Andrea Kane by Echoes in the Mist Page B

feathers descended, graceful wings fanned slowly shut, until the glorious owl lit on a thick tree branch and was still.
    His penetrating topaz gaze swept the street until it captured hers.
    For an endless minute time remained suspended, the heart-shaped face staring solemnly, unblinking, into Ariana’s eyes, emanating power and strength and certainty.
    Conveying all to her.
    This done, instinct propelled him onward. He raised his head, emitted a loud cry, and, spreading his great white wings, disappeared into the morning sky.
    “Ariana?” Baxter’s concerned voice seemed to come from far away. “You’re not going to swoon on me, are you?”
    “What?” Ariana turned blankly in her brother’s direction, still seeing the splendid owl. She didn’t doubt for a moment that he was just what he seemed to be: her wondrous symbol of hope.
    “You’re white as a sheet.” Baxter gripped her wrists. “Are you going to faint?”
    “No … of course not.” Ariana shook her head, returning to the reality of the moment. With a hand that trembled slightly, she smoothed the silk taffeta of her flowing ivory gown, shaking out the lace tiers that draped to her feet. She glanced briefly into the now-deserted skies, then raised her face to Baxter’s. “I’m ready.”
    He smiled, reaching down to drape the veil over her face, careful not to disturb the garland of white roses and orange blossoms that adorned Ariana’s upswept auburn tresses. “You look beautiful, sprite. You make me very proud.”
    She smiled faintly. “Let’s make our entrance before Lady Pendlington’s neck snaps off from too much craning,” she suggested lightly, noting the expectant faces turned in their direction.
    Baxter looked thoroughly relieved. “As the bride wishes.” He offered her his arm.
    The strains of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March grew louder as the bride and her brother climbed the church steps. Almost in unison, the rows of guests moved forward in their seats to watch the drama of the decade unfold: to witness Ariana Caldwell wed the man who reputedly caused the death of her majestic and treasured sister, Vanessa.
    Walking slowly through the doors and down the aisle, Ariana could feel their scrutiny, read their expressions. And the fact that a roomful of people thrived on cruelty and gossip both appalled and sickened her.
    Fixing her gaze on the altar, she found she wasn’t alone m her sentiments.
    Trenton Kingsley’s gaze locked with hers, delved deep inside her. On some level, Ariana was aware of the total effect wrought by his massive, intimidating presence: the way his dark frock coat hugged his broad shoulders, how his doeskin trousers outlined the powerful muscles of his thighs.
    But all she could think about, focus on, was the potency of his fiery cobalt stare, which burned with a cynical force that defied her to turn away, dared anyone to question his motives, mocked the insipid shallowness of their guests.
    There it was again. Ariana blinked as she caught a glimmer of that same emotion she’d seen in his eyes twice before: be it gentleness or vulnerability or compassion. She hadn’t imagined it; it was real. She watched him shift a bit, glance briefly about the room, then look back at her, the feral ruthlessness back in place.
    He was expecting her hostility.
    The perception struck Ariana with the same intensity as her earlier realization about her life at Winsham. Trenton Kingsley knew what everyone believed him to be and was waiting for Ariana to reinforce their conviction by being every bit the reluctant, terrified bride society anticipated.
    There are many sides to a man. Theresa’s voice sounded in Ariana’s memory. Each of them is part truth and part illusion. It is up to us to discern the difference.
    Straightening her shoulders, Ariana swallowed her trepidation and let instinct guide her past illusion to truth. Gracefully she glided toward the man Theresa had called her future, looking every bit the radiant