Read Beneath a Midnight Moon Online
Authors: Amanda Ashley
Beneath a Midnight Moon (23 page)
“That should do it.” The doctor’s words shattered the illusion.
Hardane’s hand fell away from her head and Kylene sat up, momentarily disoriented. “What?”
“’Tis done.”
The doctor pointed at the wound. He had cut away the ragged edges of flesh and forced all the pus from the wound. The blood that oozed from the wound was no longer dark but a bright healthy red.
“I’ll just stitch up the wound, and he’ll be on the mend in no time at all.”
“Stitch him?” Kylene mumbled, staring at the needle the doctor had removed from his bag. “Now?”
“Aye, now.”
She couldn’t watch, Kylene thought frantically. She could not sit there and watch while the ship’s physician poked that needle into Hardane’s torn flesh. She simply couldn’t.
Rising, one hand still clasped in Hardane’s, she glanced at the cabin door, anxious to be gone from the room.
“Kylene . . .” His voice reached out to her.
She stared down at him. “I . . . I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Don’t leave me.”
“Please,” she begged. “I can’t stay. Don’t ask me.”
Understanding dawned in the smoky depths of his eyes. “You’ll come right back?”
Kylene gazed into his beloved face, seeing the harsh lines of pain and fatigue etched around his mouth and eyes. Surely the pain of stitching would seem like a small thing to endure when compared to the probing of the wound, she told herself in an effort to alleviate the guilt she felt for wanting to leave the room.
She looked down at their joined hands, knowing she lacked the courage to draw her hand away, to leave him there to suffer alone.
With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bunk once more and poured Hardane another glass of ale.
“I won’t leave you, my brave wolf,” she promised. “Not now. Not ever.”
Feeling as though she’d been run over by a team of horses, Kylene settled into a tub of hot water, sighing as the enervating warmth eased the tension from her taut muscles.
Hardane was sleeping peacefully, thanks to his utter weariness and the amount of ale he’d consumed.
It had been horrible, sitting at his side while the doctor stitched the raw, angry edges of the wound together. She’d kept her gaze fixed on Hardane’s face, trying not to imagine the needle piercing his flesh. Hardane had endured the sewing as he had endured everything else, in tight-lipped silence.
He was here, he was safe, but their troubles were far from over.
She thought of Lord Kray and Sharilyn, of Selene, of Bourke and the Interrogator. Of the children growing beneath her heart.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Somehow, they had to rescue Lord Kray and Sharilyn. But how?
Unable to think clearly, she stepped from the tub and dried herself off. Slipping into one of Hardane’s shirts, she sat in the captain’s chair beside the bunk and closed her eyes.
Hardane was here, and he was safe. For now, that was all that mattered.
Chapter 39
Renick and Bourke stood in the doorway, watching as Bourke’s physician treated the wound in Sharilyn’s abdomen.
“Will she live?” Renick asked curtly.
“Aye.”
“And the other one?” Renick asked.
The physician shrugged. “He’s bad off, milord. If he survives the night . . .”
The doctor shrugged again as he contemplated the unconscious man locked in the cell across the narrow corridor.
“I’ve done all I can for the man. The rest is up to him.”
Renick grunted softly. If Kray died, so be it. But the woman had to live. She was the seventh-born child of a seventh-born child. Heir to the secret of mind-bonding and shape shifting, and who knew what other mystical feats. He would mate with her, acquire the bond, and discover for himself how such miraculous deeds were accomplished.
He glanced at Sharilyn thoughtfully. Perhaps he should dispose of Kray. The woman might be more agreeable to mating if her husband was dead. Then again, she might be more manageable if she thought her husband’s life depended on her cooperation.
“Hardane is getting away,” Bourke muttered irritably, “and you stand here doing nothing.”
“Are you questioning my judgment, my lord?”
“Perhaps. And perhaps you’ve forgotten that my throne will not be secure until both Kylene and the heir of Argone are dead. The people are growing weary of war. Many are looking forward to the peace promised by the prophesy.”
“Fear not, my lord. I will yet have Hardane’s head. We have his mother and his father,” Renick said with a sneer. “Hardane is a man of honor. He will feel it is his duty to return for his parents. When he does . . .” He shrugged. “He won’t get away again.”
“What of Selene?”
“What of her?”
“It is her ambition to rule Argone.”
“A woman, rule Argone?” Renick asked in amazement. “Impossible.”
“Not if you were to rule at her side.”
“My lord,” Renick murmured with feigned astonishment. “I’m honored that you would consider such a thing.”
Bourke’s green eyes narrowed. “Are you? Or have you perhaps already thought of doing just that?”
“My lord, you wound me deeply with your lack of trust.”
“I know you well, Renick. You’re an ambitious man. One without scruples or conscience.”
“My lord . . .”
Bourke cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Those qualities have served me well in the past, Renick. See that they don’t overcome your judgment.”
Renick bowed his head in a show of servitude. “You have nothing to fear from me, my lord,” he said humbly.
“But you have much to fear from me, Renick. Remember that.”
Renick murmured an obsequious farewell as Bourke left the dungeon, but inwardly he was seething with barely suppressed fury. Much to fear, indeed! Once he knew the secret of shape shifting, he would be indestructible. He would be able to take on any shape, be it man or beast, and slip past Bourke’s defenses, infiltrate Bourke’s secret chambers.
A slow smile played over his lips. He would be able to take on Bourke’s shape; indeed, he’d be able to take Bourke’s place if he so desired! It was a heady thought.
Bourke was naught but a weak-minded fool. He’d taken his brother’s throne by trickery and then, instead of disposing of Carrick as he should have, he’d banished the man from Mouldour. And now the peasants were crying for peace, and if he wasn’t careful, Bourke would give it to them!
Renick grimaced with disdain. Peace! What profit was there in peace? You couldn’t lay heavy taxes on the people in times of peace. You couldn’t send your armies to plunder foreign lands, robbing their coffers of gold and silver and precious stones in times of peace. You couldn’t take prisoners and sell them for slaves, or kidnap a beautiful woman who caught your fancy.
Peace! Bah! Tapping his quirt against the palm of his hand, he paced the floor. He’d been ruling Mouldour for months now, planting his ideas in Bourke’s mind, coaxing him to see things his way, gradually winning Bourke’s guards to his way of thinking. Perhaps it was time to rid himself of Bourke once and for all. . . .
A slow smile crept over his features as he contemplated ruling the lands of Mouldour and Argone.
He was still smiling when he left the dungeon.
A low groan, the smell of stale sweat and excrement. Frowning, Sharilyn opened her eyes to darkness. Where was she? A sharp pain rocked her when she tried to move. Instinctively, she reached for the source of the pain, only to find that her hands were strapped at her sides.
And then, in a rush, it all came back to her. They had managed to free Hardane from the dungeon and in so doing, Kray had been killed.
The pain of her loss struck her like a blow and then as quickly disappeared. He wasn’t dead.
“Kray?” She reached out to him, her
tashada
searching for her life-mate, her soulmate. With relief, she realized he was imprisoned in the cell across the corridor.
tashada
searching for her life-mate, her soulmate. With relief, she realized he was imprisoned in the cell across the corridor.
“Sharilyn?”
“I’m here, beloved.”
“Are you well?” he asked, his voice betraying his concern.
“Well enough. And you?”
“I’ll survive,” Kray said grimly, “at least until my sword has tasted the Interrogator’s blood.”
“For that you must wait your turn,” Sharilyn replied.
“Ah, wife, you have the heart of a warrior,” Kray murmured, “and you have my heart as well.”
“As you have mine,” Sharilyn replied fervently. “Do you think Hardane made it to safety?”
“Aye, beloved.”
“Then I shall die content.”
“Will you, wife? Have you no desire to see your grandchildren?”
A pain sharper than the one inflicted by the Interrogator’s blade pierced Sharilyn’s heart. Never to see Hardane’s twins! Ah, that would be a bitter blow. Still, it was a sacrifice she was willing to make, if only Hardane was safe.
Hardane, her seventh-born son, her favorite son because the blood of the Wolffan ran strong in his veins. Hardane, who shared her love of the wild, who danced with her in the light of a midnight moon. The future of Argone depended upon his survival.
“Sharilyn?”
“Aye?”
“He’ll come back. You know that.”
“Aye, beloved. I . . .” She broke off in midsentence as the sound of footsteps sounded in the passageway.
Moments later, the Interrogator was standing in the corridor outside her cell, a torch in his hand.
“Ah,” Renick exclaimed, pleased to see that Sharilyn had regained consciousness.
He glanced over his shoulder, a low grunt of satisfaction rumbling in his throat when he saw Kray staring back at him.
“What is the meaning of this?” Kray demanded, tugging against the chains that bound his hands and feet.
“You break into my stronghold and have the gall to ask why you are imprisoned?” Renick retorted.
“You had my son.”
“Yes. And I will have him again.”
Kray stared at the Interrogator, chilled by the vicious look in the man’s eyes. “Do as you wish with me, only let my wife go free.”
“I think not,” Renick mused. “I have need of her.”
“To what purpose?”
“I wish to know the secret of the Wolffan,” Renick said, his voice hard and implacable. “It is my intention to mate with your woman, to share the mind bond, to learn the art of shape shifting.”
“Mate with you!” Sharilyn exclaimed. “I’d as soon mate with a pig as with a creature such as yourself.”
“Indeed? And would you withhold yourself from me if it meant your husband’s life would be forfeit?”
“What a coward you are, my lord Interrogator, to think to threaten me with my husband’s life.”
“Coward, am I? Think what you will, but you will give me that which I desire, or I will kill your husband an inch at a time, and your son as well.”
“You’re mad,” Kray exclaimed in horror. “Don’t you think if the secrets of the Wolffan could be given to others that Sharilyn would have long ago shared them with me?”
Kray’s words pierced Renick’s anger. What if Kray spoke the truth? And what if he was lying in an attempt to gain his freedom and that of his wife?
“We shall see,” Renick mused. “When the woman’s wounds have healed, we shall see. Sewar!” Renick called, speaking to the guard waiting at the far end of the corridor. “Advise the men we’ll be leaving for Castle Mouldour at first light.”
A cry of impotent rage rose in Kray’s throat as the Interrogator took the torch and stalked out of the dungeon, plunging them into darkness as deep as his despair.
Chapter 40
“Get back into bed!” Kylene glared at Hardane, her hands fisted on her hips. “Right now!” she said, practically shouting the words.
“I’ve been in this blasted bunk over a week. That’s long enough!”
“Hardane of Argone, you are the most stubborn man I’ve ever known.”
“I’m the only man you’ve ever known!” he retorted irritably. “Now give me my breeches so I can get up.”
“No.”
“By all the saints, Kylene, I’ve a mind to turn you over my knee.”
His dark gray eyes really looked like thunderclouds now, she thought.
“Kylene!”
She cocked her head to one side, a smile flitting over her lips. “Are we having our first fight, my lord wolf?”
He grinned back at her. “So it would seem.” He swung his legs over the bunk, biting back an oath as the movement sent long tendrils of pain skittering up and down the length of his thigh. “And I mean to win it.”
“Please, Hardane, just one more day in bed. You need the rest.”
“I can’t, Kylene. I can’t leave my parents in that dungeon another day. Don’t ask it of me.”
She relented immediately, touched by the pleading in his eyes, the urgency in his voice.
“I’m going with you,” she said, handing him his breeches.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Kylene . . .”
“Hardane . . .”
He glared at her as he pulled on his breeches and then, with a sigh of resignation, he drew her into his arms. Ah, but it felt good to hold her close, to inhale the sweet scent that was hers, and hers alone. Her skin was soft and smooth under his hands. As always, her body molded itself to his, two halves of the same whole, the same heart.
Closing his eyes, he buried his face in the wealth of her hair. When he’d been locked in the dungeon of the Fortress, certain he’d never see her again, he had dreamed of holding her like this just one more time. And now she was here, in his arms, and her very nearness made all his senses come alive.
Kylene wrapped her arms around Hardane’s waist and held him tight. No matter what happened, she vowed she would not be parted from him again. Not in life. Not in death.
She drew away as there came a knock at the door, followed by Jared’s voice advising them that the coast of Mouldour was in sight.
Sharilyn blinked several times in an effort to bring her vision into focus. She’d been drugged, she thought absently, a sleeping potion of some kind.
She glanced around the room, and the movement, slight as it was, made her head ache. She was lying on a large, circular bed in a narrow, low-ceilinged room. There were bars at the windows.
Sitting up, she saw that the bed took up a good portion of the floor space in the middle of the room. There was no other furniture save for a small rough-hewn oak table that held a white porcelain bowl and a pitcher of water.
How long had she been here? Days? Weeks?
Slipping her legs over the edge of the mattress, she stood up and went to the door. It was locked, as she’d known it would be. Turning, she crossed the floor to the window. Outside, she saw the high walls and towers of Castle Mouldour.
Her first coherent thought was for Kray. Closing her eyes, she summoned her husband’s image to mind. A low cry of despair welled in her throat when she saw him. He was locked in a dark cell in the lowest dungeons of Mouldour. The wound in his chest, located high, near his right shoulder, was festering. Lying on the cold stone floor, he tossed restlessly, his body racked by chills and fever. She called out to him, willing him to respond, but he seemed unable to hear her.
She whirled around at the sound of her door being unlocked, took an involuntary step backward as the Interrogator entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“So, what do you think?” Renick asked, his hand making a gesture to indicate the room.
“I think you’ll regret this.”
“Indeed?” His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. “I mean to have you as my mate,” he said coldly. “Should you refuse, should you do anything other than what you’re told, your husband’s life will surely be forfeit.”
“He’s nearly dead now,” Sharilyn retorted.
The Interrogator’s eyes gleamed with interest. “How do you know that?”
Sharilyn glared at him.
“You will tell me, or Kray will suffer for it.”
“He’s suffering now!” she exclaimed, and even as she spoke, she could feel the fever raging through Kray’s body, feel the hard, cold floor beneath him. He was only barely conscious.
“I want to know the secret of that bond,” Renick said. “If we mate, will it pass to me?”
“No.”
“You’re lying.”
Sharilyn shook her head. “It’s the truth. The bond cannot be taken by force. I cannot give it to you.”
“Then what is the secret?”
“The bond can only be shared between those who are predestined to be life-mated, my lord,” Sharilyn answered quietly, “or by those who are joined by bonds of love. My mind bond with Kray was forged out of our regard for each other. Had I been forced to wed against my will, no bond would have been possible, even though I have the power.”
Renick frowned. “I don’t believe you, but there are ways to get the truth.”
“No! Leave Kray alone. I’m telling you the truth, I swear it on the lives of my children.”
“Tell me the secret of shape shifting.”
“There is no secret. As Kray said, it cannot be given away. It is inherent in the seventh born of one seventh born.”
Renick stared at the woman, a vile oath whispering past his lips. She was telling him the truth. He knew it without doubt.
Rage and frustration welled up within him. He had spent a lifetime in pursuit of the secrets of the Wolffan, only to learn that he’d been chasing something with no more substance than a rainbow.
Crossing the floor, he snatched the bowl from the table and hurled it against the wall. The pitcher followed, and then the table.
With a wordless cry, he grabbed Sharilyn by the arm and threw her down on the bed, his body covering hers to hold her in place.
“If I can’t have the secret of the Wolffan, then I’ll have you,” he muttered, his hands tearing at her clothes.
Sharilyn screamed as the Interrogator’s hands clawed at her bodice. She scratched at his face, pummeled his body with her fists, and when her puny efforts to protect herself failed, she transformed into the wolf and bared her teeth.
Renick cursed his lack of foresight as he found himself straddling a wild-eyed she-wolf. Instinctively, he threw up one arm to ward off the wolf’s attack, screamed with pain and terror as he felt the wolf’s fangs sink into his shoulder.
Scrambling to his knees, he jumped off the bed and ran for the door, the sound of the wolf’s growls and snapping teeth spurring him onward.
The wolf’s jaws closed around his ankle as he opened the door. Panic added strength to his limbs and he lashed out at the animal with his free foot, catching the beast in the side and flinging it across the floor.
With a gasp, Renick ran out of the room, slammed the door behind him, and twisted the key in the lock.
Panting, he slumped against the wall. By all the saints, he thought, staring at the bloody gashes in his arm and ankle, he was lucky to be alive.
Hardane led the way toward the Fortress, grateful for the clouds that hung low in the sky. Kylene was behind him, followed by Jared and three of the crewmen from the
Sea Dragon.
Sea Dragon.
Silent as drifting shadows, they made their way to the outer wall. Jared and the crewmen overpowered the guards at the gate. One of Hardane’s men stayed behind to make sure the guards didn’t alert anyone to their presence.
Crossing the courtyard, they made their way to the dungeon. Hardane drew his sword as they reached the entrance to the dungeon, but there were no guards stationed at the doorway.
Frowning, he glanced back over his shoulder to make sure Kylene and the others were behind him, and then he started down the long stone stairway that led to the nethermost cells.
Each step he took sent a jolt of pain shooting up his right thigh. Perhaps Kylene had been right, he admitted grudgingly; perhaps he should have waited another day. But even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he couldn’t have waited any longer. He knew what it was like to be imprisoned in the bowels of the Fortress, knew he couldn’t leave his parents there a minute longer than necessary.
He paused at the bottom of the steps. Head cocked to one side, he listened to the darkness, his nostrils testing the air, before he started forward.
He knew, even before he reached the first cell, that his parents were gone, the dungeon was empty.
“What is it?” Jared called.
“They’re gone.”
“Gone?” Kylene said. “Gone where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think he . . . that they’re . . .” She broke off, not wanting to say the words aloud.
“I don’t know.”
“Now what?” Jared asked.
“Castle Mouldour,” Hardane mused aloud. “Renick must have known I’d come as soon as I was able. I think he would have taken them there.”
“But why?”
“It’s practically impregnable,” Hardane replied, his voice thoughtful. “But one man might be able to steal inside.”
“One man?” Jared mused, frowning. “Do you think that’s wise?”
“I don’t know, but I won’t put Kylene’s life at risk again. Come,” he said, taking her by the arm, “let us go back to the ship.”
He was limping badly by the time they returned to the
Sea Dragon.
Sea Dragon.
Kylene insisted that Hardane go to bed at once, and he didn’t argue. He dutifully drank the warmed white wine she offered him and then he sank back against the pillows, his eyes closed, while she removed his shirt, boots, and breeches.
He sighed with pleasure as she began to massage his thigh. Her hands were warm, her touch as light as down as she gently rubbed the soreness from his leg.
Kylene felt her heart swell with love as she massaged Hardane’s thigh. What a brave man he was, her warrior wolf.
Thinking him asleep, she started to draw away, but his hand closed lightly over her arm.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured.
With a wordless murmur of assent, Kylene began to massage his other leg, her fingers straying of their own accord higher and higher along the inside of his thigh.
She felt a quickening low in her belly as he moaned with pleasure. Boldly, she let her fingers knead the hard muscular plane of his chest and belly, the width of his shoulders, pleased by the little sounds of delight her touch elicited.
She let her hands slide over his strong, sturdy neck, and then over his shoulders again, marveling at his hard-muscled flesh. His skin was smooth and warm.
Impulsively, she began to press feather-light kisses to his neck, his shoulder, his navel.
With a groan, he caught her around the waist and pulled her onto the bed until she was sprawled across him.
“Lady,” he murmured, and his voice was low and husky with desire.
“My lord?”
He cupped the back of her head with one hand and drew her toward him. Eyes still closed, he kissed her, a long, slow kiss that gradually grew in heat and intensity until she was clinging to him, everything forgotten but the power of his touch, and her need for him.
Without taking his mouth from hers, he somehow managed to ease her out of her dress and undergarments. When she would have pulled away to remove her boots and stockings, he shook his head, unwilling to let her go for even a moment.
He caressed her, his hands gentle, entreating. As if she would refuse him, she thought, overcome with a rush of love for this man who had risked his life for her, who knew her, and loved her, body and soul.
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