Read Beneath a Midnight Moon Online
Authors: Amanda Ashley
Beneath a Midnight Moon (4 page)
Chapter 8
He had never feared anything in his life, but now, as the shores of the Isle of Klannaad came into view, the Lord High Executioner felt a shiver of apprehension. Klannaad, the Isle of Living Death. Traitors were sent here to die. Outcasts. Those who were in disfavor with the Lord of Mouldour, or with the Interrogator.
It was a bleak land, gray and barren. There was no water on the island save for that brought by ship each month. The men lived on the victuals that were brought with the water ration, and what they could catch in the sea. Those who were lucky were allowed to roam free; others were confined in the bowels of the prison, never again to see the sun.
The Executioner wondered how long he would survive in such a desolate place. He was accustomed to rich foods and fine ale, to comfortable quarters and garments custom-made to fit his oddly shaped form. Though his occupation was viewed with loathing, he had still been respected, for he was good at what he did, and his loyalty to Mouldour was above question or reproach. It was unfair that he had been banished from service to the royal house for one mistake.
Looking back, he tried to remember what had happened that fateful day, how he had been taken unawares. He hadn’t seen anyone else in the dungeons . . . ah, but he had. And yet, the man had been dressed as a guard and so he had paid him no mind. Only now did he realize that it must have been the shape shifter, Hardane.
“Damn you,” the Executioner murmured as he watched the ship catch the tide. “Damn you, Hardane. You’ll rue the day you crossed my path.”
He stood there for a time, watching the ship grow smaller and smaller, and then he smiled. It was Hardane who had caused his banishment; it would be his hatred for Hardane, his need for revenge against the Lord of Argone, that would give him a reason to survive on this accursed island.
Chapter 9
She stood on the shore beside a quiet pool, her eyes drinking in the beauty of the crystal clear water. Hardane stood beside her, his hand reaching for hers. She smiled as she followed him into the depths of the pool, shivering a little as the cool water closed over her.
But she wasn’t afraid, not even when the water rose over her knees, her hips, her waist. She was never afraid when he was beside her.
“Trust me, lady,” he said, and lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the depths of the water and taught her to swim.
It was wonderful, being in his arms, floating beside him, seeing the approval in his dove-colored eyes.
They swam for hours, going deeper and deeper into the pool. And she was never afraid, because he was there beside her. . . .
A ray of sunlight tickled Kylene’s eyelids. Reluctant to awake from such a beautiful dream, she snuggled deeper into the blanket. Her eyelids flew open when the bed beneath her moved.
Only then did she realize she wasn’t in bed at all, but in Hardane’s arms.
Only then did she realize she had spent the night on his lap, wrapped in his embrace.
How handsome he was! His lashes rested like black fans on his tanned cheeks. His nose was wide and straight, his lips full and well formed, tempting her touch.
Unable to help herself, she lifted her hand, one fingertip extended, reaching to trace the curve of his mouth. . . .
She quickly withdrew her hand when she realized he was no longer asleep.
He stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Good morrow, lady,” he said, his voice raspy.
“Good morrow,” she replied, embarrassed to have been caught staring at him while he slept. She felt her cheeks grow warm under his knowing gaze.
“Did you rest well?”
She nodded. With each passing moment, she grew more and more aware of the intimacy of their position. But when she started to rise, his arms tightened around her, holding her in place.
“Let me up, please.”
“Are you not comfortable here?” he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement.
Too comfortable, she thought irritably. “I . . . please, my lord.”
He knew he should let her go, but he continued to hold her, liking the weight of her in his lap. Her scent, warm and womanly, filled his nostrils. Mesmerized by her nearness, her beauty, he traced the soft curve of her cheek, ran the back of his hand down the slender column of her neck.
His body reacted immediately, filling with warmth, pulsing with need.
Abruptly, he stood her on her feet and headed for the door. “I’ll have one of the men bring you something to eat,” he said, not looking at her. “And water for a bath,” he added, and then he was gone.
On deck, Hardane endured the speculative looks of his crew, but only Jared had the nerve to approach him.
“I trust you slept well, my lord,” he inquired cordially.
Hardane glared at the man who had been his friend for more than twenty years. “Well enough.”
Jared grinned at Hardane. They had grown up together, always conscious of the fact that Hardane would one day be the ruler of Argone, yet it had never hindered their friendship. Jared readily accepted the fact that one day Hardane would be his liege, but it never stopped him from speaking his mind, nor did he ever forget to give Hardane the respect that was his due. Respect that had been earned on the field of battle where they had fought side by side.
“She’s a comely wench,” Jared remarked.
Hardane scowled at his friend. Jared was a handsome young man, tall and lanky, with dark brown hair and eyes that always carried a hint of laughter. Women had always flocked to Jared, fawning over him, eager to share his bed. And, gentleman that he was, Jared always obliged them, effortlessly seducing them, the married and the unmarried alike.
Jared’s easy conquest of anything in skirts was one topic that wasn’t often discussed, the one subject where Jared tread softly, always careful in his choice of words. The fact that Hardane had never had a woman was something they rarely discussed, except obliquely. And yet, on occasion, Jared could not help but give in to a little lighthearted teasing.
“Was the bunk a tight fit?” Jared asked, his voice deceptively innocent.
“What?”
“Surely you did not make the wench sleep on the floor.”
“Of course not.”
A smile tugged at the edges of Jared’s mouth. “We will be long at sea,” he mused. “You are indeed fortunate to have such a delectable creature to cuddle with.”
Hardane made a sound of disgust low in his throat. “Don’t you have something better to do than worry about how I spent the night?”
“Aye, my lord,” Jared replied with a grin. Turning on his heel, he sauntered across the deck, whistling softly.
For Hardane, the hours seemed to pass with unusual slowness. Usually, he enjoyed being aboard ship, exulting in the power of the waves beneath him. The sea air was invigorating and he loved nothing more than running into the wind, or facing the challenge of a gale, pitting his wits against the elements.
But now he could think of little but the woman who occupied his cabin. Time and again he made excuses to go below decks—he needed a drink, a compass, his charts. Each time, he lingered longer than necessary in his quarters. Each time, he was struck anew by Kylene’s beauty.
She was still seasick, though not as bad as the day before. He sent her broth laced with ginger, and warm watered wine. And each time he saw her lying in his bunk, his body reacted in the same way. It was ridiculous, he thought. She was fully clothed, indifferent to his presence as she tried to conquer her aversion to the sea, yet his loins swelled with longing and a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered that she was his prize, that he could take her at any time.
It was on his fourth trip to his cabin that he found her on her knees, her head bent over a bucket as she vomited her supper.
She glanced up, her pale cheeks stained with embarrassment, when she saw him watching her.
He swore softly as he knelt beside her, one arm going around her shoulders, supporting her as she began to retch again.
When the spasm passed, he helped her to the bed, wiped her mouth, offered her a drink of water.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” she mumbled.
“You’re no trouble, lady.”
Her gaze slid away from his, only to return, her eyes drawn to his face like a fox to its hole. A faint flush warmed her cheeks. There was an odd feeling in her chest, like butterflies dancing.
She was acutely conscious of his hand supporting her back. His scent filled her nostrils, the combined odor of man and sea making her senses reel. He was near, so near.
She pushed the cup away, knowing she could never swallow past the lump in her throat.
Gently, he took her into his arms and carried her to the window seat in the stern.
“Here,” he said, opening the jade green curtains, “keep your eyes fixed on the horizon.”
“Why?”
Hardane shrugged. “Sometimes it helps when nothing else will.”
She didn’t think anything would help, but then common sense won out. He was a sea captain, after all. Surely he knew about such things.
Sitting in his lap, with his arm around her waist, Kylene gazed out the window. The water was calm, restful. Hardane’s fingertips were gentle as they massaged her brow, his touch both soothing and arousing, making her long for a way of life that was forbidden to a member of the Sisterhood. Making her yearn for a man’s love, for a home of her own, children.
“Rest, lady,” he urged.
His voice was as deep as the sea, as soothing as warmed wine. She felt a sense of peace as she gazed out the window, at the blue-green of the sea and the deeper blue of the sky.
Her eyelids fluttered down as she gave herself up to his touch. The rocking of the ship and the gentle murmur of his voice lulled her to sleep, to dream of a vine-covered cottage, and a tall, dark-skinned man with hair like liquid ebony and eyes as gray as the stones that flanked the chapel at Mouldour.
Hardane paced the windward side of the quarterdeck, confident no one would dare invade what was traditionally the captain’s private domain. His eyes were gritty with the need for sleep, his body tense from wanting what he could not have. He knew every man on board was wondering if he had finally broken his lifelong vow of celibacy and bedded the wench . . . bedded Kylene.
How easily her name came to his lips, how readily his mind conjured her image.
The mere thought of her, of bedding her, was enough to bring a fine moisture of sweat to his brow and make his body throb with desire. He paused at the rail, staring blankly at the sea, his hands clenched so tightly they ached. He had promised his mother he would abide by the ancient law of the clan, that he would remain celibate until he took a life-mate. It was for the good of the people, she had assured him when he looked doubtful, and for his own good as well. He would expect his bride to be nothing less than a virgin; should his future wife have any reason to expect less?
Hardane groaned softly. What if Carrick’s seventh daughter did not stir his blood? What if Selene’s eyes were not as warm and brown as the sun-kissed earth of Argone? What if her hair didn’t shimmer like a flame in the moonlight?
What if he’d waited so long to possess a woman that his body wouldn’t function at all?
Chapter 10
Kylene knelt beside the hard wooden bunk, her head bowed, her hands clasped, her eyes closed in prayer. But try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on the words of the Morning Prayer that she had recited at every dawn since she had taken her first vows in the Motherhouse. Instead, Hardane’s dark visage danced before her, his deep gray eyes mocking her attempt to pray.
How could she devote her life in service to others if she could not banish one man’s image from her mind? How could she take her final vows of obedience and chastity when some wayward part of her, some wicked little corner of her mind, wanted only to feel Hardane’s hands in her hair, to know the taste of his lips?
Had such sinful thoughts always been there, lurking deep in the dark corridors of her mind? And how did she banish them once and for all?
She pounded her fist on the floor, willing his image to depart and leave her in peace, but to no avail. She had no sooner managed to utter the first few words of the prayer when there was a knock at the door and she heard his familiar voice calling her name, telling her the morning meal was ready.
With a sigh, Kylene rose to her feet and opened the door. As always, she was astonished anew at how handsome he was, how tall, how broad. Shirtless, his legs encased in tight breeches, his feet shod in soft leather boots that hugged his calves, he exuded strength and power and sheer, overwhelming masculinity. For one whose only contact with the male of the species had been a gray-haired Confessor of the Sisterhood, Hardane of Argone was indeed a sight to take a woman’s breath away, to make her sinfully, painfully, happily aware of the vast difference between men and women.
“My lord,” she said, hardly able to speak the words, so intent was her gaze upon the vast expanse of his dark-furred chest and muscular shoulders.
“Are you ready to break your fast, lady?”
Kylene nodded, little tremors of pleasure skittering up her arm as he took her hand in his and led the way to the galley.
During their first few days at sea, she had eaten in Hardane’s cabin. But now that she’d gotten her sea legs, they took first meal in the galley each morning, just the two of them, though sometimes Hardane’s friend Jared joined them. Being seated between two such virile men, listening to their easy camaraderie, was almost more than she could endure. Strict silence had been observed at all meals she had shared with the Sisterhood. Idle conversation was to be avoided, just as one abstained from laughter and gluttony, greed and strong drink.
Today, they dined alone, just the two of them.
Kylene kept her gaze upon her plate, acutely aware of the man who sat across from her. She could feel him watching her, waiting for . . . for what, she didn’t know. His scrutiny, indeed, his very nearness, made her feel clumsy and ill-at-ease.
She uttered a small cry of despair as she reached for the teapot, only to have it fall from her hand. A flood of hot spiced tea spilled into her lap.
Hardane was beside her in an instant, lifting her to her feet, dabbing at the dark stain on her skirt. “Are you hurt, lady?”
“No.”
Like a child drawn to a promised reward, her gaze lifted to meet his. She felt a sudden warmth, a sweetness, as she saw the concern reflected in the depths of his clear gray eyes.
For a timeless moment, she let herself bask in the warmth of his gaze. Pleasure unfolded within her, uncurling like the bud of a flower opening to the light of the sun. Never had anyone looked upon her with such caring, such concern.
She had no memory of a mother’s love, no recollection of a father’s devotion. Always, she had been alone. Even in the abbey that housed the Sisterhood, she had been aware of a gulf between herself and the others. They had seen to her needs, provided her with nourishment and shelter, protected her from the outside world, but no one, man or woman, had ever looked at her as Hardane was looking at her now.
Lifting her onto a dry corner of the table, Hardane pushed Kylene’s skirt and petticoat out of the way, exposing long, slender legs. She wore no stockings, only calf-high leggings made of heavy black cotton.
Alarmed that he would dare to take such a liberty, Kylene batted his hands away. “What are you doing?”
“Checking to make sure you’re not burned.”
“I can do it.”
He nodded in agreement, but instead of moving out of the way, he bent to his task once again.
Hot color flooded Kylene’s cheeks as he gently examined her right thigh. She gasped as the touch of his callused fingertips ignited their own brand of fire.
Hardane drew back, his brows rushing together in a frown. Her heavy skirt and thick petticoat seemed to have protected her delicate flesh from harm. No redness marred the ivory perfection of her skin, yet she shuddered at his touch.
“Are you in pain?” he asked.
“No,” Kylene answered, and quickly drew her petticoat and skirt down over her exposed thigh.
Hardane swore under his breath, suddenly aware of the tension that hummed between them. He had never seen a woman’s bare legs before, never realized what an impact it would have on his senses.
Kylene flushed under his probing gaze. It was hard to breathe, impossible to think, when he looked at her like that. The touch of his hand made her thigh throb with a fire that had nothing to do with scalding tea. Her heart was beating wildly.
Hardane took an abrupt step backward, then turned away from Kylene lest she see the effect her nearness had on him. By Romar’s Beard, but he was tempted to throw away all restraint, lay her down on the table, and bury himself in her sweetness. Only the oath he’d made to his mother, and the knowledge that Kylene would never forgive him, kept him from surrendering to the lust that was roaring through him with all the ferocity of a maddened beast. For the first time in his life, he realized what a powerful force desire could be. Little wonder that men left thrones and countries for the love of a woman, that they turned their backs on wealth and power. At the moment, he would gladly give all he had, all he would ever have, to take Kylene in his arms and unlock the eternally sweet mysteries of womanhood.
“Finish your meal,” Hardane said curtly, and stormed out of the room before the tiger rampaging in his blood made him do something he would forever regret.
Jared glanced up, his expression mirroring his surprise, when he saw Hardane striding toward him. It had been Hardane’s habit to spend the morning hours with the wench. In the two weeks they’d been at sea, the heir of Argone had rarely made an appearance on deck before midmorning.
“What is it?” Hardane snapped, annoyed by Jared’s probing gaze.
“Nothing, my lord,” Jared replied. “How soon will we reach home?”
“In another week, if the weather holds.” Hardane grunted softly, irritably. Another week of sleepless nights and tormented days.
He stared at the sea, thinking how pleasant it would be to dive overboard and cool his heated flesh in the chill water, to let himself sink into the sea’s all-encompassing embrace and drown his problems once and for all.
“What’s wrong?” Jared asked. “Did you have an argument with the lady?”
“No.”
Jared cocked his head to one side, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. “You want her, don’t you?”
“Of course not.”
Jared snorted. “Don’t lie to me, my friend. I’ve known you too long. She’s a comely wench, and you’re long overdue to sample a maiden’s wares.”
Hardane swore a vile oath. Was his need for the woman so obvious that everyone saw it?
Jared laid a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Perhaps it’s time to . . . to . . .” He cleared his throat. “There are many beautiful women in the House of Karos. All would be willing to, uh, initiate you.”
“No.”
“It’s her you want? Kylene?”
Hardane nodded, his gaze still on the sea. “Even if I could bring myself to break my oath, she’s a maiden. I couldn’t . . .”
“I’d be glad to break her in for you.”
Jared had spoken the words in jest, hoping to brighten Hardane’s bleak mood. Too late, he realized he had made a serious error. With a roar, Hardane’s hand closed around his throat, choking off his breath.
“You will not touch her,” Hardane warned in a voice as hard and implacable as iron. “I will geld any man who dares lay a hand on her. Do you understand?”
Jared nodded, knowing, in that moment, that he was as close to death as he’d ever been.
He gasped with relief when Hardane released him. For a moment, he rubbed his neck, his expression thoughtful.
“I meant no disrespect,” he said, his tone filled with the formality and deference due Hardane’s position.
“I know,” Hardane muttered, refusing to meet his friend’s eyes. “Forgive me.”
“I think it’s more than mere lust that troubles you,” Jared mused.
Hardane ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you understand? I can’t allow myself to feel anything for her!” he exclaimed bitterly. “I am betrothed to another. I have given my pledge to marry Carrick’s seventh daughter. I have made a sacred oath to my mother that I will live like a eunuch until the day I wed.”
Jared dragged a hand across his jaw. Unlike Hardane, he had been born to poverty. His early years had been spent begging in the streets. As he grew older, his pride rebelled at begging and he turned to stealing, finding it more satisfying, less humiliating. He’d been almost sixteen when he had tried to lift Hardane’s purse. To his eternal gratitude, the heir of Argone had not had him arrested but had instead taken Jared into the castle, accepting his word that he would steal no more. From that day onward, Jared had sworn allegiance to Hardane. Jared had never really understood why Hardane had spared his life. When asked, Hardane had only shrugged. Later, Hardane had confessed that, though he had six older brothers and a younger sister, he felt the need for a confidant closer to his own age.
Jared crossed his arms over the rail. “So,” he asked after a while, “what’s your next move?”
Hardane shrugged. “The Isle of Klannaad.”
“To rescue your father?”
“Aye.”
“No easy task, that,” Jared mused. “The dungeon is well fortified, the prisoners as dangerous as the guards.”
Hardane nodded. “Aye, and then I must return to Mouldour to find my betrothed.” He spoke without enthusiasm.
“And what of Kylene?”
“I have promised to give her sanctuary on Argone, or to return her to Mouldour. The choice is hers.”
Standing there, staring into the sea’s blue depths, Hardane wondered which would be worse, having her leave, never to see her again, or having her stay, her nearness tormenting him like the fiery darts of Gehenna.
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