Beneath a Midnight Moon

Sharilyn gave Morissa a last hug, pressed a gentle kiss to her granddaughter's cheek, and hurried from the keep, tears stinging her eyes. Her visit, which was to have lasted several more weeks, had been cut short by an urgent message from Hardane.



She blinked back her tears as Carrick handed her into the closed carriage, then followed her inside and shut the door.



A moment later, the carriage lurched forward.



For a time, they traveled in silence. Sharilyn gazed out the window, her mind troubled. Bourke had been killed, and Renick had seized the throne of Mouldour. Deep in her heart, she knew that only misery and bloodshed would come of such a coup. And Selene ruled with him.



Selene and Renick. Truly a match made in the bowels of Hades.



"I'm sure everything will be all right," Carrick said after a while.



Sharilyn smiled at him. He was a kind man, good to the depths of his soul. It was no wonder Bourke had managed to steal the throne. Carrick saw only the good in the people he cared for. With him on the throne of Mouldour, there might have been peace, but Bourke and Renick wanted only war, needed war as an excuse to plunder the wealth of other, weaker lands.



With a sigh, she stared out the window. What a godsend Carrick had been to her in the days following Kray's death. He had ever been there for her, willing to hold her while she cried, willing to listen while she talked about Kray and the good times they had shared, their laughter, their tears.



And when she had shed her tears, he'd told her of his exile, how Bourke had robbed him of the throne, how he and Selene had spent the last few years hiding in caves and farmhouses on the islands surrounding Mouldour.



Looking away from the window, she met his gaze, felt her heart flutter within her breast. He was a handsome man. His hair was a dark, dark red sprinkled with gray, his eyes the same warm shade of brown as Kylene's. The first time she'd seen him, he'd been pitifully thin and pale, but he'd gained weight from weeks of eating Nan's good cooking; nights of resting without fear had brought the color back to his face.



She chided herself for being attracted to a man when Kray had been gone such a short time, and yet it was not the Wolffan way to mourn overly long for the death of a loved one. Life was a gift to be lived to the fullest; it was not to be wasted in sorrow or regret.



"What will you do now?" she asked.



"Fight for what's mine," Carrick replied. "The throne of Mouldour belongs to me. I'll not have Renick rule in my stead. Not now. Not ever."



Leaning forward, Sharilyn placed her hand on his arm. "Be assured that the people of Argone will fight with you, Lord Carrick."



A smile curved his lips as he covered her hand with his. "Did you ever think, my lady, that perhaps it isn't a mating between your son and my daughter that will bring peace to our lands? Perhaps it isn't our grandchildren who will be the ones to bring an end to war, but an alliance between us."



Sharilyn stared at him, stunned by his words. "Between us, my lord?"



"Aye, my lady," he said with a captivating smile. "Between us."



"Are you . . . are you speaking of marriage?"



"Aye, lady, when the time of your mourning is past."



"But . . . what of my Wolffan blood?"



"What of it?"



"It doesn't bother you?"



"No."



"But we've only just met. I hardly know you."



"Search your heart, Sharilyn of Argone. You know me well enough."



He wanted to marry her. The thought of it, the wonder of it, lingered in Sharilyn's mind all the way home.