A knock at the door sent her heart to fluttering. "I cannot do this," she whispered. "I cannot!"
"Now, now," Beatrice said cheerfully, " 'tis only a bad case of nerves, common to all brides on their wedding day."
It was more than mere nerves, Shanara thought. If her husband-to-be had been an ordinary man, she would have been eager to wed him and bed him, but Reyes was not an ordinary man.
Beatrice opened the door and Rolf entered the chamber. He smiled at Shanara. "Your bridegroom awaits," he said.
She wanted to tell Beatrice and Rolf that the wedding was off, that she could not marry Reyes tonight, or any other night, but the words would not come.
As if caught in a trance, Shanara allowed Rolf to take her hand and lead her down the staircase to the small chapel located within the keep. Rolf paused at the door, giving her a chance to peruse her surroundings. There were flowers everywhere, some in white wicker baskets, some in tall glass vases, others in colorful pots. Tall white tapers cast shadows on the walls.
There were no guests other than two of Reyes's most trusted knights who would serve as witnesses.
Shanara felt her breath catch in her throat when she saw Reyes. He stood in front of the altar next to the priest. For once, Reyes had eschewed black. Instead, he wore buff-colored trousers, a white shirt open at the throat, a dark green jerkin trimmed in black velvet, and a pair of soft leather boots.
His gaze settled on her face, the force of it sending a shiver of excitement to the very deepest part of her being.
Rolf gave a gentle tug on her hand. She took a step forward, her gaze locked with that of the man who was going to be her husband. By the time she reached the altar, her heart was pounding so loudly she was surprised the priest could not hear it.
A rush of heat flowed into her fingers and up her arm when Rolf placed her hand in that of his lord. Bowing his head, Rolf took a step back, then sat in the front pew.
The priest looked at Shanara and then at Reyes. "Are you ready, my children?"
"Yes, Father," Reyes said. He smiled at Shanara, then squeezed her hand.
She tried, but she could not summon a smile. What would he do when she refused to be his bride? Would he send her back to the dungeon, or fulfill his vow to send her back to her father a piece at a time?
She felt an unexpected warmth in the region of her heart when Reyes vowed to love, honor, and protect her so long as he lived.
And then the priest settled his somber gaze on her face. She could scarcely breathe as he put the question to her.
"Do you, Shanara Montiori, take Alexandar Reyes to be your husband from this day forward? Will you love and honor him so long as you both shall live?"
Her heart was beating so fast she feared she might faint. She took a deep, calming breath and then, to her utter amazement, she whispered, "I do."
The priest smiled for the first time. "Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. What the Lord God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. Lord Reyes, you may kiss your bride."
She trembled as Reyes put his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. Lifting her veil, he drew her into his embrace. For a moment, he gazed down at her, his expression enigmatic, and then he kissed her.
Her eyelids fluttered down at the touch of his lips on hers and she forgot everything else, everything but the aching sweetness of his kiss, the faint tremor in the arms that held her. Was it possible that he was as nervous as she?
She blinked up at him when he broke the kiss. Glancing around, she felt a rush of heat flood her cheeks when she saw the indulgent smiles on the faces of the priest and the knights.
Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she started to pull away from Reyes, but his arm around her waist kept her close to his side.
He thanked the priest, Rolf and his knights, then led her out of the chapel and up the stairs to his bedchamber. The maids had laid a fire, there were candles burning on the mantel and in wrought-iron sconces on the walls. Bowls of flowers filled the room with a sweet fragrance. Someone had sprinkled flower petals across the floor and over the bed. A plate of bread and cheese and a bottle of wine awaited them on the table.
When he closed the door, she was trembling so badly that, had it not been for Reyes's arm around her waist, she feared she might have collapsed in a pool of silk at his feet.
"Does the room please you?" he asked.
She nodded, unable to speak for the pounding of her heart, the lump in her throat. She was his wife now, subject to his whim and will. If she cried out for help, no one would come to her aid. She belonged to him, the same as his horse and his sword. He could lock her up for the rest of her life. He could beat her, starve her, order her to spend the rest of her days in a convent, and she would have no recourse but to accept his will, whatever it might be.
He frowned at her. "Is something amiss?"
She shook her head, her eyes widening as his fingertips stroked her cheek.
"Are you afraid of me now?"
She shivered as his fingers traveled down the length of her neck, then, ever so slowly, skimmed the curve of her breast.
"I will not hurt you, wife," he said quietly and then, as if to prove his words, he kissed her gently, tenderly. His mouth was warm on hers, demanding nothing, asking everything.
And because she could not resist his kiss any more than she could cease to breathe, she kissed him back, a long slow kiss that brought all her senses vibrantly alive. Caught up in his kiss, she was scarcely aware that he was undressing her until she stood before him clad in nothing more than her shoes and her petticoat.
She looked up at him, mute, as he knelt before her to remove her shoes, then unfastened the ties of her petticoat and let it fall to the floor.
In the way of maidens since time began, she crossed her arms over her br**sts.
Reyes shook his head. "Do not hide your beauty from me, my Shanara," he said, his voice husky with desire.
Biting down on a corner of her lip, she slowly lowered her arms, felt herself blush from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head as his hungry gaze moved over her.
"Beautiful," he whispered. "More beautiful than anything I have ever seen."
Drawing her into his arms once more, he showered her with kisses, his lips like fire as they slid over her br**sts and belly, then returned to her lips to drink deeply.
Desire was an ache deep inside, a longing so intense it was painful. She moaned softly, all thought of resistance melting away like morning dew. She wanted him. There was no doubt that he wanted her. Why didn't he carry her to bed?
He kissed her again, his tongue exploring the warmth of her mouth and then, abruptly, he let her go.