Beneath a Midnight Moon (20 page)
Read Beneath a Midnight Moon Online
Authors: Amanda Ashley
Teeth clenched against the pain throbbing through him, Hardane took hold of the net and threw it off. Then, summoning what little strength he still possessed, he stood up and faced his enemy.
The Interrogator stared at the man before him, shaken to the depths of his soul by what he’d just seen. He had always believed that the Wolffan could change shapes, he had spoken of it as if it were a known fact, but to actually see it happen was a truly frightening thing.
And then the fear left him, replaced by an immense desire to know how such an incredible feat had been accomplished.
“Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me the secret of changing.”
“There is no secret,” Hardane replied coldly.
“You lie! I will have the secret, or I will have your life.”
Slowly, Hardane shook his head. “There is no secret,” he repeated calmly. “If you wish to learn magic, seek a wizard.”
“A wizard! I have no desire to learn the art of illusion or sorcery. I want to know the secret of shape shifting.”
“Shape shifting is inherent in the Wolffan. It cannot be taught. It cannot be given away. It cannot be stolen.”
A wordless cry of frustration rose in the Interrogator’s throat. “We will see.” He hissed the words through clenched teeth. “Perhaps you will sing a different song when your lady is here.”
Hardane took a step forward, heedless of the pain that shot through his right leg. “What do you mean?”
“I mean to bring her here, my Lord of Argone.”
“Here? Why?”
“To put an end to the prophesy for now and all time.”
“You have only to kill me to do that. There’s no need to bring Kylene into this. She cannot fulfill the prophesy without me.”
“But I also wish to know the secret of the Wolffan.”
“There is no secret! Wolffan shape shifting is inbred into all who are seventh born. There’s no more to it than that.”
“But I think there is. And when she is here, you will tell me what I wish to know, or her life will be forfeit before your own.”
Hardane’s hands clenched the bars. “I warn you, Renick, harm her and even the flames of Gehenna will not keep me from ripping out your heart.”
The Interrogator took a step back, unable to mask his surprise. “You know my name.”
“Aye, Renick of Britha. I know who you are.”
With an effort, Renick wiped the surprise from his face. No one living knew his name. Born of a whore in the back alleys of Britha, he had never acknowledged the name his mother had bestowed upon him, or taken a new one. He was the Interrogator. It was his title and his rank. Men feared it, and him.
“How came you by this knowledge?”
Hardane shook his head. “Do you think I would reveal his name and thereby put his life in danger?”
“It matters not,” Renick said. “What matters now is Kylene. Whether she lives or dies depends on you. You might think of that while we await her arrival.”
“You’re a fool. Do you think my father will let her come here?”
A sly smile curved Renick’s thin lips. “Indeed, my lord wolf, indeed.”
Hardane stared after the Interrogator as he left the dungeon, the words “my lord wolf” echoing in his mind. How often had Kylene called him that, her voice low and husky with affection, with desire? Kylene. The thought of her in Renick’s clutches was more frightening than the thought of his own death, however painful that might be.
His hands tightened around the thick iron bars as he tried to convince himself he had nothing to fear. Kray would never allow Kylene to leave Argone. Knowing that Hardane had been captured, his mother and father would keep a careful watch over Kylene. The precautions that were taken in time of war would be followed. The castle gates would be locked and closely guarded. Strangers would not be allowed to enter the keep. The walls would be heavily manned at all times. Kylene would be safe. He had to believe that, or he’d go mad with worry.
With a groan, he sank down to the cold stone floor and rested his forehead against the bars. He was hungry and thirsty, weak from loss of blood. His leg ached as if all the fires of Gehenna had been kindled inside, and his cheek throbbed with a dull monotony. And he was weary, so utterly weary.
But, more than that, he ached with the need to see Kylene, to hold her, hear her voice, see her smile. The pain in his thigh was as nothing compared to the fierce pain in his heart when he thought of never seeing her again.
Closing his eyes, he summoned her image to mind, wondering if he could reach out to her from such a long distance. Her name repeated itself in his mind, and he seemed to hear her voice, soft and low, whispering that all would be well. He felt her hands soothing his brow, massaging the tension from his back and shoulders.
Kylene. Fervently, he prayed for her safety and for that of his family.
A short time later, one of the guards appeared. For a moment, the man stood staring through the bars. Keeping a wary eye on Hardane, he slid a loaf of hard black bread and a bowl of water into the cell, and then he hurried away, as if the devil himself were snapping at his heels.
Hardane stared at the coarse bread with distaste, remembering the rich pastries and rolls that Old Nan had prepared, but he was in no position to be choosy. He ate the bread slowly, drained the bowl of water, wishing it were wine.
He’d no sooner finished eating than Renick appeared, followed by four heavily armed guards.
Hardane struggled to his feet, wondering what Renick had in store for him now. He didn’t have long to wait.
“Chain him up,” Renick ordered, and the four guards entered the cell. One remained in the doorway, his lance at the ready.
Hardane fought them as best he could, but, unarmed and wounded, he was no match for three brawny men. Still, he managed to hold his own until one of the guards kicked his wounded leg out from under him.
Pain exploded in his thigh and he reeled back, fighting the nausea that rose in his throat.
In minutes, his arms were drawn behind his back and chained to the wall behind him. A thick iron collar was fitted around his neck, and then one of the guards dropped a noose over his head and snugged it tight before securing the other end to an iron ring set high above Hardane’s head.
A muscle worked in Hardane’s jaw. If he tried to change into the wolf, in an effort to slip his bonds, the noose would be drawn tight around his throat, slowly strangling him.
The Interrogator watched it all with an expression of supreme satisfaction. He chuckled softly as he left the dungeon. Soon, everything he’d ever wanted would be within his grasp.
Unable to sit down because of the noose, Hardane sagged back against the wall and shifted his weight to his left leg in an effort to ease the ache in his right thigh.
Alone, he stared into the darkness, fighting the urge to transform into the wolf, knowing that to do so would bring slow, strangling death. He knew of tales of Wolffan turning into everything from lizards to birds, but there was no truth to such stories. Wizards and magicians might turn into frogs or flowers, but the only inhuman shape the Wolffan could assume was that of the wolf.
He sighed as he heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor.
And then he heard the swish of skirts.
Curious, he opened his eyes, gasping when he saw the woman standing in the corridor.
For one heart-stopping moment, he thought it was Kylene. But his bride radiated goodness and light, while the woman before him seemed shadowed in endless darkness.
The woman smiled at him as she unlocked the cell door and stepped inside.
“So, my Lord of Argone, we meet again.”
“Selene.” He spoke her name as if it tasted bad in his mouth.
She nodded. “It’s useless to fight him, you know. The Interrogator will have what he wants, and he cares not who he hurts to get it.”
“It seems you have much in common.”
Selene shrugged, untouched by his scorn.
Hardane stared at her, wishing it were Kylene who stood before him. Selene’s eyes might be the same shade of brown, but they were as hard and cold as frozen earth. Her hair was as red as Kylene’s, her skin the same creamy hue, her mouth as full and ripe, and yet she might have been as old and bent as Druidia for all the desire she sparked within him.
“What do you want, Selene?” he asked wearily. “Why have you come here?”
She stepped forward, close enough that her skirts brushed his legs as she traced the gash in his cheek.
“To gloat, of course. To see for myself that the prophesy will never come true, to assure myself that Kylene will never share your throne, or bear your children.”
“She’s your own flesh and blood. Why do you hate her so?”
“Why shouldn’t I hate her? An accident of birth, and she was destined to have everything, everything, while I was to live in her shadow, simply because she was the firstborn twin.”
“Do what you will, you cannot change destiny, Selene.”
“You think not?” She ran her fingertips over his shoulder and down the length of one arm. “The Interrogator wants to know the secret of shape shifting. He’ll do anything to make you tell him.”
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Selene shrugged as she spread her hands over his chest. “It matters not to me. I came here to make a deal with you, Hardane of Argone.”
“What kind of deal?” he asked, frowning as her hands slid down his belly.
“I want to be your life-mate, to share the throne of Argone.”
“Such a thing is impossible.”
“Is it?” She pressed herself against him, her hands drawing lazy circles on his shoulders. “I think not. You have only to send Kylene back to the Motherhouse at Mouldour and let me take her place at your side.”
Hardane shook his head, repulsed by her nearness.
“No one else need ever know,” Selene purred, grinding her hips against his. “I look like her. I sound like her. No one can tell us apart.”
“I can.”
“I’m offering you life, Hardane. All you have to do is accept me as your life-mate.”
“You mean all I have to do is betray Kylene,” he retorted. “Make a mockery of the vows we took.”
Selene took a step back. “You would rather die than do as I ask?” she exclaimed, unable to believe he would refuse her.
Hardane snorted softly. “I’d as soon bed a viper as share my life with you.”
She slapped him then, the sound of her palm striking his cheek echoing loudly off the damp stone walls.
“So be it. But think on this, my arrogant Lord of Argone, when she dies an inch at a time at the hands of the Interrogator, the guilt will rest on your shoulders.”
Hardane felt himself trapped in the web of Selene’s gaze as she stared up at him through eyes so like Kylene’s, and yet so different. He felt it then, the same swirling darkness that had permeated Kylene’s bedchamber the night she had vowed to be his.
A mocking grin tugged at the corner of Selene’s lips. “When she lies dead at your feet, remember that I offered you a chance to save her and you turned it down. Will you be able to live with that?”
He couldn’t, and they both knew it.
“Think it over carefully, Hardane,” she advised as she turned away and started down the corridor. “I shall come back in a day or two to see if you’ve changed your mind.”
Chapter 33
Kylene sat on a chair near the hearth, watching as Lord Kray paced the floor of the Great Hall. Sharilyn sat on a low-backed couch, a bit of needlework lying forgotten in her lap, while they tried to decide on a plan of action to rescue Hardane.
Stubbornly, Kylene had insisted that whatever strategy they devised, she be allowed to accompany them.
“No, no, no!” Kray said, wheeling around to face Kylene. “No matter what we decide, your coming along is out of the question. I won’t hear of it.”
“I’m going,” Kylene replied quietly. “Nothing you can say will stop me.”
Lord Kray’s face softened at her show of bravado. “You love him very much, don’t you?”
Kylene nodded, unable to speak past the rising lump in her throat. Ever since Hardane had assumed her shape and gone off to decoy the Interrogator, she’d been plagued with dark visions—faint images of Hardane being abused, tortured, locked in the very cell that she had once occupied in the bowels of the Fortress. He was in danger, hurting and in pain, and she had to go to him.
When Lord Kray and his sons had returned from Chadray two weeks earlier, she had expected them to set sail immediately for Mouldour to rescue Hardane. And that had, in fact, been their intent.
They had formulated several plans: they would sail in under colors not their own; they would hire the Norco-nian pirates to infiltrate the dungeon and smuggle Hardane out of Mouldour; Jared would go to Mouldour alone on the chance that one man would not be noticed; Dubrey and his brothers would disguise themselves as members of the Mouldourian Guard, walk boldly into the Fortress, and spirit Hardane away in the dead of night.
Kylene had thought each plan had merit; Lord Kray had found a flaw in each one. His most convincing argument against rushing into anything was the very real fact that, since the Isle of Coriantan had allied with Mouldour, Bourke had twice the number of fighting men at his disposal, twice the number of warships, as well.
And there was something else to be considered, Lord Kray had reminded them. To attack Mouldour now would only serve to break the tenuous peace that had formed between the two countries while they took time out to lick their wounds and regroup from their last brutal encounter.
And there was one more thing to be considered, Lord Kray had remarked the last time they’d discussed the subject, and that was the fact that, as far as the Interrogator knew, he had captured Kylene. If she were to go to Mouldour, it would put both their lives in danger.
And so the days passed, and no decision was made. And then, that very morning, Dubrey had announced that all unauthorized ships were being turned away from the coasts of Mouldour. One ship, not heeding the warning, had been destroyed. And since there was no way to approach the island of Mouldour except by ship, the odds against rescuing Hardane now seemed insurmountable.
“So, what are we going to do?” Kylene asked, her gaze shifting from Lord Kray to Sharilyn and back again.
“We’ll wait,” Kray decided, though the inactivity was driving him to near madness, as it was everyone else. “The Interrogator must want something. A ransom, perhaps. Until we know what it is, we’ll wait, and hope for the best.”
A small cry of despair rose on Kylene’s lips. Rising, the needlepoint in her lap falling unnoticed to the floor, Sharilyn crossed the room and put her arms around her daughter-in-law’s shoulders.
“You must take better care of yourself, child,” she admonished softly, kindly. “You do Hardane no good by refusing to eat. You need to keep up your strength, especially now.”
Kylene nodded as she wrapped her arm around her belly. Everything Sharilyn said was true, but she had no appetite for food, and sleep offered no rest, only nightmare images of Hardane being tortured. Sometimes, she heard him crying her name as the Interrogator flayed the skin from his back, and sometimes, mired in a web of dreams and memories, it was her own screams that echoed down the corridors of her mind, her own back that cringed under the lash.
She ran from the room as nausea rose in her throat, nausea that had nothing to do with the fact that she was pregnant with Hardane’s child, and everything to do with the awful images that had haunted her day and night since he’d been gone.
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