Beneath a Midnight Moon

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.



"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.