Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,11

bunk, his body reacted in the same way. It was ridiculous, he thought. She was fully clothed, indifferent to his presence as she tried to conquer her aversion to the sea, yet his loins swelled with longing and a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered that she was his prize, that he could take her at any time.

It was on his fourth trip to his cabin that he found her on her knees, her head bent over a bucket as she vomited her supper.

She glanced up, her pale cheeks stained with embarrassment, when she saw him watching her.

He swore softly as he knelt beside her, one arm going around her shoulders, supporting her as she began to retch again.

When the spasm passed, he helped her to the bed, wiped her mouth, offered her a drink of water.

“I’m sorry to be so much trouble,” she mumbled.

“You’re no trouble, lady.”

Her gaze slid away from his, only to return, her eyes drawn to his face like a fox to its hole. A faint flush warmed her cheeks. There was an odd feeling in her chest, like butterflies dancing.

She was acutely conscious of his hand supporting her back. His scent filled her nostrils, the combined odor of man and sea making her senses reel. He was near, so near.

She pushed the cup away, knowing she could never swallow past the lump in her throat.

Gently, he took her into his arms and carried her to the window seat in the stern.

“Here,” he said, opening the jade green curtains, “keep your eyes fixed on the horizon.”

“Why?”

Hardane shrugged. “Sometimes it helps when nothing else will.”

She didn’t think anything would help, but then common sense won out. He was a sea captain, after all. Surely he knew about such things.

Sitting in his lap, with his arm around her waist, Kylene gazed out the window. The water was calm, restful. Hardane’s fingertips were gentle as they massaged her brow, his touch both soothing and arousing, making her long for a way of life that was forbidden to a member of the Sisterhood. Making her yearn for a man’s love, for a home of her own, children.

“Rest, lady,” he urged.

His voice was as deep as the sea, as soothing as warmed wine. She felt a sense of peace as she gazed out the window, at the blue-green of the sea and the deeper blue of the sky.

Her eyelids fluttered down as she gave herself up to his touch. The rocking of the ship and the gentle murmur of his voice lulled her to sleep, to dream of a vine-covered cottage, and a tall, dark-skinned man with hair like liquid ebony and eyes as gray as the stones that flanked the chapel at Mouldour.

Hardane paced the windward side of the quarterdeck, confident no one would dare invade what was traditionally the captain’s private domain. His eyes were gritty with the need for sleep, his body tense from wanting what he could not have. He knew every man on board was wondering if he had finally broken his lifelong vow of celibacy and bedded the wench . . . bedded Kylene.

How easily her name came to his lips, how readily his mind conjured her image.

The mere thought of her, of bedding her, was enough to bring a fine moisture of sweat to his brow and make his body throb with desire. He paused at the rail, staring blankly at the sea, his hands clenched so tightly they ached. He had promised his mother he would abide by the ancient law of the clan, that he would remain celibate until he took a life-mate. It was for the good of the people, she had assured him when he looked doubtful, and for his own good as well. He would expect his bride to be nothing less than a virgin; should his future wife have any reason to expect less?

Hardane groaned softly. What if Carrick’s seventh daughter did not stir his blood? What if Selene’s eyes were not as warm and brown as the sun-kissed earth of Argone? What if her hair didn’t shimmer like a flame in the moonlight?

What if he’d waited so long to possess a woman that his body wouldn’t function at all?

Chapter 10

Kylene knelt beside the hard wooden bunk, her head bowed, her hands clasped, her eyes closed in prayer. But try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate on the words of the Morning Prayer that she had recited at every dawn since she had taken her