Authors: Amanda Ashley

Beneath a Midnight Moon (12 page)

BOOK: Beneath a Midnight Moon

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That had been two days ago. Since then, Sharilyn had been trying to prepare herself for her son’s death. Despite all she could do, she feared he would not survive much longer. Druidia was right, she thought, his ailment was of the heart and the soul, not the flesh.

She looked across the bed into her husband’s eyes and saw the same awful knowledge reflected in his gaze.

“Kylene.” Hardane whispered her name, his voice weak, halting.

“She’s coming,” Sharilyn said, hoping it would soothe him to think so.

“No . . .” He shook his head. “Betrothed . . . to the Sister . . . hood . . .”

Sharilyn blinked back her tears. He sounded so weak, so forlorn. Perhaps if she sent word to the Sisterhouse at Bourne . . . but even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it was too late. A low keening wail rose in her throat as she took Hardane’s hand in hers, willing him to fight, to live just one more day.

“Kylene . . .” He breathed her name, railing at the Fates that had brought them together only to tear them apart. It was so unfair, he thought. If she was never to have been his, why had he been allowed to see her, hold her, touch her? If she was never to be his, why had their paths crossed at all?

He summoned her image to mind, wishing that he could have made love to her just once. . . . Kylene. Her name whispered through his mind like a prayer.

“I’m here.”

Sharilyn whirled around, her hand going to her throat as she stared at the hooded woman standing in the doorway.

A soft cry escaped Kylene’s lips as she approached the bed. Was she too late?

Sobbing his name, she knelt by the side of the bed and took Hardane’s hand in both of hers. It was cold, so cold. She grasped it tightly, willing her strength, her life-force, into him.

“Hardane! Hardane, come back to me.” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “Come back to me, my Lord Wolf,” she murmured brokenly. “Please come back to me.”

“Kylene . . . is that you?”

“Yes, oh yes.” She squeezed his hand as his eyelids fluttered open and she found herself gazing into the gray depths of his eyes, eyes filled with pain and wonder.

“You . . . came back?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because you needed me. Because . . .” She squeezed his hand again, afraid to say too much, afraid her heart would make promises she couldn’t keep.

“You’ll stay?”

“Yes, for as long as you need me.”

He smiled weakly, his eyelids fluttering down once more. “Stay . . . stay . . .”

“I will.”

“Always?”

She bit down on her lip, knowing she couldn’t promise him always.

“As long as you need me,” she said again, but he was already asleep.

“Bless you, my dear,” Sharilyn said, placing her hand on Kylene’s shoulder. “He’s resting peacefully for the first time in days.”

Lord Kray came to stand beside his wife, his brow furrowed thoughtfully as he stared down at Kylene, who was still kneeling beside the bed. “Might I have the pleasure of an introduction?”

“This is Kylene,” Sharilyn answered. “She arrived here with Hardane some weeks ago.”

“Why wasn’t she here when we returned from Klannaad?”

“She was at the Bourne Sisterhouse, Kray.”

“At Bourne? Why?”

“It’s her vocation.”

“Her vocation?” Lord Kray exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“She’s taken the vows of the Sisterhood.”

Lord Kray shook his head, completely bewildered.

“Hardane rescued her from the bowels of the Citadel,” Sharilyn explained. “He thought she was Carrick’s seventh daughter.”

Lord Kray frowned. “Isn’t she?”

“No.”

“Are you blind? She looks just like Carrick.”

“Does she?” Sharilyn stared at Kylene. “I’ve never seen him.”

“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten,” Lord Kray murmured absently. “Well, I’ve seen him. This girl has his eyes, his coloring.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Kylene interjected shyly, “but I’m not related to Lord Carrick. I’m a foundling.”

“Go on.”

“I was given into the care of the Sisterhood when I was very young. I have no memory of any other life.”

“How did my son happen to rescue you?”

“I’m not sure. I . . . I saw him in my dreams and then, shortly after I was captured by the Interrogator, Lord Hardane rescued me and brought me here. He thought I was his betrothed, but as I’ve told you, that’s quite impossible.”

“You saw my son in your dreams?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You know, of course, that such a thing is impossible unless you’re destined to be life-mated?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Lord Kray shook his head. Deny it though she might, Kylene was related to Carrick. The resemblance was far too strong to be happenstance.

He glanced down at his son, who was sleeping peacefully. “We will discuss this further in the morning,” he decided, taking his wife by the hand. “I suggest we all get some sleep until then.”

Kylene looked at Hardane’s hand resting in hers. “I’d like to stay here, if it’s all right.”

“Of course,” Sharilyn said. “Bless you, my dear.”

Alone, Kylene stared out the window, her mind replaying Lord Kray’s words.
She looks just like Carrick . . . she has his eyes, his coloring . . . you saw my son in your dreams . . . such a thing is impossible unless you are destined to be life-mated. . .

Weary and confused, she rested her head on her arm and closed her eyes. Was it possible? Was she Carrick’s seventh daughter? But what of Selene? It was no secret that Selene was Carrick’s seventh daughter. She had gone into exile with her father, her whereabouts were unknown, but it was common knowledge that she had been betrothed to Lord Kray’s son since birth. They were to be married this year, in the seventh month.

“Kylene.”

His voice, though faint, made her pulse race with new life. She could feel him watching her and she opened her eyes slowly, wanting to savor the moment when her gaze met his again.

His eyes were clear, as fathomless, and beautiful, as always.

“I thought I had dreamed you,” Hardane murmured.

He slipped his hand from hers, then caught her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm. His touch, though light, spread through her like heat lightning, making her heart sing, bringing a warm flush to her cheeks.

“Are you really here?” he asked, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of her palm.

Kylene nodded, her gaze locked with his, her mind unable to accept the fact that he was growing stronger before her very eyes. His skin had lost the pale waxy look that had frightened her so. His hand was no longer cold, but cool, his breathing steadier, less erratic. It was impossible, she thought, and yet the proof was before her eyes, a living, breathing miracle.

He stretched, and then he sat up. She was too stunned by his sudden recovery to protest when he lifted her onto the bed, then gathered her into his arms. “How did you know I needed you?”

“I saw you in a dream. I heard you calling my name.”

“And I heard you.” His hand delved under her hair to stroke the nape of her neck. “I knew if I held the darkness at bay long enough that you would come to me.”

“You heard me? What did I say?”

“You said, ‘Hardane, I’m coming. Wait for me.’ I heard what my father said, too,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear. “Do you still deny that you are my betrothed?”

Kylene nodded. “Aye, my lord. And yet I cannot deny that we are truly bound in some way that I do not understand.”

“I understand,” he replied quietly. “You are a part of my heart, my soul, my very life. How else can you explain our bond?”

“I can’t.” She looked at him, her expression troubled.

What if it was true? What if she really was a part of him? What if he couldn’t live without her? And what if the reverse was true? Would she somehow die without him? She thought of how lost she had felt while residing at the Sisterhouse at Bourne, how long the days had been, how empty the nights had seemed. Without Hardane, she’d had little appetite for food or drink or for life itself.

The thought of being so closely bound to another frightened her in ways she feared to examine too closely.

“What are we to do?” she asked tremulously.

“I don’t know. I only know that you’ve come back to me, and I won’t let you go again.”

“Why has this bond made itself known only now?”

“Because the time for mating is approaching. The bond lies dormant until the time of the mating moon.”

Kylene swallowed hard. The seventh day of the seventh month would soon be upon them.

Her heart fluttered with excitement at the thought of being his woman, his wife. “And will the bond go away once you’ve joined with your betrothed?”

“No.” His right hand roamed up and down her spine. “Do not be afraid, lady. You cannot change what was meant to be.”

With a sigh, Kylene buried her face in the hollow of his shoulder. In spite of what he thought about fate and destiny, in spite of all he’d said about not letting her go, nothing had been settled. He was still betrothed to another, and she was still promised to the Sisterhood. But for now, for this one night, she didn’t care. Hardane was here, beside her, and that was all that mattered.

Tomorrow, they would worry about the future.

Tomorrow, she would ponder what Lord Kray had said about her uncanny resemblance to Lord Carrick.

But none of that seemed important now. Hardane was alive and well, and she was in his arms, content to be there for as long as the Fates allowed.

Chapter 19

Selene sat beside her father, listening to his labored breathing. She offered him a cup of cool water, holding his head while he drank. Months of hiding out, of finding shelter in dank caves, of trying to eke a living out of the barren land of the Mouldourian desert had left him weak and disheartened.

Gently, she lowered him down to the blanket once more. Gently, she covered him. He reached for her hand, his long, thin fingers wrapping around her own, and then he closed his eyes.

Selene glanced at the dismal cave that had been her home for the past six months. Once, she’d lived in luxury. She’d had numerous servants to wait upon her, dresses of the latest fashion, the best victuals and the finest wines the land had to offer.

She stared at the tattered hem of her gown, quietly cursing her uncle Bourke’s treachery. When she was again in a position of power, she’d see him drawn and quartered for the misery he had caused her. The swine. He’d had a castle that was as big as Castle Mouldour, servants to do his every bidding, enough wealth to last two lifetimes. He’d been Carrick’s chief advisor, heir to the throne, Master of the Treasury. He’d had everything a man could want, except the throne and the power that went with it.

Power. She knew how her uncle felt; she could understand why he had done what he’d done. Almost, she could forgive him for what he’d done. Almost.

Day passed into night and she stayed at her father’s side, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. He was dying, of that she had no doubt. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. Soon she would be free, free to pursue the destiny intended for Carrick’s seventh daughter.

She wondered absently what Hardane of Argone looked like, if he was kind or cruel, if the blood of the Wolffan truly flowed in his veins. But none of that mattered. She wanted to share his throne. To bear his children. To know, at last, the security that came from belonging to a man who possessed power and strength and knew how to use both wisely.

She stared down at her father, her expression cold. He had always been a kind man, a fair-minded man, but he had been weak and foolish and it had cost him the throne of Mouldour.

Rising, she cast a last glance at the man who had sired her. There was nothing she could do for him now. It was time to look forward, time to go to Castle Argone and claim the prize that she had coveted for as long as she could remember.

Chapter 20

Sometime during the night, Kylene awoke, shivering violently, her mind filled with vague images, indistinct images of a man and a woman that seemed oddly familiar though she was certain she’d never seen either of them.

She stared wildly around the room, the covers clutched to her breasts, her heart pounding with an impending sense of doom.

With a hand that trembled, she lit the taper beside her narrow bed, but even the flickering light of the candle failed to dispel the thick darkness that hovered around her.

She whimpered Hardane’s name, wishing he was there beside her. The thought had barely crossed her mind when the chamber door burst open and she saw him silhouetted in the dimly lit corridor, his sword clutched in his hand. He was naked save for a bit of cloth that covered his loins.

“What is it?” he asked harshly.

Kylene shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know.” She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “Nothing, I guess.”

Frowning, Hardane stepped into the room. And then he felt it, an aura of darkness, of evil.

Crossing the floor, he put his arms around Kylene and held her close.

“You feel it, too, don’t you?” Kylene asked, her voice filled with wonder and fear.

“Aye, lady, I feel it.” His arms tightened around her as the evil in the room swirled around them, growing stronger, more oppressive.

Kylene buried her face in the hollow of Hardane’s shoulder, certain that only he could protect her from the unseen menace that seemed to lurk in the shadows, ready to envelop her. His skin was cool against her cheek, his arms solid and reassuring as he held her close.

Abruptly, he swept her into his arms and carried her out of the room into the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?”

“To my chambers.”

She stared at him in horror. “No. Please, I . . . what will your mother think? Oh, please, Hardane, don’t do this.”

But it was like trying to reason with a mountain. He carried her as if she weighed no more than a thistle, his long legs carrying them down the long corridor to his room.

Inside, he closed and bolted the door. Tossing his sword aside, he lowered her to his bed.

Kylene stared up at him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The evil that had engulfed her only moments ago was completely forgotten as she found herself alone in Hardane’s room, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Her gaze skittered across the width of his broad shoulders, the vast expanse of bare male chest, a bronzed belly ridged with muscle. Her gaze darted quickly back to his face as a new fear took hold of her, one more frightening, one infinitely more dangerous, than the darkness that had hovered in her room.

“Please, don’t.” She forced the words from a throat gone suddenly dry.

“Don’t what, lady?”

“Don’t defile me.”

He cocked his head to one side, his gray eyes glittering. “Do you think I would take you against your will?”

“No,” she said, her voice barely audible. “But I fear you could make me want you with very little effort.”

Hardane stared at her, his heart accelerating at her words. “You do want me,” he replied, his tone confident. “You want me as I want you.”

Kylene nodded. There was no point in arguing, nothing to be gained by lying, not when he could read her thoughts.

“Lady, there’s something I should tell you.”

“Tell me, then.”

“Kylene, I . . .” Slowly, he shook his head. He couldn’t tell her, not now. Instead, he leaned toward her, his gray eyes blazing.

Knowing it was wrong, Kylene lifted her face for his kiss.

He didn’t close his eyes as his lips covered hers, nor did she.

She felt the heat of his kiss, saw the bright flames of passion that burned in the depths of his eyes, felt his hands clasp her shoulders. She knew then that she would never return to the Sisterhood, that she was truly bound to this man who could divine her innermost thoughts, who had the power to make her heart soar and her soul rejoice.

Hardane felt the change in her, felt the walls she had built between them fall away, and knew she would be his. A low moan of pained pleasure rumbled in his throat as he drew his lips from hers.

“You have accepted me at last,” he murmured, ignoring the voice of his conscience that chided him for being a coward, for not telling her who and what he was.

His fingertips traced the curve of her cheek, and then he kissed her again, savoring the taste of her lips. “Tell me,” he whispered, “tell me that you’ll be mine.”

“I will be yours,” she replied breathlessly. “I think I have always been yours.”

His smile warmed her as nothing else could. Exultantly, he swept her into his arms and crushed her to his chest, his arms tight around her, his desire for her evident in every taut line of his hard, muscular body.

“Kylene, ah Kylene.”

He said her name again and again, the sound filling the room like a prayer and a promise.

Dizzy with happiness, she stared deep into his eyes, wondering if he would make love to her now.

Slowly, Hardane shook his head. “I want to,” he said, answering her unspoken thought. “I have wanted you since the day I first saw you, but I cannot. Not now.”

Reluctantly, he let her go, his hands curling into tight fists as he fought to keep from laying her back on the bed and burying himself in her sweetness. A low groan that was almost a growl rumbled in his throat as he fought down the urge to possess her, to learn the secrets of a woman’s love.

“Go to sleep, Kylene.” He forced the words through clenched teeth.

“Perhaps I should go back to my own room,” she suggested.

“No. I don’t want you to be alone.” He drew a ragged breath. “I’ll sit there,” he said, pointing to the window seat on the far side of the room. “Try to get some rest.”

For a moment, she sat there staring up at him. It didn’t seem right that she should take his bed and she was about to say so when something in his gaze warned her to keep still and do as she was told.

“Good sleep, my lord,” she murmured, and crawled under the covers, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

“Good sleep, lady,” he replied, knowing that he would not find any rest this night, not with her lying there in his bed.

Already her scent seemed to fill the room. And her thoughts, uncertain, filled with a yearning for that which she didn’t understand, played havoc with his imagination.

With a great effort of will, he drew his thoughts from Kylene and focused instead on the darkness that had hovered in her room, a blackness fraught with evil. It might have been a sorcerer’s spell, he mused, or the ghost of some ancient inhabitant of Castle Argone, and yet he knew instinctively that it had been neither one. It had been the essence of a dark vengeful soul, a festering, palpable hatred that had been directed at Kylene.

But why?

In the morning, Kylene woke to find herself alone in Hardane’s bedroom. A dress had been placed on the foot of the bed, along with the necessary undergarments, thick white stockings, a pair of soft-soled white boots, and a length of fine white ribbon.

Kylene stared at the dress. It was made of finely spun yellow wool, pale and soft. The underskirt was a darker shade of yellow, almost gold. The sleeves were long and full, slashed at intervals to reveal a layer of the same dark gold cloth as the underskirt. A froth of cream-colored lace decorated the square-cut neckline.

Sitting up, she let her hand slide over one sleeve. What would it be like to wear such a dress?

Before she could change her mind, she slipped out of bed, threw off her sleeping gown, and donned the exquisite yellow dress. After braiding her hair and tying it with the ribbon, she stood in front of the mirror and studied her reflection. The yellow of the dress made her hair seem redder, her eyes more brown.

With a sigh of resignation, she started to remove the gown, intending to put on the dreary black habit she had been wearing when she arrived from the Bourne Sisterhouse.

“No.”

Startled, Kylene sent an anxious glance toward the door to find Hardane standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his slate gray eyes warm with admiration.

“How long have you been there?” Kylene demanded.

“Long enough to know you’ll never wear black again.”

“Members of the Bourne Sisterhouse aren’t allowed to wear colors,” she retorted inanely.

“You’re no longer a member of the Bourne Sisterhouse,” he reminded her.

“The Motherhouse at Mouldour doesn’t—”

“You’ll never go back to the Motherhouse at Mouldour, either.”

“But I . . .”

Hardane crossed the floor in three long strides and took her in his arms.

“You’re mine, Kylene. Have you forgotten what you said last night?”

She hadn’t forgotten, but now, in the cold light of day, it didn’t seem possible. Even if she wanted him, even if he wanted her, he was betrothed to another.

“You’re mine,” Hardane murmured again. “Always and forever mine. I’ll not let you go again.”

His hands slid down her arms, the heat of his touch penetrating her cloth-covered arms, sending shivers up and down her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he took the ribbon from her hair and ran his fingers through the thick braid until her hair fell in a glorious mass around her face and over her shoulders.

Kylene swallowed hard, unable to take her gaze from his face. There was something terribly intimate about the touch of his hands in her hair, something that spoke of possession in the way his hands rested on her shoulders.

Hardane gazed into her eyes, his expression telling her more clearly than words that he found her beautiful, desirable.

“I like it down,” he said, his voice husky.

Kylene blinked up at him, her heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. “Then I’ll wear it down.”

A slow smile curved the corners of Hardane’s mouth and then he lowered his head and brushed a kiss over her lips. It was no more than a whisper, a promise, but it sent waves of delight crashing through her. She could feel the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, sense his barely controlled passion.

Without conscious thought, she leaned toward him, her arms wrapping around his waist, and he obligingly kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers as he held her close against him.

With a groan, Hardane let her go and took a step back. He took several deep breaths to still the pounding of his heart, and then he took her hand.

“My parents are waiting for us in the dining hall,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fuzzy web of desire that he’d spun around her with only a kiss. “What? Oh . . .”

Hardane chuckled, pleased by Kylene’s heated response to his kisses, by the way her cheeks pinked with pleasure.

“Your parents! Oh, Hardane, your mother doesn’t want me here.”

He wanted to argue, to put her mind at rest, but he could not lie to her. He knew that, as grateful as his mother was for Kylene’s help in restoring his health, she would never forgive him if he refused to marry Carrick’s daughter. But it couldn’t be helped. Knowing Kylene, loving her, he could not wed another.

Kylene stared up at him, her eyes wide. “You love me?”

Hardane grinned at her. “Are you reading my mind, lady?”

“Did you not speak?”

He shook his head, his eyes glinting with delight. “No, lady.”

Kylene clapped her hand over her mouth, astonished that she had so easily read his mind.

“It seems our bond is growing stronger,” Hardane remarked.

She could think of nothing to say. Hand in hand, they went down the wide stone stairway that led to the dining hall.

Kylene’s stomach fluttered nervously when she saw Sharilyn and Lord Kray sitting at the table.

Hardane’s parents greeted her warmly. Sharilyn smiled at Kylene, her appreciation for Kylene’s help in restoring Hardane’s health shining in her eyes.

Lord Kray nodded in her direction, his expression speculative, and Kylene knew he was wondering if she was indeed Carrick’s daughter, even though she had told him that such a thing was impossible.

Kylene was decidedly uncomfortable during the course of the meal. Troubled by chaotic thoughts, she was hardly aware of what she ate, if she ate at all. She kept hearing Hardane promise that he would never let her go, that she was his, always and forever. A warmth flooded her as she remembered hearing his words of love in her mind.

They had just finished the last course when a messenger hurried into the dining hall.

“What is it, Parah?” Lord Kray asked.

BOOK: Beneath a Midnight Moon

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