Authors: Amanda Ashley

Beneath a Midnight Moon (21 page)

BOOK: Beneath a Midnight Moon

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Chapter 34

Renick paced his quarters, his brow furrowed, his rage a growing, living thing within him.

Curse Hardane! Why must the man be so mule-headed? Why did he refuse to reveal the secret of Wolffan shape shifting? A part of the heritage of a seventh-born child, Hardane had said, a part of their infernal religion. Renick had heard all that before. Perhaps it was true, but there was more to it than that. Shape shifting meant power, and Renick was a man who was obsessed with power, who craved it as some men craved women or liquor or the strange foreign intoxicants that made a man’s mind wander.

Ah, to be able to change shape, to have the power to appear as a lowly servant or a highborn king. There was no end to the advantages such power would give him. And he meant to have it.

For the past twelve years, he had been a man of power and authority, second in command only to the Lord High Sovereign of Mouldour himself. And when he’d realized that Carrick’s brother was about to steal the throne, he had, without a qualm, pledged his allegiance to Bourke. But now he was tired of taking orders, tired of doing Bourke’s dirty work.

It was time to usurp the throne for himself.

He wanted the power, and the wealth that went with it.

He wanted the adulation of the people.

And it was all within his grasp. He would learn the secret of shape shifting, dispose of both Hardane and Kylene, thereby thwarting the prophesy, plot Bourke’s death, and rule Mouldour.

In time, he might even conquer Argone.

The first step was to bring Kylene to the Fortress.

Chapter 35

Hardane swayed on his feet as two of the Interrogator’s men removed the shackles from his wrists, the noose, and collar, then quickly left the cell and locked the door.

He watched as Renick dismissed the guards, wanting nothing more than to curl up on the cold stone floor and go to sleep. He’d been on his feet for two days, unable to sit down, unable to do more than shift from one leg to the other because of the chains that bound him to the wall.

Two days, and he’d had nothing to eat or drink.

Two days, and the wound in his thigh throbbed incessantly, making it hard to think coherently.

Renick took a step forward. “I would see the wolf, Hardane.”

For a moment, Hardane stared at the Interrogator and then, as easily as he drew breath, he transformed into the wolf, his gaze resting on the face of the woman who stood in the shadows.

A gasp rose in Selene’s throat. Like all Mouldour-ians, she was familiar with the tales of Wolffan shape shifting, but she had always assumed they were no more than that, gruesome fables told to pass the time. She felt suddenly ill as she watched the transformation until all trace of Hardane was gone and a huge black wolf stood in his place.

Teeth drawn back in a snarl, the wolf sprang forward. Unmindful of the wound in its hind leg, it threw itself against the bars. Selene screamed as a froth of saliva sprayed across her face.

“He can’t hurt you,” Renick said with a sneer.

Selene nodded. Reason told her she had nothing to fear. The wolf couldn’t break the bars. It couldn’t escape from the cell. But knowing that such a thing was impossible could not stifle the primal fear that pounded in her heart, nor could she repress a shudder as she stared into the animal’s cunning gray eyes.

He was bigger than an ordinary wolf, more frightening than anything she had ever seen in her life. He paced the cell, and she watched him in horrified fascination. Despite the ugly wound in one hind leg, the beast paced back and forth, its movements graceful, defiant. And when she looked into its eyes, eyes as gray as the clouds before a storm, she saw Hardane staring back at her.

“Make him change back,” she urged. Unable to free her gaze from that of the wolf, she grabbed the Interrogator by the shoulder and shook him. “Make him change!” she cried, her voice rising hysterically. “Now!”

“Do as she says,” Renick ordered brusquely.

With a low whine, the wolf shook itself. And then, his gaze fixed on Selene, the wolf took on human form once again.

“Do you still want to rule at my side?” Hardane asked disdainfully. “Do you still want to share my bed, bear my children?”

Shaking her head, Selene took a step backward, repulsed by the very suggestion. And then, knowing she was going to be violently ill, she turned on her heel and ran down the corridor.

With a snap of his fingers, Renick summoned the guards. “Bring him food and water. He’ll be no good to me dead.”

Though his wounded thigh was paining him a great deal, Hardane continued to stand, his gaze fixed on the Interrogator’s face. He would not sit down, would not give in to the pain that made itself known with every beat of his heart, not while his enemy stood there, watching.

Minutes later, one of the guards returned with a tray of bread, a slab of smoked venison, a thick chunk of yellow cheese, and a small jug of wine, which he slid under the cell door.

Hardane’s mouth watered and his stomach rumbled loudly, but he made no move toward the tray.

The Interrogator grunted softly, admiring the man’s insolent pride in spite of himself.

“Very well, my Lord of Argone,” he said with a sneer, “I’ll leave you to dine in private. Enjoy your meal. You never know. It may be your last.”

Only when he was alone did Hardane sink down on the floor. For a moment, he sat there, shivering convulsively from the stress of the last few days, the last few minutes. He stared at the blood encrusted on his breeches, a silent prayer of thanks in his heart that the wound hadn’t festered.

And then, unable to help himself, he tore into the nearly raw venison, tearing the meat into strips like a wild thing. He devoured the bread in the same way. Only when he’d taken the edge from his hunger did he reach for the wine, and this he drank slowly, savoring each swallow. He ate the cheese last, relishing the tangy flavor.

With his hunger assuaged, his thoughts turned to Kylene, always Kylene. Head bowed, he prayed for her health, for the health of their unborn sons, for his father and mother. He prayed that Argone would not go to war because of him, that the tenuous peace between Argone and Mouldour, the first in over ten years, would not be broken, even though he knew it would not last indefinitely. It was merely a moment of serenity before the tempest that was sure to follow, a chance for both sides to regroup before the next assault.

Kylene . . . hear me . . . know that I love you . . . that I will love you with my last dying breath . . . and through all the endless days and nights of eternity . . .

He willed the words across the miles that separated them and then, with her name on his lips, he closed his eyes and surrendered to the awful weariness that engulfed him.

Kylene sat up in bed, Hardane’s voice ringing in her ears.
Hear me . . . know that I love you . . .

Tears flooded her eyes as the sound of his beloved voice filled her mind. He was still alive!

Slipping out of bed, she dropped to her knees and offered a fervent prayer to God, thanking Him again and again that her husband still lived, begging for a miracle to save Hardane.

She was still praying when there came a knock at the door and she heard Lord Kray’s voice.

Rising, she opened the door to find Lord Kray and Sharilyn standing in the corridor.

“You’ve had news?” Kylene remarked. Bad news, she thought, judging from the redness of Sharilyn’s eyes, the bleak expression on Lord Kray’s face.

“We know what the Interrogator wants now.” Lord Kray’s voice was as solemn as his countenance.

He had not intended to tell Kylene of the Interrogator’s message, but Sharilyn had insisted that Hardane’s wife had every right to know of the Interrogator’s commands.

“It’s you, child,” Kray went on heavily. “He’s discovered Hardane’s true identity, and he demands your presence at the Fortress.”

Lord Kray paused, and for the first time Kylene noticed how pale he was. For a moment, he stared at the floor, as if gathering his strength.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” Kylene asked tremulously.

“Yes, child,” Kray replied, his voice grave. “Should you refuse to do as he says, he has promised to send Hardane back to Argone. A piece at a time.”

Kylene stared at her father-in-law, unable to speak as the horror of what the Interrogator threatened unraveled in her mind. For a moment, the room spun out of focus and she stumbled backward, a low moan rising in her throat until it burst forth in a scream of denial.

Immediately, Lord Kray gathered her into his arms and held her close. In vain, he tried to think of some words of comfort, of hope, but none came to mind.

“I’ll leave at once,” Kylene said, and though the mere idea of returning to the Fortress filled her with dread, she knew she would do anything within her power to help Hardane.

“I can’t let you go,” Kray said, his voice firm. “Hardane would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

“I’ve got to go.”

Kray shook his head. “No, Kylene. Think of the prophesy.”

“I don’t care about the prophesy,” Kylene exclaimed, twisting out of his arms.

“He’s bluffing,” Kray said, running a hand through his hair. “He’s got to be bluffing. Even the Interrogator wouldn’t dare execute a man of Hardane’s station.”

“He will,” Sharilyn replied quietly. “You know he will, Kray. He’ll do anything to assure that Bourke retains the throne.”

“We can’t let her go,” Kray said, his voice thick with anguish. “She carries the promise of lasting peace within her womb.”

“What do I care if there’s peace in Argone if Hardane is not here to see it!” Kylene exclaimed angrily.

“Think of what you’re saying,” Kray urged. “Would you put the lives of your children at risk?”

“Yes, and my own as well. I can’t let him die. I can’t. I won’t.”

“Your sons will rule the thrones of Argone and Mouldour. Under their leadership, both lands will prosper.”

“I don’t care!”

“I forbid it!” Kray shouted. “Do you hear me? I forbid it!”

“Kray . . .” Sharilyn spoke slowly and deliberately. “You can’t mean to let our son die.”

“Do you think this is a decision that’s easy for me? But you know the Interrogator’s reputation! He’ll kill them both to assure that Bourke holds the throne.”

“I’m going,” Kylene said. Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin defiantly. “It’s my life, and my decision, and I’m going.”

Sharilyn nodded, proud of her daughter-in-law’s courage in the face of such overwhelming odds. The Wolffan were not given to waiting or lengthy contemplation. It was their way to attack first and ponder the wisdom of it at a later time. What did it matter what the Interrogator wanted, or what he hoped to gain, when Hardane’s life hung in the balance?

And yet . . . Kray was right. Hardane would never forgive them if anything happened to Kylene. She glanced at Kylene, noting the dark circles that shadowed her eyes, the gauntness of her cheeks, the paleness of her skin. The look of determination on her face.

“I’m going!” Kylene repeated. “Nothing you can say will stop me.”

“Listen to me . . .” Lord Kray said, his voice ragged with anger and frustration.

“No, Kray,” Sharilyn said quietly. “You listen to me. I have a plan.”

Lord Kray released a sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul.

“I’ll listen,” he replied wearily, “because I have always listened to your counsel. But I think I know what you’re about to suggest, and I tell you here and now, I’m against it.”

“Come, Kylene, sit here beside me,” Sharilyn said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “We have much to discuss.”

It was near dawn when Lord Kray and Sharilyn bid Kylene good night.

Alone in her room, she stood at the window watching the last stars fade from the sky, and for the first time in days, there was hope in her heart.

Chapter 36

Hardane woke from a restless sleep. For a moment, he stared into the utter darkness of his prison. His leg, though mending, was still painful when he put any weight on it. His arms, stretched over his head, ached from the strain, and his wrists were swollen from the constant chafing of his restraints. The noose and the thick iron collar around his neck made breathing difficult.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Being chained to the wall day and night gave him little opportunity to rest his injured thigh and made it virtually impossible for him to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

Heartsick, homesick, he murmured Kylene’s name. And then, in a rush, he knew what had awakened him. He’d been walking in Kylene’s dreams, holding her close, caressing the satin smoothness of her skin, his face buried in the silky mass of her hair as he breathed in her scent.

Kylene . . . She was near, he thought, near enough that he could walk in her dreams again.

He frowned as his mind filled with a myriad of images: his ship, the
Sea Dragon,
was under full sail as it made its way toward Mouldour, cutting through the water like a scythe through hay. He saw his father, a look of grim determination on his face as he paced the quarterdeck; he saw his mother and Kylene sitting in the captain’s cabin, their faces shadowed with worry.

Kylene . . . he could see her clearly in his mind, her beautiful red hair flowing, unbound, down her back. Because he liked it that way. Her eyes, warm and brown, were dark with concern. His gaze caressed her face, then moved to the gentle swell of her belly. His sons rested there, within the safe haven of her womb.

Kylene . . . she seemed so near, his whole being yearned toward her, aching to hold her, to be touched by her.

“Go back,” he murmured. “Go back to Argone before it’s too late.”

Closing his eyes, he willed her to hear his thoughts. He’d been so certain his father would realize the necessity of keeping Kylene safe in Argone, and now they were all en route to Mouldour, determined to free him.

He tugged against the chains that bound him, cursing softly as the heavy irons cut into his flesh. He had to get away before it was too late, before everyone he loved was at Renick’s mercy.

He groaned low in his throat as he realized there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

Kylene lay curled on her side on Hardane’s bunk in the captain’s cabin, her eyes closed as she hugged his pillow to her breast. If she breathed deeply, she could detect his scent, though faint.

Kylene sighed heavily. Hardane’s brothers had wanted to accompany them to Mouldour, threatening to tear the Interrogator limb from limb, but Lord Kray had insisted they stay behind to guard Castle Argone should the Interrogator return. Dubrey, Liam, and Morray had castles of their own that would also need protecting in the event of an attack.

Kylene had been surprised to learn that some of Hardane’s brothers had their own castles. She’d once asked Dubrey if he didn’t occasionally feel jealous that his youngest brother would one day inherit the throne. It was then she’d learned that Hardane’s three oldest brothers had land and holdings of their own.

“There’s no need for us to be jealous,” Dubrey had assured her. “We knew from the day of his birth that he would rule Argone. There’s always been something special about Hardane. Not just the fact that the blood of the Wolffan is strong within him. The people love him. As you do.”

As you do . . . The words repeated in her mind.

“Please, let him be all right,” she prayed fervently. “And please,” she added as her stomach churned with nausea, “please let this voyage be over soon.”

She’d been sick ever since they lost sight of land, and nothing seemed to help, but she didn’t care. She knew she’d endure anything, take any risk, to free Hardane from the bowels of the Fortress. She thought of him constantly, praying that he was well, that he was still alive.

Her nights had been filled with nightmare images of the ship filling with water, slowly sinking beneath the waves. She felt the cold water closing over her, heard the sound of terrified screams, her own and those of her unborn children.

Just one good night’s sleep, she thought. If she could just have one good night’s sleep . . .

“Kylene.”

His voice, deep and vibrant, called to her.

“Hardane?”

“Lady.”

Relief, sweeter than Mouldourian honey, washed through her as he took her in his arms and held her close.

“I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

She nodded, unable to speak for the rush of emotions that swelled within her breast. She gazed into his eyes, warming herself in the love she saw reflected there. His hands stroked her arms, caressed her breasts, rested on the slight swell of her belly.

“I’ve missed you.” He lifted one hand to cup the back of her head as he bent toward her, his mouth slanting over hers.

He kissed her with such exquisite tenderness it brought tears to her eyes, and she pressed herself against him, needing to feel his nearness, his strength, wishing she could somehow slip inside of him and never let him go.

“Love me,” she begged. “Love me now.”

He breathed her name as he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. Gently, he kissed and caressed her, his hands playing over her willing flesh until she was on fire for him, until she had to touch him in return. He filled her senses, until there was nothing in all the world but the sight and taste and touch of Hardane, the sound of his voice murmuring that he loved her, would always love her.

Caught up in the never-ending wonder of his nearness, she followed him up, up, to the heights of desire, his name a cry on her lips as their bodies merged, heart to heart and soul to soul.

She was drifting, floating on a sea of sensation and satisfaction. He was here, beside her, and nothing else mattered . . .

“Go back.”

She frowned at the urgency in his voice.

“Kylene, you must tell my father to return to Argone.”

She woke abruptly, her body sheened with perspiration. “Hardane?”

“Tell my father to turn the ship around. There’s nothing you can do.”

She sat staring into the darkness for several moments, stunned by the realization that it had all been a dream.

But there was nothing imaginary about the voice in her head, Hardane’s voice, warning her to turn back.

Sitting up, she shook her head. “No, my lord wolf,” she murmured into the darkness. “I’ll not leave you there.”

“Go back, lady . . . go back . . .”

His voice, filled with pleading, grew faint and then was gone.

Sharilyn listened quietly as Kylene told of hearing Hardane’s voice warning them to turn back. He was alive, at least, she thought, relieved.

“You don’t think it was just a dream, do you?” Kylene asked.

“No, child.”

“Don’t tell Lord Kray,” Kylene begged. “I’m afraid he’ll insist we go back to Argone.”

“Nothing will make us turn back, Kylene. You needn’t worry about that. We’ll reach Mouldour tomorrow night.” Sharilyn placed her hand over Kylene’s. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine, really. Just a little queasy.”

“We’ll find him, Kylene. I promise you that.” Sharilyn gave Kylene’s hand a squeeze. “Get some rest, child. And try not to worry.”

As she watched Hardane’s mother leave the cabin, Kylene prayed that their plan, as impossible as it seemed, would work.

She gazed out the window, staring at the far horizon where the land met the sea. The thought of returning to the Fortress filled her with dread. Too clearly, she recalled the ugly little cell the Interrogator had locked her in, the constant oppressive darkness, the foul stench of excrement and vomit, the cruel sting of the whip on her back, the smell of her own blood and fear.

And now Hardane was there, perhaps in the same dreary cell. He was hurt, alone, and yet his thoughts were only for her safety.

With a sob, she buried her face in his pillow and willed him to find comfort in her love, to know that he would not be alone much longer.

BOOK: Beneath a Midnight Moon

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