Echoes in the Mist (Kingsleys in Love 1)

She closed her eyes and waited. Would the magic vaporize along with the darkness?

The minutes ticked by, the tension in the room intensified. And suddenly Ariana could take no more.

She curled away from Trenton, determined to keep her agony her own, fighting back the tears even as they trickled down her cheeks. Her shoulders jerked subtly with sobs, their movement the only overt sign of her anguish.

Silently, Trenton closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around Ariana with possessive tenderness, enfolding her against his solid warmth. “Have I done this to you, misty angel?” he murmured into her hair, feathering kisses into the tangled tresses. “Forgive me; I never meant to cause you pain. Please … don’t cry.”

Without a word, Ariana turned to him, burying her face in his powerful chest, accepting the comfort he was offering with childlike trust and gratitude.

“Don’t allow my hatred to taint your spirit, Ariana,” Trenton whispered fervently. “This war is not between us. Don’t let me hurt you.”

Ariana raised her head, searching her husband’s face with damp, questioning eyes.

“Go to sleep,” Trenton replied, kissing the teardrops from her wet, spiky lashes. Brushing her lips with his, he tucked her head beneath his chin. “Rest … it’s nearly day.”

“Will you leave me then?” she blurted out, twisting around to look up at him.

His expression hardened. “Do you want me to?”

“No, oh no!” she burst out. “I mean …” She blushed. “I had hoped we could sleep together … awaken together. …” Her voice trailed off, and she paused, hopeful and vulnerable and embarrassed.

Trenton’s eyes flickered that same strange light she’d seen in them several times before—and he drew her back to his broad, muscular chest. “Then we shall,” he replied in an odd tone. Without further explanation, he curled her body into his, kissing her damp forehead. “Now go to sleep.”

Ariana dutifully closed her eyes, physical exhaustion commanding that she comply with Trenton’s bidding. But the dictates of her mind refused to be silenced, whispering their speculations about the enigma that was her husband.

She forced herself to think rationally.

The indisputable facts were that Trenton’s anger and thirst for revenge, justified or not, stemmed from her family. And, like the ocean, they ebbed and flowed along with the dark recollections so tightly locked in his complex mind. The terrifying questions plaguing Ariana were two: What memories could be agonizing enough to breed Trenton’s overwhelming bitterness and inspire his implacable decision to wed her? And exactly what part had Vanessa played in creating those memories?

Silently, Ariana vowed to uncover the truth, to learn precisely what had occurred six years before. Because only by understanding the details of Trenton’s past could she perceive what was hers to combat.

Time passed, the slow, even rise and fall of Trenton’s chest telling Ariana he had fallen asleep. Quietly, she slipped out of bed, donning her discarded robe and walking soundlessly over to the window. She moved the drapes aside, gazing into the faintly lit skies and silently addressing the heavens, praying for the strength to endure the ordeal she knew lay ahead, the wisdom to discern her path, the insight to distinguish truth from deception and the courage to face the outcome.

But face it she must. For despite Trenton’s biting animosity, Ariana had been drawn to him from the moment they’d met, trusted him when reason and caution warned her away, sensed on some fundamental level that he needed her.

And that she needed him as well.

Inherently, she’d always known that what she was feeling ran far deeper than the mere physical. She’d known it in the Covington maze when logic told her to fear him but instinct refused to obey; known it throughout the weeks preceding the wedding when all she could think of, dream of, was Trenton; known it in the chapel when she’d seen the flashes of vulnerability in her new husband’s eyes. And now that they were truly man and wife, it wasn’t attraction alone that compelled her response; for the angry torment in his eyes called out to her as profoundly as did the passion in his arms. Nor was it attraction that caused her to weep for Broddington’s emptiness, which was a mirror reflection of the emptiness that pervaded Trenton’s heart.

It was more.

Ariana squeezed her eyes shut against the glaring knowledge, willing back the resentment, the ambivalence, even the sliver of fear. But to no avail; they were gone forever, replaced by an emotion far more frightening.

God help her, she was falling in love with her husband.

A man who was unapproachable, unreachable, untouchable … and unwilling, if not unable, to accept her love and to give her his in return.

Ariana bowed her head. Please, she beseeched the ubiquitous powers above, show me my course. Please.

The fluttering sound broke the silence, faint, but audible and persistent nonetheless. Ariana’s chin came up and her eyes flew open, scanning the brightening skies of the new day … skies tha

t, moments before, had been deserted.

The owl traversed the heavens, flying directly toward her, his snowy wings cloaking the dawn. As he approached, his piercing stare captured Ariana’s, bathing her in a momentary glow, his expression solemn, his message sage. Then he veered abruptly skyward, disappearing over the spires of Broddington, leaving behind a shrill cry, a silent sky. …

And hope.

CHAPTER