Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,105
sadness that had been etched on Sharilyn’s features lessened. She began to smile again. She listened to Kylene’s ideas for turning the bedroom adjoining Hardane’s into a nursery, and began to spend her evenings sewing things, not only for Morissa’s baby, which was due any day, but for Kylene’s twin sons as well.
A fortnight after the funeral, a messenger arrived to announce that Morissa had been delivered of a healthy baby girl. Sharilyn left Castle Argone the next morning, and Carrick went with her.
For the first time, Kylene found herself in charge of the keep. It fell to her to decide what would be served at meals, to settle a dispute between the scullery maid and the cook, to determine if new rushes should be laid in the Great Hall.
It was a new experience, being the mistress of a castle. All her life, she had been accustomed to taking orders, not giving them.
Sharilyn had been away only a few days when another messenger arrived at the keep. Though the hour was late, he insisted on seeing Hardane.
Kylene sat up in bed, yawning as she watched Hardane pull on his breeches.
“Go back to sleep,” he said, ruffling her hair. “I won’t be long.”
With a nod, she snuggled under the covers and closed her eyes. These days, she needed little encouragement to sleep. It seemed she was tired all the time. And when she wasn’t sleeping, she was eating everything in sight.
With a wry grin, she spread her hands over her belly. She was as big as a horse, she thought, but Hardane didn’t seem to mind. He still looked at her as if she were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Often, in the evening, he spread his large hands over her swollen belly, smiling with delight as the life within her moved under his fingertips. Sometimes they walked in the gardens, spinning dreams of the future.
She was almost asleep when she heard the door open. Scooting over to Hardane’s side of the bed, she waited for him to join her.
She frowned when he didn’t come right to bed. Sitting up, she saw him standing at the window staring down into the garden below.
“What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Bourke’s dead.”
“Dead? How? When?”
“I’m not sure. It took the messenger over a fortnight to get here with word of his death.”
Kylene stared at Hardane’s profile, her mind whirling at the implications of what he’d said.
“That’s not the worst of it,” Hardane remarked. “Renick has married Selene, and she’s claimed the throne.”
Slipping out of bed, Kylene crossed the floor to stand behind Hardane, her arms wrapped around his waist.
“What will happen now?”
“I don’t know. It seems the people of Mouldour have accepted Renick as Lord High Sovereign and acknowledged Selene’s right to the throne through your father’s bloodline.”
“This means war, doesn’t it?”
“Perhaps,” Hardane said with a shrug. “And perhaps Renick will be content with Mouldour.”
“But you don’t think he’ll be satisfied to rule Mouldour for long, do you? You think he’ll want the throne of Argone as well?”
Hardane nodded. Mouldour was a cold and barren land, and though it was rich in ore and other valuable minerals, it lacked the verdant valleys and wooded hillsides of Argone. Sheep and cattle flourished here. The land was rich and fertile, and there was fresh water in abundance. For years untold, the people of Argone had defended their homeland against invaders. So far, they’d managed to drive their enemies away.
Kylene pressed her cheek against her husband’s back. She could feel his concern, his worry for her, for his people.
Drawing away, she began to rub Hardane’s back, her fingers kneading deep into his taut muscles. War, she thought bleakly. But surely Hardane would not go to battle. He was the Lord High Ruler of Argone. If he went out to fight, who would stay behind and defend the throne?
“Put your mind at ease, lady,” he murmured. “I won’t leave you unprotected.”
Turning to face her, he drew her into his arms, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.
Kylene wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tight as her mind filled with images of bloodshed, of men dying, of women weeping.
“Don’t dwell on it, beloved,” he chided softly. “Tomorrow I’ll send Jared and a handful of men to Mouldour to look around. I’ve already sent runners to my brothers and Eben to warn them to be ready. There’s nothing else to be done until we know what Renick’s intentions are.”