Beneath a Midnight Moon

Hardane paced the floor as he waited for Kylene. How could he spend the day with her, be near her, and not touch her? Thoughts of women often filled his meditations. He had admired them, lusted for them, but never before had he been plagued with such soul-wrenching desire as he was now. He had only to look at Kylene to want her. Her image filled his dreams so that he tossed and turned night after night. When the wanting got unbearable, he left the castle, running through the darkness until he was exhausted, but no matter how far he ran, he couldn't outrun his desire.



The sound of footsteps drew his attention, and he glanced up to see Kylene standing at the head of the stairs. She was wearing a dark brown riding habit that would have been drab on any other woman, but the earthy color enhanced the red of Kylene's hair and deepened the color of her eyes.



Kylene smiled tentatively as she started down the stairs, unable to shake the feeling that Sharilyn had maneuvered Hardane into this outing against his will.



"We don't have to go if you'd rather not," she said when she reached the bottom of the staircase. "I know how busy you are."



Hardane shook his head, then held out his hand. "The horses are waiting, lady."



Kylene placed her hand in his, noting how large his was, how dark the skin compared to her own, and then his fingers closed over hers and all thought fled her mind as a soft golden warmth crept up her arm and spread through her, filling her with sunshine.



Her gaze darted to his face. Did he feel it, too, that slow heat that sent shivers along her spine whenever he was near, whenever he touched her? She stared at him in confusion, her nerve endings tingling, her whole body yearning toward that which she did not fully understand.



Hardane sucked in a ragged breath. He looked down at her hand, so small, so delicate, compared to his own. Heat radiated from her touch, pulsing through him to settle in his groin, hot and heavy.



Wordlessly, he led Kylene outside and lifted her onto the back of her horse. She was like a feather in his arms, soft and light.



Swinging aboard his own mount, Hardane headed toward a verdant valley a short distance behind the castle.



Kylene held her horse back a little. She needed some distance between them, a space of time to collect her thoughts, to remind herself of her obligations, her vows to the Sisterhood-especially the vow of chastity.



She tried to concentrate on the beauty of the passing countryside, the lush grass, the flowers that grew in bright profusion on every peak and hill, the trees clothed in every shade of green imaginable-but time and again her gaze was drawn to Hardane-to the incomparable width of his shoulders, the way the morning sun made blue highlights dance in his hair, the way he rode his horse, tall and straight and proud, like the warrior prince he was. His sleeveless jerkin exposed his arms-strong, well-tanned, well-muscled arms. His legs, clad in supple black leather, guided his horse with the ease of long practice.



He was like a hawk, wild and free, master of his own life, his own fate, and she was like a wren, dull brown and ordinary, easy prey for cats and wolves . . . and hawks.



She drew her gaze from his broad back and began to mentally recite the rules of the Sisterhood, but, somehow, she couldn't seem to concentrate on promises of obedience, poverty, chastity, and service to others. They were promises she'd made when she was hardly more than a child, when she didn't fully realize that there was a whole world waiting outside the walls of the Motherhouse, when she didn't fully understand the implications of chastity. She knew now that it meant more than staying chaste. It meant giving up all hope of a husband, a home of her own, children. . . . It meant denying herself the pleasure of a man's arms around her, a pleasure she had never contemplated until she met Hardane of Argone.



Lost in thought, she was hardly aware that he had come to a stop until he reached out and grabbed her horse's bridle, bringing the animal to a halt.



She blinked up at him, felt the full impact of his gaze as his eyes met hers. Those eyes, deep and dark, which were sometimes as gray as thunderclouds and sometimes the soft hue of a dove's wing.



"We're here," he said, and swinging from the saddle, he lifted her from her horse's back and placed her feet on the ground.



For an endless moment, they gazed at each other, a mere breath of space between them.



She saw the sudden heat that flared in his eyes, the fine lines around his eyes, the steady beat of the pulse in his throat. She hadn't seen many men in her life. Those on board the Sea Dragon had been plain, of no consequence. Hardane's friend Jared had been comely enough, but surely no man in all the world was as handsome as the one standing before her.



Hardane felt his body respond to Kylene's perusal. The touch of her golden brown eyes was like the touch of fire, snaking along his nerve endings, igniting the coals of desire until he thought he might burst into flame. It had been sheer folly to agree to bring her here. He was a man grown, a man destined to rule Argone, and yet he had no more knowledge of women than a lad.



The fire in his body raged hotter and hotter, fueled by the faint hint of longing that sparked in Kylene's eyes.



Take her now.



He clenched his fists to keep from doing just that, but he didn't turn away. Fool that he was, he continued to stand close to the flame, tormenting himself like a moth that knows sure destruction awaits but is drawn closer and closer to the fire.



And then he heard his mother's voice whisper in the back of his mind, warning him, reminding him of the promise he had made to her years ago.



Like a splash of cold water, it cooled the flames, though the spark still burned. With an effort, he took a step back, putting distance between them.



"Are you hungry?" he asked.



Kylene released a deep breath, feeling as though she had just been rescued from the edge of a precipice. "Not yet."



"Thirsty, perhaps?"



She nodded, her gaze following him as he removed a flask and two goblets from his saddlebags. He filled one and handed it to her, then filled the second for himself.



Kylene took the goblet, grateful to have something to do with her hands. She sipped the wine slowly, feeling it spread through her, warming her, relaxing her.



"It's pretty here," she remarked, looking around. "Do you come here often?" Do you bring women here often? was what she really wanted to know, but didn't dare ask.



He shrugged. "This was my favorite place when I was a boy. I used to spend hours here, walking through the woods, watching the waterfall yonder, fishing, dreaming."



"Of what did you dream?"



A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Of being a great warrior. Of saving a princess from an evil wizard."



Selene. The name slithered into the back of Kylene's mind. Selene was the princess he was destined to rescue.



"And now your dreams are coming true," she murmured. "Jared told me you are a great warrior. And soon you'll have your princess."



A shadow darkened Hardane's eyes. He had forgotten about Selene.



"No doubt she's very beautiful," Kylene said.



"Perhaps," Hardane remarked, and knew that it wouldn't matter. Beautiful or ugly, he didn't want her. He wanted the girl standing before him, wanted her with such soul-searing desire that he was tempted to turn his back on all that he was, to break the promise he'd made to his mother, just to possess her, if only for a day, an hour.



Kylene stared at him over the rim of her goblet. She could feel his desire reaching out to her, tangible, alive. It should have frightened her; instead, for one brief moment, she welcomed it. He desired her. Perhaps he thought her pretty. It was a heady thought, one that filled her heart and soul with joy, and then guilt overshadowed her joy, reminding her that she had vowed to take her place in the Sisterhood, that pride was a sin, that the yearnings of the flesh were of the most wicked kind, for which she would have to do hours and hours of penance when she returned to the Motherhouse.



A little seed of rebellion, nurtured by distance and watered by desire, suddenly sprouted in the back of her mind, reminding her that she might never return to the Motherhouse, that she might never have the opportunity to take her final vows.



And for the first time, she let herself think of what it might be like to live as other women lived, to love, to marry, to share her life with a man. She tested it, tasted it, and found it sweet. And then, like a bit of meat chewed too long, it lost its flavor and she knew she was only deceiving herself. Hardane was the only man she wanted, the only man she would ever want, and he was betrothed to another, just as she was betrothed to the church.



Saddened, she turned away from him and walked toward the sound of rushing water.



Frowning, Hardane stared after her, wondering at the play of emotions that had flitted across her face. Her hips swayed seductively as she walked. In any other woman, he would have said it was a deliberate ploy to entice him, a feminine art well practiced, but not in Kylene. She was artlessly seductive, completely unaware of her beauty.



Muttering an oath, he followed her down the path that led to the waterfall.



He found her a short time later, sitting on a large boulder that overlooked the river. The sound of the falls was like thunder as the water rushed over the edge of a high rock-faced mountain to crash into the river below.



"It's lovely," Kylene murmured. "So powerful."



Hardane nodded. "It's said that a Wolffan warrior once fell over the edge in the dark of night. He was riding to save his beloved from marrying another man and in his haste, he misjudged his distance from the edge. Unable to stop, he plunged to his death. When his beloved learned of his fate, she donned her wedding gown and rode her horse over the edge and joined him there at the bottom of the falls. You can see them sometimes, sitting together on that rock below."



Kylene stared at the rock he indicated and then gazed up at Hardane. Her mind told her such a thing was impossible, but her heart wanted desperately to believe that the lovers had been reunited.



Hardane smiled down at her, mesmerized by the faint gleam of tears in her eyes, by the way the sunlight shimmered in her hair.



He had a sudden, strong urge to sweep her into his arms. Instead, he used his forefinger to brush a tear from the corner of her eye.



"You needn't weep for them," he said, his voice low and husky. "They're quite happy."



"You've seen them?"



Hardane nodded. "Often, on cold winter evenings when the moon is full and the night is quiet."



"Is it another of your gifts, to be able to see ghosts?"



He shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps it's only because I believe."



He bent toward her, his face filling her gaze, his scent surrounding her. "What do you believe, lady?"



"I . . . what do you mean?"



"Do you believe in the Sisterhood? Do you truly wish to take your final vows, to lock yourself behind cold stone walls, to grow old there, alone and unloved?"



"You have no right to ask me such questions."



"I saved your life," he reminded her quietly. "I have every right."



"I gave my word to abide by their rules. I'll take my final vows when I return."



"If you return."



"When I return," she said firmly, and knew a sudden need to return to the safety of the Motherhouse, to be away from dark, probing eyes and a voice that ensnared her like a silken web, urging her to turn her back on all that she was, all that she had promised to be.



Hardane looked deep into her eyes for a full minute and then, with a muttered oath, he stood up and walked away, away from tantalizing rose pink lips and golden brown eyes that silently begged for his touch even though her words pushed him away.



Kylene watched him go, aware of a sudden emptiness that seemed to creep into every part of her heart and soul. She had to find her way back to Mouldour, she thought desperately; she had to get away from this man who played havoc with her heart. Once she returned to the Motherhouse, she would find the security she had once known, the inner peace she craved. She didn't want to be tormented by dreams of strong brown arms and stormy gray eyes. She wanted only to be left alone to pray and serve others. Didn't she?



For a long while, she sat on the boulder, gazing at the waterfall as it rushed down the mountainside, wondering at the woman who had loved a man so much that she had joined him in a watery grave rather than live without him. Such devotion was foreign to her. The only love she knew was the love of the Sisterhood, her love for Him who was the Father of All. She had no knowledge of the kind of love shared between a man and a woman. Indeed, she had never given much thought to carnal love until Hardane walked into her dreams.



Hardane. He was so handsome, so brave and strong. Surely he had known many beautiful women. She saw the way the maids at the castle looked at him, their eyes wide with admiration and adoration, the way they hurried to do his bidding, vying for his attention. No doubt women were constantly throwing themselves at his feet, yearning for his touch . . .



She heard the sound of his footsteps behind her, felt her cheeks flame with embarrassment because she had been thinking of him.



She glanced over her shoulder to see him standing behind her, a large basket over his arm.



"Perhaps we should eat now," he suggested.



His voice, rich and deep, made her skin prickle.



"I . . . yes," she stammered, "perhaps we should."



"Do you want to eat here, or over there in the shade?"



"In the shade, please."



With a curt nod, he spread a blanket under the leafy canopy and began to empty the basket.



Feeling somewhat ill at ease, Kylene sat down beside him, accepting the plate he offered her. Nan had sent along a veritable feast: sliced venison, biscuits, a loaf of brown bread, a variety of fruit, tea cakes, and ale.



Kylene ate slowly, ever aware of Hardane's nearness. It was an uncomfortable meal. Try as she might, she could think of nothing to say to break the awkward silence between them. She wondered if he was having the same trouble, or if his lack of conversation meant he was angry with her.



Once, glancing up, she caught him watching her, a bemused expression in his eyes. She looked away quickly, but not before she felt the heat of his gaze, the spark of desire that seemed always to vibrate between them.



Later, sated and drowsy, she curled up on the blanket and closed her eyes. The sound of winged insects and the distant song of a bird lulled her to sleep.



And he was there, walking through the corridors of her mind, his gray eyes warm with desire. Murmuring her name, he took her into his arms and kissed her, gently at first, and then with a spiraling intensity that left her breathless.



Be mine, lady, he coaxed. Admit that you're Carrick's daughter, and let us be wed in the seventh month, as planned.



She gazed into his eyes, wishing she could say the words he longed to hear, wishing that she were, indeed, his betrothed. Here, in his arms, with her heart pounding and her blood racing, she put all her lies behind her and knew that it wasn't the peace and security of the Motherhouse she wanted, but the love of the man who held her in his arms. For an instant of time, she considered lying to him, considered telling him that she was indeed Carrick's seventh daughter.



I can't wait until the time of ripe fruits, she wanted to cry. Marry me today. Now. This minute. But the words would not come. She could not lie to him. Much as she wished it, she could not pretend to be someone she was not.



He drew her close, crushing her breasts against the solid wall of his chest, letting her feel the heat of his desire. With a wordless cry of pain, she pressed her lips to his, the ache of needing him bringing tears to her eyes.



Do not cry, lady, all will be well.



"Do not cry, lady."



His voice penetrated her dream, and she opened her eyes to see Hardane stretched out beside her, so close that his breath fanned her face.



For a timeless moment, they gazed into each other's eyes, and then his hand slid around the back of her neck and his mouth closed over hers.



It was a gentle kiss, as light as thistledown, and yet the wonder of it, the beauty of it, suffused her from head to foot, making her heart pound and her blood sing a new song.



She felt bereft when he took his lips from hers. In her mind she heard the echo of his words: Be mine, lady. Be mine, be mine . . .



It was tempting, so tempting. But she wasn't a princess and she couldn't say she was. As much as she yearned to belong to Hardane, she could not live a lie, could not spend the rest of her life pretending to be Selene, no matter how tempting the thought might be. And, sooner or later, he would discover the lie and she would be exposed as a fraud. It was a humiliation she could not begin to imagine.



Aware of his gaze, his disappointment, she stood up, her fingers worrying the folds of her skirt. "I wish to go back now."



He rose lithely to his feet, his gaze never leaving her face. "As you please, lady."



Moments later, he lifted her onto the back of her horse. For a long moment, he remained at her side, his eyes searching hers, and then he turned away.



As they rode back to the castle, Kylene had the feeling that she had lost something precious though it was never meant to be hers.