Beneath a Midnight Moon (27 page)

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Authors: Amanda Ashley

BOOK: Beneath a Midnight Moon
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Right! Kylene had stamped her foot, too angry for words. What difference did it make if avenging Lord Kray was the right thing to do if it cost Hardane his life?
She had sought out Dubrey, certain he would take her side, certain that he could make Hardane understand how she felt, that Dubrey would speak to Hardane and make him see things her way.
But Dubrey had agreed with Carrick. And so had Hardane’s other brothers. Every one of them.
Most shocking of all was the fact that Sharilyn also thought Hardane was in the right. And that bewildered Kylene. How could Hardane’s mother even think of letting Hardane go off to Mouldour to avenge Kray’s death? Sharilyn had just lost her husband. Did the possibility of losing a son mean nothing? Did the Wolffan put vengeance above everything else?
Now, sitting in the window seat of her chamber, Kylene rubbed her temples in an effort to ease the throbbing in her head. She was lonely and unhappy. She wanted to be in Hardane’s arms, to feel his strength, to bask in his love, but she couldn’t bring herself to go to him. And he wouldn’t come to her. Not after the way she’d behaved the night of the funeral.
Night after night, she’d gone to her lonely bed only to lie awake, staring into the darkness, wondering how she could miss him so much when he’d lied to her. Knowing he had no intention of keeping his word, he’d promised he wouldn’t seek revenge, and then he’d broken his pledge and vowed to avenge his father’s death.
Hadn’t he? She tried to remember what he’d said when she’d begged him not to go after Renick. Slowly, the words he’d spoken came back to her.
Lady,
he’d said,
you don’t know what you ask.
He’d never promised her anything, she realized. She’d only heard what she wanted to hear. The realization had filled her with a deep sense of shame and an ever-growing need to apologize.
Knowing he could read her thoughts, she had silently begged him to come to her. Each time she heard his footsteps in the adjoining chamber, she had hoped he would open the connecting door, that he would sweep her into his arms and beg her forgiveness, that he would forget his blood vow and put aside his need for vengeance.
And night after night, the door between his bedchamber and hers remained closed.
And her arms remained empty.
One night she had tried to walk in his thoughts, but his mind had been closed to her, as solid as the door that shut her from his presence.
With a sigh, Kylene wrapped her arms around her belly, now burgeoning with new life. Closing her eyes, she let the tears fall, weeping with regret for the harsh words she had spoken in haste and in anger, crying because she was lonely and unhappy, because she couldn’t bring herself to swallow her foolish pride and beg his forgiveness, because she wanted him to come to her.
The tears fell harder, faster, as she imagined the days and weeks slipping by while the abyss between her and Hardane grew ever wider, ever deeper, until bridging it became impossible.
Perhaps it was already impossible.
The hours slipped by. The moon rose in the sky, shedding her bright white light on the gardens below, inviting Kylene to come outside and wander in the moon-dappled night.
Rising from the window seat, she made her way down the staircase and out into the darkness. The fragrant scent of winter roses filled the air, reminding her of the hundreds of white velvet petals that had covered their bed on the night of their wedding.
“Hardane, forgive me,” she murmured as she plucked a white rose and breathed in its sweetness. “Please forgive me.”
Lady, come to me.
His voice, low and resonant, whispered like a nearly forgotten melody in the quiet corridors of her mind.
Lady . . .
The flower fell, unnoticed, from her hand as she turned to follow the siren call of his voice, her pulse racing with hope and trepidation.
She found him in the heart of the maze, standing beside the small stone bench beneath the ancient willow tree.
Her heart gave a little leap of joy at seeing him. He was so tall, so incredibly handsome. The moonlight played in his hair, that long black hair that she so loved to touch. He wore a forest green shirt that complemented the color of his hair and skin. Fawn-colored breeches clung to his legs, outlining his muscular thighs. Knee-high kidskin boots covered his feet and hugged his calves. Never had he looked more masculine. More unapproachable.
Her gaze was drawn to his face. To eyes that were deep and dark and gray. Eyes that had once held secrets she longed to know. Eyes that had once viewed her with warmth and affection. Now, they regarded her without expression, and that was more frightening than anything else.
The silence stretched between them. Kylene plucked at the folds of her skirt, conscious of the gentle bubbling of the crystal geyser, of the sweet scent of the marsh flowers that grew in rich profusion around the edge of the maze. Tall green and gold ferns swayed to the music of the breeze.
He continued to watch her, his arms folded across his chest, his dark gray eyes unfathomable. Was he waiting for her to break the silence?
“You summoned me, my lord?” she said at last.
“Aye, lady.”
“I’m here.”
He nodded, his gaze sweeping over her from head to heel, missing nothing. “Are you well?” he asked gruffly.
“Well enough.”
Hardane ran a hand through his hair, then released a heavy sigh. “I’ve missed you, Kylene.”
“Have you, my lord?” she asked tremulously.
“Aye, lady,” he replied quietly. “More than you’ll ever know.”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“Why didn’t you come to me?”
“I was afraid you’d send me away . . .”
“Kylene . . .”
“You shut me out of your thoughts.” She made no effort to conceal her pain, or to stem the tears that welled in her eyes. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore. I wanted to go to you, but my pride . . . I was too proud, too afraid . . .”
Too afraid he’d reject her.
“Lady . . .”
The word was laced with sorrow and self-reproach. Each tear she shed was like a knife in his heart. On the night of their wedding, he’d made a solemn promise that he would never cause her pain, and now, only a few months later, he had broken that vow. He could see the anguish in her eyes, hear it in her voice, read it in her thoughts.
His throat grew thick with unshed tears as he held out his arms.
“Forgive me, Kylene,” he murmured. “Please forgive me. I never meant to hurt you.”
Feeling as though a crushing burden had been lifted from her heart, she crossed the short distance between them, and when his arms folded around her, it was like walking out of darkness into the light.
She wept then, copious tears that washed away all the hurt of the past.
“Forgive me?” he asked again.
“Aye, my lord wolf, if you’ll forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, Kylene. You were right to be angry with me.”
“Then you won’t . . .” She bit back the words, afraid to make him angry by mentioning the Interrogator.
A muscle worked in Hardane’s jaw. How could he let his father’s death go unavenged? Truly, she didn’t know what she asked. And yet . . . how could he leave her? He let his mind walk in hers, reading the deep-seated fear that she had not acknowledged. She was afraid he would leave her, as her father had left her. Afraid of being alone and unloved.
He gazed into her eyes, seeing the love, the fragile hope. Was she really asking so much?
Hardane drew her up against him, taking pleasure in her nearness, her warmth. His hand slid between them, resting on the warm swell of her stomach. And there, beneath his callused palm, he felt the life stirring within her.
His sons. He had no right to do anything that might deprive his sons of a father’s love and protection. No right to put his need for vengeance above the needs of his bride.
“I won’t go after Renick,” he said quietly.
It was the hardest decision he’d ever made.
Kylene gazed into his eyes, her expression solemn. “But what of your vow?”
“The vows I made to you in the Temple of Fire on the night we wed are more binding, Kylene. My place is here, with you. I’ll not leave you to bear our sons alone while I seek vengeance against Renick. I swear it to you on the lives of our unborn children, and on my love for you.”
Humbled by his words, by the depth and strength of his love, she buried her face against his chest so that he couldn’t see her tears. She had cursed him and wrongfully accused him of lying to her, refused him his place in her bed, and he had begged her forgiveness.
“I’m sorry, Hardane,” she sobbed, “so sorry.”
“Don’t weep, lady,” he murmured. “Please don’t weep.”
Feeling helpless, he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the maze toward the keep, and all the while he whispered that he loved her, would always love her, that nothing had changed between them.
Up the winding staircase, through the long narrow corridors, to his bedchamber, he carried her, absorbing her nearness, welcoming the weight of her in his arms.
His room was dark, but he moved unerringly toward his bed. Lowering her gently to the mattress, he stretched out beside her and drew her into his arms.
“Promise me,” he said urgently, “promise me we’ll never again sleep apart.”
“I promise.”
“Tomorrow I want you to move your things in here. We can use the other room as a nursery, if you like, but I don’t want you to have a room of your own anymore.”
“Whatever you wish, my lord wolf.”
“Tell me you love me.”
She stroked his hair, his cheek, traced the line of his jaw. “I love you.”
“Kylene . . .”
Whispering her name, he covered her mouth with his, drinking in her sweetness, savoring the taste of her on his lips, his tongue.
Kylene ran her fingers through his hair, loving the way it felt in her hands. She reveled in his easy strength, in the power that flexed and relaxed at the mere touch of her hand. His arms and legs were long and corded with muscle; his belly was hard and flat.
Their clothing fell away and she let her hands explore every inch of his hard-muscled body, reacquainting herself with the width of his shoulders, the contours of his broad back, the springy black hair on his chest.
She murmured his name as she pressed kisses to his lips, his brow, his fine straight nose, his strong square chin. And when she was on fire for him, quivering with need and desire, she wrapped her legs around his waist and guided him home.
Chapter 45
Gradually, life at the castle returned to normal. Hardane’s brothers and sister took their leave one by one, returning to their own lands. Morissa promised to send word as soon as her child was born.
In the days that followed, Kylene noticed that her father and Sharilyn were spending more and more time in each other’s company.
She often saw them strolling through the gardens, walking side by side, so close that Sharilyn’s skirts brushed against Carrick’s legs, though they never touched hands. On rainy days they could usually be found sitting in one of the small anterooms, companionably quiet as they watched the wind and the rain.
When she remarked on it to Hardane, he simply shrugged. They were of a similar age, he remarked. Carrick was in a strange land. Sharilyn was in need of solace. It seemed logical that they would seek each other out.
As time went on, the despair and sadness that had been etched on Sharilyn’s features lessened. She began to smile again. She listened to Kylene’s ideas for turning the bedroom adjoining Hardane’s into a nursery, and began to spend her evenings sewing things, not only for Morissa’s baby, which was due any day, but for Kylene’s twin sons as well.
A fortnight after the funeral, a messenger arrived to announce that Morissa had been delivered of a healthy baby girl. Sharilyn left Castle Argone the next morning, and Carrick went with her.
For the first time, Kylene found herself in charge of the keep. It fell to her to decide what would be served at meals, to settle a dispute between the scullery maid and the cook, to determine if new rushes should be laid in the Great Hall.
It was a new experience, being the mistress of a castle. All her life, she had been accustomed to taking orders, not giving them.
Sharilyn had been away only a few days when another messenger arrived at the keep. Though the hour was late, he insisted on seeing Hardane.
Kylene sat up in bed, yawning as she watched Hardane pull on his breeches.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, ruffling her hair. “I won’t be long.”
With a nod, she snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. These days, she needed little encouragement to sleep. It seemed she was tired all the time. And when she wasn’t sleeping, she was eating everything in sight.
With a wry grin, she spread her hands over her belly. She was as big as a horse, she thought, but Hardane didn’t seem to mind. He still looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Often, in the evening, he spread his large hands over her swollen belly, smiling with delight as the life within her moved under his fingertips. Sometimes they walked in the gardens, spinning dreams of the future.
She was almost asleep when she heard the door open. Scooting over to Hardane’s side of the bed, she waited for him to join her.
She frowned when he didn’t come right to bed. Sitting up, she saw him standing at the window staring down into the garden below.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Bourke’s dead.”
“Dead? How? When?”
“I’m not sure. It took the messenger over a fortnight to get here with word of his death.”
Kylene stared at Hardane’s profile, her mind whirling at the implications of what he’d said.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Hardane remarked. “Renick has married Selene, and she’s claimed the throne.”
Slipping out of bed, Kylene crossed the floor to stand behind Hardane, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“What will happen now?”
“I don’t know. It seems the people of Mouldour have accepted Renick as Lord High Sovereign and acknowledged Selene’s right to the throne through your father’s bloodline.”
“This means war, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” Hardane said with a shrug. “And perhaps Renick will be content with Mouldour.”
“But you don’t think he’ll be satisfied to rule Mouldour for long, do you? You think he’ll want the throne of Argone as well?”
Hardane nodded. Mouldour was a cold and barren land, and though it was rich in ore and other valuable minerals, it lacked the verdant valleys and wooded hillsides of Argone. Sheep and cattle flourished here. The land was rich and fertile, and there was fresh water in abundance. For years untold, the people of Argone had defended their homeland against invaders. So far, they’d managed to drive their enemies away.
Kylene pressed her cheek against her husband’s back. She could feel his concern, his worry for her, for his people.
Drawing away, she began to rub Hardane’s back, her fingers kneading deep into his taut muscles. War, she thought bleakly. But surely Hardane would not go to battle. He was the Lord High Ruler of Argone. If he went out to fight, who would stay behind and defend the throne?
“Put your mind at ease, lady,” he murmured. “I won’t leave you unprotected.”
Turning to face her, he drew her into his arms, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.
Kylene wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight as her mind filled with images of bloodshed, of men dying, of women weeping.
“Don’t dwell on it, beloved,” he chided softly. “Tomorrow I’ll send Jared and a handful of men to Mouldour to look around. I’ve already sent runners to my brothers and Eben to warn them to be ready. There’s nothing else to be done until we know what Renick’s intentions are.”
She knew he meant to soothe her, to ease her fears, but she couldn’t help remembering the implacable hatred in the Lord High Interrogator’s eyes when he spoke of Hardane, the look of greed on his face when he spoke of conquering Argone.
“He killed Bourke, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“And he’ll kill you, if he gets the chance.”
“Kylene . . .”
“We’ll never be safe as long as he lives, will we?”
Hardane expelled a deep breath. There was nothing to be gained by lying to her. She’d felt the wrath of the Interrogator; she knew what atrocities he was capable of.
“Let’s not speak of it now,” Hardane said. Swinging her into his arms, he carried her to bed and drew the blankets around her. “Go back to sleep.”
Kylene caught his hand in hers. “Come to bed.”
It was in his mind to refuse. He was too keyed up to rest. He had plans to make, people to consult with. He needed to speak to Kruck, to Jared, to Teliford. He needed to send messages to his brothers, to Morissa, to his mother. The people of Argone needed to be warned so that they could round up their animals, arm their men, fortify their homes. So much to do. And yet, as he gazed into Kylene’s eyes and saw the love and concern reflected there, he knew he could not deny her this one simple request.
Slipping under the covers, he drew her to him and held her close all through the night, and as he drifted to sleep, he prayed that war could be avoided, that he might be able to spend tomorrow night, and every night, lying in Kylene’s arms.

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