Beneath a Midnight Moon

Chapter 38


Hardane stirred restlessly on the cold stone floor. The pain in his thigh made it difficult to get comfortable; concern for Kylene made sleep impossible.

Through heavy-lidded eyes he stared at his right thigh. It was a mass of torn and swollen flesh, and he wondered absently if he would die from the Executioner’s whip or from the infection slowly spreading through him.

Steeped in despair, he gazed into the darkness, cursing Renick, cursing himself. If anything happened to Kylene . . .

He frowned as he saw a faint light illuminate the far end of the corridor. He heard footsteps, and then he saw Renick and Selene walking toward him, trailed by a guard bearing a torch.

Hardane’s hands curled into tight fists as he wondered what mischief had brought his enemies to the dungeon at such a late hour.

Abruptly, he stood up, the pain in his leg momentarily forgotten. As the three figures drew near, he leaned forward, his eyes narrowed, his instincts telling him that all was not as it seemed.

“Kylene!” he exclaimed softly.

And then he frowned as he took a closer look at the Interrogator and he knew that it wasn’t Renick at all, but Sharilyn in Renick’s form.

“Mother?” Hardane shook his head, wondering if he was dreaming.

“We’ll have you out of here soon, Hardane,” his mother promised. “Hurry, Jared.”

Hardane’s gaze moved over the guard. “Jared!”

The guard set the torch in the holder outside the cell, then lifted the visor on his helmet. “The same,” he said.

Slipping a fine piece of wire from his pocket, Jared inserted it into the lock.

A moment later, the door swung open and Kylene hurried into the cell.

“Hardane, Hardane,” she murmured, her hands fluttering over him like butterfly wings, “what have they done to you?”

She bit back a cry of dismay as she noted the raw skin on his wrists, the bloodstained bandage on his thigh, the hollows in his cheeks.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled, his gaze fixed on her face while Jared worked his magic on the shackles that bound him to the wall.

“Can you walk?” Kylene asked.

“I don’t know.”

“We’ll get you out of here if I have to carry you,” Jared muttered.

“Hurry, now,” Sharilyn urged.

“A moment, mother mine,” Hardane said, and bracing himself against the wall, he drew Kylene into his arms and kissed her.

The heat of her body against his, the warmth of her kiss, chased the ache from his thigh and filled him with hope.

“Hardane!” Sharilyn said impatiently. “We don’t have time for that now.”

Hardane gave Kylene one last kiss and then, with regret, let her go.

Immediately, Jared stepped forward. “Put your arm around my shoulders and let’s get out of here while we can.”

Sharilyn, still in the guise of the Interrogator, went first, carrying the torch. Kylene followed her. Jared and Hardane came last.

“Where’s my father?” Hardane asked.

“Keeping guard at the entrance to the dungeon.”

“And the Interrogator?”

Jared shrugged. “Asleep in his chambers, I hope. We didn’t dare take the time to explore the sleeping quarters upstairs.”

Kylene glanced over her shoulder again and again as they made their way down the narrow corridor, assuring herself that Hardane was really there, repeatedly thanking the Father of All that he was still alive.

After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the stairway that led out of the dungeon.

For Hardane, each step sent fresh splinters of pain shooting through his thigh, but he managed to make it to the top.

Lord Kray sighed with relief when he saw the four of them emerge from the bowels of the Fortress.

Stepping forward, he gave his son a fierce hug. “Thank the Father,” he murmured.

Silent as wraiths, they made their way through the dark hallway that led to the entrance of the Fortress.

Kylene held her breath as Lord Kray approached the big double doors that led to freedom. They were going to make it.

Kray’s hand was on the latch when a dozen men materialized out of the shadows, their lances glinting in the light of the torch.

The captain of the guards surveyed the group assembled near the door, then addressed the Interrogator. “Is something amiss, milord?”

Sharilyn shook her head. “All is well. Return to your post.”

“Stand fast, Rynell. Brant, secure the door!”

Sharilyn and Kray exchanged uneasy glances as Renick entered the room.

“Take them, you fools!” Renick ordered brusquely.

Looking confused, the guards glanced uncertainly from one Interrogator to the other.

“He’s an impostor!” Renick said, pointing at Sharilyn.

“He’s the impostor!” Sharilyn countered imperiously.

Renick snorted derisively. “Take them, I say!”

Still, the guards didn’t move, their expressions mirroring their confusion as they stared at the two men, both of whom claimed to be the Lord High Interrogator of Mouldour.

“So,” Renick said, his gaze on Sharilyn’s face, “if you are the Interrogator, as you claim, then you can tell me the name of each man in this room.”

The guards looked at Sharilyn expectantly.

Kray smiled at her. “Looks like we’re well and truly caught, beloved,” he murmured.

Sharilyn smiled back. “May the Father of All grant that we may meet again in the clouds of Paradise,” she murmured, and then she shouted, “Jared, run!”

Pivoting on her heel, she threw the torch into Brant’s face, then drew her sword from its scabbard and whirled around to face the man who had come up behind her.

At the same time, Kray yanked the door open and pushed Jared and Hardane outside. Kylene followed hard on their heels.

“Make for the ship!” Kray shouted at Jared, and slamming the door, he drew his sword and took a place beside Sharilyn.

Rynell picked up the torch and placed it in a wall sconce while the other guards stared at Sharilyn. It was obvious the men were still perplexed by the presence of two men claiming to be the Interrogator.

“Take them!” Renick shouted, and the authority in his voice spurred his men into action.

Kray squeezed Sharilyn’s hand and then, with a cry, drove his sword into the heart of the nearest man.

Sharilyn’s cry echoed that of her husband as she lunged forward to parry a thrust in her direction.

Kray fought valiantly, his sword slicing through the air with great and deadly skill. For an instant, he admired his wife’s ability. She wielded her sword with the dexterity and proficiency of a seasoned warrior.

Between them, they dispatched four of the Interrogator’s men and disabled three others in a matter of minutes, and then one of the guards slipped past Kray’s defenses, his blade driving into Kray’s chest.

A cry of distress rose in Sharilyn’s throat as she saw her husband fall. Filled with rage, she whirled on the man who had wounded her husband, her sword slashing through the air like heat lightning until it found its mark.

“I want him alive!” The Interrogator’s voice rang out over the harsh sounds of battle, and the five remaining guards drew back to form a circle around Sharilyn, careful to stay out of reach of her blade.

For a long moment, Renick stared at the man standing beside the fallen Lord Kray. It was a bit unnerving, staring into one’s own face. Was it Hardane? Renick studied the impostor’s right leg. The man didn’t fight as if he’d been recently wounded.

Renick frowned, and then smiled. “Take him!” he ordered, and the five guards walked toward the impostor, slowly closing the circle.

With a savage cry, Sharilyn transformed into the wolf. Startled, the guards fell back, their mouths agape as they stared at the creature who had appeared to be a man only moments before.

Jaws snapping, Sharilyn lunged past the guards and hurled herself at the Interrogator, her only thought to rip the throat from the man who had harmed those she loved.

Renick reacted instantly. Drawing his knife, he faced the charging wolf and as the beast hurled itself at his throat, he buried his knife in the wolf’s belly.

A high-pitched shriek, more human than animal, echoed off the cold stone walls.





Jared swore under his breath, the short hairs rising on the back of his neck, as a long, agonized scream rent the stillness of the night.

Kylene shuddered as the heartrending cry rang in her ears. Never in all her life had she heard a cry filled with such terrible anguish.

She stared at Hardane, seeing the agony that slashed across his face as his mother’s soul-shattering scream faded into the quiet of the night.

He threw back his head, a howl of equal pain rising in his throat, and Kylene shuddered again, knowing she would never forget that awful sound, or the look of torment on Hardane’s face.

“Let me go!” Hardane demanded, trying to shake off Jared’s hold.

Jared shook his head as he tightened his grip on his friend’s shoulder. “There’s nothing you can do. We’ve got to get Kylene out of here.”

“I can’t leave them here!” Hardane argued, silently cursing the wound that rendered him too weak and light-headed to break Jared’s grasp on his arm.

“It’s what they wanted.”

Hardane swore under his breath, torn between the need to go back and fight alongside his parents and the need to protect Kylene.

In the end, he had no choice at all. Leaning heavily on Jared, he followed Kylene toward the shore where a small boat waited to carry them out to the Sea Dragon.





Kylene sat on the edge of the bunk, her hand enfolded in Hardane’s as the ship’s doctor examined the deep puncture in his thigh.

The wound had festered and she turned her head away as the doctor probed the swollen mass of mutilated flesh.

She let out a small gasp as Hardane’s hand tightened around hers.

“Sorry,” he muttered hoarsely, and loosened his grip.

Kylene smiled at him. “It’s all right.”

He looked up at her, his gray eyes narrowed with pain, his face pale and haggard. “We’ve got to go back.”

She didn’t say anything, only stared down at him, noting the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the deep lines of pain and weariness in his face.

A night and a day had passed since they escaped from the Fortress. Hardane had ordered the Sea Dragon to put out to sea, then dropped their sails when they were safely out of sight of Mouldour.

He’d slept through that first night and well into the next day, his arms locked around Kylene’s waist as if he would never let her go, as if he feared that, should he release his hold on her, she would disappear forever.

And now it was night again, and in spite of Hardane’s assurances that he was fine, she had insisted that the doctor be called to examine his thigh.

The ship’s physician had confirmed her worst fears: the wound was infected. Unless something was done, the poison would spread and Hardane would die.

And now she sat beside him, trying not to vomit as the doctor lanced the wound, unleashing a river of thick yellow pus and blood so dark it was almost black.

Kylene leaned forward, wiping the sweat from Hardane’s brow with a cloth soaked in cold water. He was hurting, and hurting badly. She could see it in the depths of his eyes, in every taut line of his body. His hair, as black as a midnight sea, was damp with perspiration. One hand held hers in a viselike grip as the doctor probed deeper into his flesh, but she made no protest, knowing that he was hurting far worse than she.

She blinked back her tears, wishing there was something she could do to comfort him, to ease the awful pain that tormented him.

“Your . . . presence . . . comforts me,” he gasped.

“It will be over soon,” she promised. “Cry if you want to, my lord wolf. Scream if you must. I’ll not think the less of you for it.”

“Kiss me,” he whispered.

“Now?”

“Now.” The word was a groan.

Obligingly, she bent down and slanted her mouth over his. His lips were warm with fever and he tasted of the ale they’d given him in hopes of dulling the pain. He trembled convulsively as the doctor forced the poison from his flesh, and she kissed him harder, wishing she could draw his pain into her own body.

His hand cupped the back of her head, his fingers curling in her hair as the kiss lengthened and deepened, and Kylene felt the tension drain out of him, felt his body begin to relax.

Into her mind came a vision of the waterfall at Argone. She could hear the mighty roar of the water as it raced over the edge of the mountain, smell the earth, feel the spray of the falls against her face. She saw herself sitting on a flat rock, with the moonlight shining in her hair. And at her feet sat a big black wolf with eyes as gray as a winter sky.

“That should do it.” The doctor’s words shattered the illusion.

Hardane’s hand fell away from her head and Kylene sat up, momentarily disoriented. “What?”

“’Tis done.”

The doctor pointed at the wound. He had cut away the ragged edges of flesh and forced all the pus from the wound. The blood that oozed from the wound was no longer dark but a bright healthy red.

“I’ll just stitch up the wound, and he’ll be on the mend in no time at all.”

“Stitch him?” Kylene mumbled, staring at the needle the doctor had removed from his bag. “Now?”

“Aye, now.”

She couldn’t watch, Kylene thought frantically. She could not sit there and watch while the ship’s physician poked that needle into Hardane’s torn flesh. She simply couldn’t.

Rising, one hand still clasped in Hardane’s, she glanced at the cabin door, anxious to be gone from the room.

“Kylene . . .” His voice reached out to her.

She stared down at him. “I . . . I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Please,” she begged. “I can’t stay. Don’t ask me.”

Understanding dawned in the smoky depths of his eyes. “You’ll come right back?”

Kylene gazed into his beloved face, seeing the harsh lines of pain and fatigue etched around his mouth and eyes. Surely the pain of stitching would seem like a small thing to endure when compared to the probing of the wound, she told herself in an effort to alleviate the guilt she felt for wanting to leave the room.

She looked down at their joined hands, knowing she lacked the courage to draw her hand away, to leave him there to suffer alone.

With a sigh, she sat down on the edge of the bunk once more and poured Hardane another glass of ale.

“I won’t leave you, my brave wolf,” she promised. “Not now. Not ever.”





Feeling as though she’d been run over by a team of horses, Kylene settled into a tub of hot water, sighing as the enervating warmth eased the tension from her taut muscles.

Hardane was sleeping peacefully, thanks to his utter weariness and the amount of ale he’d consumed.

It had been horrible, sitting at his side while the doctor stitched the raw, angry edges of the wound together. She’d kept her gaze fixed on Hardane’s face, trying not to imagine the needle piercing his flesh. Hardane had endured the sewing as he had endured everything else, in tight-lipped silence.

He was here, he was safe, but their troubles were far from over.

She thought of Lord Kray and Sharilyn, of Selene, of Bourke and the Interrogator. Of the children growing beneath her heart.

With a sigh, she closed her eyes. Somehow, they had to rescue Lord Kray and Sharilyn. But how?

Unable to think clearly, she stepped from the tub and dried herself off. Slipping into one of Hardane’s shirts, she sat in the captain’s chair beside the bunk and closed her eyes.

Hardane was here, and he was safe. For now, that was all that mattered.