Beneath a Midnight Moon

Sharilyn paced the floor of her prison hour after hour, her mind in turmoil. Kray was unconscious and his mind was closed to her, but at least he was still alive.



She cursed herself for refusing to bed the Interrogator. What did it matter if he had his way with her body? She could have sent her tashada to Kray while the Interrogator defiled her. Instead, she had angered him, and she knew Kray would pay the ultimate price for what she'd done.



She paused as she heard footsteps in the corridor. It was the guard who brought her meals. Instantly, she took on the shape of the Interrogator and began pounding on the door.



"Let me out of here!" she hollered, hammering on the door again. "Hurry, you fools!"



There was the rasp of a key turning in the lock, and then the door swung open. Two guards stood in the passageway. One held a covered tray in his hands; the other held a sword.



"What is it, my lord?" asked the man bearing the tray.



"The woman! She's escaped!"



Sharilyn marched boldly out of the room, knocking the tray from the hands of the near guard.



"You!" she shouted, gesturing to the armed guard. "Follow me!"



Without waiting for a reply, she hurried down the corridor, her inner sense leading her to the dungeons, and to Kray.



He waited in the shadows, not daring to breathe, as he watched the man move cautiously through the night. The darkness made it impossible to see the man's face, impossible to tell if it was friend or foe, though he doubted he had many friends left in Mouldour.



He closed his eyes for a moment, one hand pressed to his chest. He was still weak from the blood he'd lost, but he was determined to have his revenge, to plunge his knife into Bourke's traitorous heart, to feel the man's blood on his hands. He had endured exile and betrayal at the hands of those he had loved and trusted, and he would have his moment of vengeance if it was the last thing he ever did.



Tonight, he thought. Tonight he would destroy Bourke, or die trying.



Hardane paused in the shadows of Castle Mouldour, his eyes and ears attuned to the slightest movement, the slightest sound. He had left Jared offshore in a small boat; the Sea Dragon sat at anchor out of sight behind a high promontory.



On silent feet, he made his way to the back of the castle and through an ancient wrought-iron gate that was heavily overgrown with vines.



He paused every few feet to sniff the wind, to listen to the sounds of the night.



At last he reached the rear door that led into the dungeons. Using a bit of wire that Jared had given him for just this purpose, he unlocked the door and stepped into the musty darkness.



For a moment, he transformed into the wolf, using the animal's superior senses to locate his father's whereabouts. Then, assuming his own shape once more, he made his way down the dark corridor until he came to the cell that imprisoned Kray.



Hardane shrank against the wall as he saw a light coming from the opposite direction, swore softly as he saw Renick and an armed guard halt outside Kray's cell.



"Open the door," the Interrogator ordered imperiously.



Hardane held his breath as the cell door swung open and the Interrogator and the guard stepped inside. Then, drawing his sword, Hardane rushed forward, closed the prison door, and took the key from the lock.



The guard swore as he whirled around.



"Hand me your sword," Hardane ordered.



"Do as he says," the Interrogator commanded.



"Are you sure, my lord?" the guard asked, his gaze fixed on Hardane.



"Quite sure," the Interrogator said.



With a look of disgust, the guard handed his sword through the bars.



Instantly, Sharilyn took on her own shape.



"Mother!" Hardane gasped.



"My son," she replied with a smile.



Hardane stared at his father, who lay unmoving on the cold stone floor, his hands and feet shackled to the wall.



"Is he . . . is he dead?"



"No, only unconscious."



There was no need for further discussion. Sharilyn used her sash to tie the guard's hands behind his back, then stuffed her kerchief in his mouth. When that was done, Hardane unlocked the door, removed the shackles from his father's hands and feet, then slung his father over his shoulder and led the way out of the dungeon.



When they reached the top of the stairs, they paused a moment to listen, and then Sharilyn opened the door and stepped into the darkness beyond the dungeon.



As soon as she stepped outside, a heavily muscled arm wrapped around her neck, choking off her breath.



Hardane, still hidden in the shadows, carefully lowered his father to the ground, then drew his sword and pressed the point between the shoulder blades of the man holding his mother.



"Release her."



"Drop your sword, or she's dead."



"Release her," Hardane repeated, putting pressure on the sword so that it slit the man's shirt and pierced his flesh.



The man gasped as the point of the blade split his skin, but his arm remained around Sharilyn's throat.



"A deal, then," Hardane suggested. "I'll put up my sword and you let the woman go."



"Your word?"



"My word in exchange for yours."



"Done," the man agreed.



With more than a little reluctance, Hardane lowered his blade.



A moment later, and with just as much trepidation, the man released his hold on Sharilyn and whirled around to face Hardane.



"Bourke!" Hardane exclaimed as he saw the man's face. Raising his sword again, he placed the point in the hollow of the man's throat.



"You fool," the man said, his voice thick with contempt. He gestured at his clothes, which were ill-fitting and covered with mud. "Has Lord Bourke taken to dressing in rags these days?"



Hardane frowned. "If you're not Bourke, who are you?"



"His brother, Carrick. Rightful ruler of Mouldour."



"Carrick is dead," Sharilyn remarked, coming to stand beside Hardane.



"Not quite, madam," the man replied with a low bow.



"Carrick would not dare to show his face here," Hardane said, his gaze fixed on the man's face, his sword steady at his throat. "Bourke and the Interrogator would kill him on sight."



The man nodded. "As I plan to kill them."



"Maybe he's telling the truth," Sharilyn mused.



Hardane grunted softly. "Maybe, but there's no way to prove it."



"Let's take him with us."



"Very well. Bind his hands and we'll take him along."



The man shook his head. "I came here to kill my brother, and I'm not leaving until it's done."



Hardane took a step forward, the tip of his blade pricking the skin at the man's throat.



"You can come with us, or die here. The choice is yours."



"I'll go," the man said, and stood quietly while Sharilyn bound his hands behind his back.



Handing his sword to his mother, Hardane settled his father over his shoulder once more and they made their way toward the shore where Jared waited with the boat.



Jared jumped to his feet, his sword in his hand, as he heard the sound of footsteps. He stared into the darkness, and then frowned.



"What the devil!" he exclaimed upon seeing the prisoner. "Bourke! You brought Bourke here?"



"He claims to be his brother, Carrick," Hardane said. "Here, help me get my father into the boat."



In moments, they had Kray settled in the bow, his head cradled in Sharilyn's lap. The prisoner sat on the deck in the stern while Jared and Hardane rowed out to sea.



"What's going on?" Jared asked. "What happened to Lord Kray? Where's the Interrogator?" He jerked a thumb in the prisoner's direction. "Where did you find him?"



"Enough," Hardane said, exasperated. "I don't have all the answers myself. But I intend to get them as soon as we reach the ship."



Kylene was waiting for them topside. She ran forward, her cloak falling unheeded to the deck as she threw her arms around Hardane.



"Are you all right?" she asked, pressing kisses to his lips, his chin, his cheeks.



"I'm fine," Hardane assured her. He took her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "But my father's ill. Go with my mother and see what you can do for him. I've got to talk to Kruck. I'll join you as soon as I can," he said, releasing her hand. "Jared, take the prisoner to the brig."



Hardane gave Kylene a quick kiss on the cheek, and then headed for the bridge.



It was only when Jared gave the prisoner a shove toward the forward hatch that Kylene took a good look at the man's face.



"Jared, wait!"



She took a step forward, her narrowed gaze probing the man's face. Was it possible? Could it be . . .



"Papa?"



"Selene! What are you doing here?"



"I'm not Selene," she replied, disappointed that he didn't recognize her even though there was no reason why he should.



"No, it can't be . . . Kylene, my dear girl, is that you?"



"Papa? Oh, Papa!" She threw her arms around him, her joy at his presence overshadowing a lifetime of questions.



"What's going on?" Hardane threw a glance at Jared, and then stared at Kylene, who was hugging the prisoner for all she was worth.



"Seems this is the long-lost Lord Carrick, after all," Jared replied with a grin. "Should I cut his throat or cut him loose?"



An hour later, Kylene sat beside her father, unable to take her eyes from his face.



Earlier, Hardane had cut Carrick's hands free and had allowed him to bathe and change into clean clothes, and now they all sat in Hardane's cabin while Carrick told of what had transpired since Bourke usurped the throne. He told of being hunted, of hiding out in caves and abandoned buildings, of having to scavenge like a predator for food.



"But Selene said you were dead," Kylene exclaimed, taking her father's hand in hers. "That you'd died in a cave."



Carrick shrugged, not wanting to believe that his daughter had coldbloodedly left him in that cave to die.



"I'd been sick with a fever," he said slowly. "Drifting in and out of consciousness. Perhaps she thought I was dead when she left me there."



"You're lucky you didn't die, sick as you were, with no one to help you," Hardane remarked, still doubting the man's identity.



"I had someone to help me," Carrick answered.



"Oh? Who?"



"A wolf," Carrick said, his gaze moving from Hardane to Kylene.



"A wolf?" Sharilyn leaned forward in her chair, her eyes suddenly alight with interest.



Carrick nodded. "A she-wolf found me there. She shared her kills with me." He shrugged. "The raw meat restored my strength."



"A wolf." Sharilyn looked at Hardane as she murmured the word.



"You don't believe me?" Carrick said, a challenge rising in his eyes.



"I believe you," Hardane said. "Tell me, why was Kylene sent to the Motherhouse?"



"To keep her safe."



"To keep her safe?" Hardane asked suspiciously. "Or to make sure the prophesy would never be fulfilled?"



"To keep her safe," Carrick repeated emphatically.



"Safe from whom?"



"Her sister." Carrick gave Kylene's hand a gentle squeeze. "Selene was always jealous of you. She knew she would always live in your shadow because you were the firstborn twin, the one destined to share the throne of Argone, to fulfill the prophesy that would bring lasting peace to Mouldour. She tried to hurt you on several occasions. Your mother and I thought it was just childhood jealousy until Selene tried to drown you in the bathtub."



At his words, Kylene's hand flew to her throat. The bathtub! Of course, it all made sense now. Her horrible fear of water, of drowning. It all came back in a rush, as clear as if it had happened only yesterday instead of years ago.



They'd been playing in the tub, having a contest to see who could stay under the water the longest. It had been Kylene's turn. She'd been just about to come up when she'd felt Selene's hands on the back of her head, refusing to let her come up for air. She remembered the horror of it, the awful panic when she realized her sister wasn't playing. She'd been almost unconscious when her mother lifted her out of the tub. Until now, she'd blocked the whole incident from her mind.



"Soon after that," her father went on, "we realized there were others who wanted to destroy you so that the prophesy could not be fulfilled, just as we realized that, to keep you safe, we would have to send you away until it was time for you to marry."



"Are you telling me that you wanted the prophesy to be fulfilled?" Hardane asked. "That you want peace?"



"Aye."



"You're lying! Everyone knows that the House of Mouldour has refused all offers of peace, that they have pursued war with a vengeance."



"Not I." Carrick met Hardane's accusing stare. "I have always spoken for peace. It was the main cause of contention between Bourke and myself. He wanted to conquer Argone, to put his bastard daughter on the throne. I refused."



"And so he took the throne by force," Hardane mused.



"Yes. With a little help from the Interrogator and the witch of Britha, Bourke managed to steal my throne."



Hardane grunted softly as he pondered Carrick's explanation. One thing still troubled him. "Why didn't Kylene know who she was?"



Carrick shook his head. "Understandably, Kylene was never the same after her sister tried to drown her. I think she refused to acknowledge who she was because it was too painful, or maybe she simply didn't want to remember." He shrugged. "As it turned out, it made it that much easier to hide her. She couldn't remember who she was, and except for the Mother General, no one in the Motherhouse knew who she really was."



There was a moment of silence, and then Carrick turned to Kylene. "Where's your sister?"



"I'm not sure. At Mouldour, I would imagine."



Carrick grunted softly. Holding Kylene's hand, he glanced over his shoulder at his son-in-law.



"What do you plan to do with me now?"



Slowly, Hardane shook his head. "I don't know."



"I think we should all get some sleep," Sharilyn suggested, rising to her feet.



She glanced around the room. Kylene looked to be on the verge of emotional exhaustion. Carrick was thin and pale, obviously not yet fully recovered from his sickness. There were fine lines of pain etched at the corners of Hardane's mouth and eyes. Of them all, only Jared looked fit and strong.



"I think you're right," Hardane agreed, rising to stand beside his mother. "Jared, take Lord Carrick to the brig. We'll talk more in the morning."



"The brig!" Kylene protested. "Hardane, he's my father. I won't have him locked up."



"Kylene . . ."



She jumped to her feet, her hands planted on her hips, her eyes defiant.



"If he goes to the brig, I'll go with him!"



"Very well," Hardane relented. "Lock him in the aft cabin."



"Hardane . . ."



"I know he's your father," Hardane replied wearily. "But I don't know whose side he's on, and until I do, he'll have to be locked up, at least at night."



She wanted to argue with him. She would have argued with him if she hadn't seen the utter weariness in the depths of his eyes, heard the barely suppressed pain in his voice. She remembered then that the wound in his thigh was not yet fully healed, that he should still be in bed, resting his leg.



"Good sleep, Father," Kylene said, kissing his cheek, and then, smiling sweetly, she put her arm around Hardane's waist, giving him the benefit of her support without anyone being the wiser.



Sharilyn bid them good night and hurried to her cabin to check on Kray, leaving Jared to escort Carrick to the aft cabin.



Alone in his quarters with Kylene, Hardane sat down, his head resting against the back of the chair. His leg ached incessantly, his head throbbed, and all he wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn't rest. Too many troublesome thoughts were churning through his mind. His father was badly wounded and might not recover. . . . Carrick was not dead, after all. . . . He was here. . . . He said he wanted peace, but could he be trusted. . . . Bourke wanted to rule Argone. . . . Renick intended to have it all. . . .



He closed his eyes and summoned the image of the wolf. Putting everything else from his mind, he imagined the freedom of running across the fields in the dark of night, of dancing in the light of a midnight moon.



A low growl of pleasure rose in his throat as he felt Kylene's hands soothe his brow, felt her fingertips knead the stiffness from his shoulders. Her fingers slid down his arms, and then began to work their magic on his injured leg, her touch soft and soothing, the warmth of her hands banishing the pain from his taut muscles.



"Sleep, my lord wolf," she murmured, and her breath fanned his face. "Sleep, beloved. All will be well."



And because he loved her, he believed her.