The laughter that went through the knights gathered
nearby left no doubt as to what the remaining
“festivities” were.
“Not as impatient as my lovely bride,”
Simon said, smiling down at Ariane. “Isn’t that
so?”
The smile she gave him in return was little more
than a baring of teeth. No one but Simon seemed to notice. He
squeezed her fingers between his in silent warning that she bridle
her dislike of him while in public.
Ariane looked at the black clarity of Simon’s
eyes and knew he sensed with great precision her distaste for being
touched.
“I am…overwhelmed by all that has
happened,” Ariane said.
Her voice was hoarse from the fierce restraint she
applied not to scream.
“Lord and lady, you have been both generous
and kind in your gifts,” Ariane said.
“The pleasure is ours,” Duncan
said.
“The dress becomes you,” Amber said.
“I am glad.”
Ariane’s slender fingers stroked the length
of her sleeve. Silver embroidery flashed and gleamed with each
motion of her body.
“I would like to have thanked the
weaver,” Ariane said. “Will you carry my gratitude to
her?”
“You can tell her yourself,” Amber
said.
“You told me Serena was a recluse,”
Duncan objected.
“She is, but she will see Ariane.”
“Why?” Duncan asked.
“Because Ariane completes the weaving,”
Amber said simply.
Simon looked at his bride with hooded eyes. There
was no doubt that Ariane’s beauty was enhanced to an
extraordinary degree by the vivid, lush fabric.
“Do you not agree, Simon?” Amber
asked.
“Her skin is like a pearl lit from
within,” Simon said without looking away from his bride.
“And her eyes shame even the magnificent amethysts woven into
her hair.”
Startled, pleased, yet deeply wary of male
admiration, Ariane found it impossible to breathe. The look in
Simon’s eyes belied the restraint with which he had touched
her up to now.
He wanted her.
A warrior both disciplined and
passionate, his whole being focused in the moment .
The enchanter .
And a frightening part of Ariane longed to be the
enchanted. Frissons of yearning swept over her like shadows of the
lightning that had been embroidered on the wedding dress.
A stray draft from the great hall sent a fold of
the dress curling around Simon’s free hand. His fingers
caressed the fey cloth. Unwillingly he smiled with pure pleasure.
It was as though warmth and laughter, passion and peace had been
woven into the very fabric.
Amber looked at the cloth clinging to Simon’s
fingers and smiled with relief. She sensed her brother standingjust behind her and turned. Erik, too, was
watching the fabric being stroked by a warrior’s hard
hand.
“You approve of the dress?” Erik asked
Simon casually.
“Aye.”
“That bodes well for the marriage,”
Erik said, satisfaction in every syllable.
“Does it?”
“Indeed. It foretells a lasting, passionate
union.”
“If my bride’s bed is half so beguiling
as her dress,” Simon said, smiling ironically, “I shall
deem myself the most fortunate of men.”
Ariane’s breath came in with a stifled sound
as fear returned in a
sought thesoothing folds of the dress whose
rich color matched her eyes. The longer she wore the luxurious
fabric, the more she appreciated its calming texture.
As much as Ariane enjoyed stroking the cloth, she
was careful not to look into the
uncanny fabric. She needed no more frightening, tempting visions of
herself arching like a drawn bow at Simon’s touch, pleasure a
rush of silver lightning stitching through her soul…
Simon felt the subtle tremor that went through
Ariane’s body as he led her toward Amber and Duncan.
God’s teeth, am I that
disgusting to my bride ?
The icy anger of Simon’s thought didn’t
show on his face or in the gentleness with which he drew Ariane to
his side.
“Ah, there you are,” Duncan said,
spotting Simon. “Impatient for the rest of the festivities,
are you?”
The laughter that went through the knights gathered
nearby left no doubt as to what the remaining
“festivities” were.
“Not as impatient as my lovely bride,”
Simon said, smiling down at Ariane. “Isn’t that
so?”
The smile she gave him in return was little more
than a baring of teeth. No one but Simon seemed to notice. He
squeezed her fingers between his in silent warning that she bridle
her dislike of him while in public.
Ariane looked at the black clarity of Simon’s
eyes and knew he sensed with great precision her distaste for being
touched.
“I am…overwhelmed by all that has
happened,” Ariane said.
Her voice was hoarse from the fierce restraint she
applied not to scream.
“Lord and lady, you have been both generous
and kind in your gifts,” Ariane said.
“The pleasure is ours,” Duncan
said.
“The dress becomes you,” Amber said.
“I am glad.”
Ariane’s slender fingers stroked the length
of her sleeve. Silver embroidery flashed and gleamed with each
motion of her body.
“I would like to have thanked the
weaver,” Ariane said. “Will you carry my gratitude to
her?”
“You can tell her yourself,” Amber
said.
“You told me Serena was a recluse,”
Duncan objected.
“She is, but she will see Ariane.”
“Why?” Duncan asked.
“Because Ariane completes the weaving,”
Amber said simply.
Simon looked at his bride with hooded eyes. There
was no doubt that Ariane’s beauty was enhanced to an
extraordinary degree by the vivid, lush fabric.
“Do you not agree, Simon?” Amber
asked.
“Her skin is like a pearl lit from
within,” Simon said without looking away from his bride.
“And her eyes shame even the magnificent amethysts woven into
her hair.”
Startled, pleased, yet deeply wary of male
admiration, Ariane found it impossible to breathe. The look in
Simon’s eyes belied the restraint with which he had touched
her up to now.
He wanted her.
A warrior both disciplined and
passionate, his whole being focused in the moment .
The enchanter .
And a frightening part of Ariane longed to be the
enchanted. Frissons of yearning swept over her like shadows of the
lightning that had been embroidered on the wedding dress.
A stray draft from the great hall sent a fold of
the dress curling around Simon’s free hand. His fingers
caressed the fey cloth. Unwillingly he smiled with pure pleasure.
It was as though warmth and laughter, passion and peace had been
woven into the very fabric.
Amber looked at the cloth clinging to Simon’s
fingers and smiled with relief. She sensed her brother standingjust behind her and turned. Erik, too, was
watching the fabric being stroked by a warrior’s hard
hand.
“You approve of the dress?” Erik asked
Simon casually.
“Aye.”
“That bodes well for the marriage,”
Erik said, satisfaction in every syllable.
“Does it?”
“Indeed. It foretells a lasting, passionate
union.”
“If my bride’s bed is half so beguiling
as her dress,” Simon said, smiling ironically, “I shall
deem myself the most fortunate of men.”
Ariane’s breath came in with a stifled sound
as fear returned in a
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