Kadar holding her hand in the darkness.
Kadar joking as he sat across from her at the chessboard.
Kadar drawing her down on the couch in the tower chamber.
Kadar . . .
"It's done," Kadar said. His brilliant smile illuminated his face. "Now, that wasn't so painful, was it?"
"What?" She realized he was talking about their vows. The priest had finished at last. Kadar was standing, lifting her to her feet. "No, I guess not."
He turned her around and gently pushed her toward Tarik and Layla. "I'll join you shortly. I believe I'd best send the priest on his way before he meets with more of your insults. We may have need of the power of the Church before this is over."
"Very well."
"Good God, docility?"
She was as surprised as he. Somehow those last few moments had banished all of her tension and impatience. She did not feel docile but dreamy, warm, and serene.
As serene as when she had learned she was with child.
The thought came out of nowhere. That was what all this was all about. Tonight she would be with Kadar again and there might be another child.
But it wasn't the thought of the child that was making this eagerness and joyous anticipation tingle through her.
"Selene?" Kadar asked.
She smiled at him and then turned and walked toward Tarik and Layla.
"You're sure you wish this?" Layla asked in an undertone. "Just because you took vows doesn't mean you have to bed him."
Selene smiled. "Most people would think that would be a necessary second step."
"But you would not."
"Why are you worrying? It's not as if we haven't coupled before."
"You feel things too deeply. Passion can sway people to do things that aren't good for them. Kadar can be very persuasive."
"Yes, he can."
Kadar in the tower room, moving within her, whispering encouragement.
"You're not listening," Layla said in disgust. "You look as soft as goose feathers. You might as well go to your chamber. I'll send Kadar to you."
Kadar was still talking to the priest, smiling, mending any anger he might have still felt.
He was her husband. They were joined.
"Go," Layla said. "I dislike the thought of you melting into a puddle before my eyes."
"You exaggerate." But not by much, she thought ruefully. She turned and moved toward the door. "And I tire of your nagging. I'll see you in the morning."
She could feel the soft draping of her gown brush against her body with every step. The touch was sensuous, caressing.
Like Kadar . . .
Why could she think of nothing else?
