he asked.
Sharilyn took Carrick’s hand in hers. “Do we have your blessing?”
Hardane nodded. “Aye, mother mine. But are you sure you don’t want to wait until my brothers and Morissa can attend you?”
“We don’t want to wait,” Sharilyn answered.
Hardane nodded again, readily understanding her urgency. She was afraid Carrick might be killed in battle, afraid that they might never be able to consummate their love.
“Teliford, summon the priest. We’ll hold the ceremony in the castle chapel in an hour.”
“And you, daughter?” Lord Carrick asked. “Do we have your blessing as well?”
“Yes, Father,” Kylene replied quietly. “I hope you find the same happiness with Sharilyn that I’ve found with her son.”
An hour later, they gathered in the small family chapel. The Wolffan priest stood behind the tall white stone altar. He was clothed in a long black robe. In one hand he held a pink candle, in the other, a sachet filled with vervain, yarrow, rosemary, basil, and lovage.
Sharilyn and Carrick stood side by side. She wore a full-skirted pale blue gown that emphasized the ebony of her hair and eyes; he wore a pair of fawn-colored breeches and a wine-red shirt.
Hardane and Kylene stood behind their parents. Behind them, seated in the first pew, were Jared, Hadj, Teliford, Parah, and Nan.
“Sharilyn of Argone, is it your wish to wed Carrick of Mouldour, here present?”
“It is.”
“Wilt thou forsake all others, and honor his name from this time forward?”
“I will.”
“Carrick of Mouldour, is it your wish to wed Sharilyn of Argone, here present?”
“Aye.”
“Wilt thou forsake all others? Wilt thou honor and protect her from this time forward?”
There was a heavy silence as Carrick pondered those words. Protect her. Protect her from harm, from Renick. Aye, he’d protect her with his life, if necessary.
“I will,” he answered solemnly.
“Then I bless this union in the name of the Father of Us All and decree that thou art life-mated from this night forward.” The priest nodded in Carrick’s direction, a faint smile creasing his aged face. “My lord, you may kiss your bride.”
Kylene felt tears well in her eyes as her father placed his hands on Sharilyn’s shoulders and looked deep into her eyes.
“All that I have, all that will ever be mine, I will gladly share with you,” he murmured, and then, very gently, he kissed her.
Kylene glanced up as she felt Hardane’s hand on her arm. “Why do you weep?” he asked.
“It’s so beautiful,” she said, sniffling. “I don’t remember my mother, and I’m . . . I’m just happy that my father has found someone to share his life with.”
Hardane bent to kiss her cheek, and then he went to embrace his mother and offer his congratulations to Carrick.
From the chapel, they went into one of the family’s private rooms to drink a toast to Sharilyn and Carrick. It was obvious that, even though they’d known each other only a short time, the bride and groom were very much in love. Sharilyn couldn’t keep her eyes from her new husband, and Carrick found numerous excuses to touch his wife’s arm, her shoulder, her hand.
No one was surprised when Carrick announced, rather abruptly, that he was tired. Sharilyn’s cheeks were a becoming shade of pink as she bid Kylene and Hardane a good night, then followed her husband upstairs.
Teliford and the other servants also took their leave.
“So,” Hardane said, “alone at last.”
“They seem happy, don’t they?”
“Very. And you, lady, are you happy?”
“Very, but . . .”
“But?”
“I’m worried, Hardane, worried and afraid.”
“I know.”
“Why won’t Renick leave us alone? Why can’t he be happy with the throne of Mouldour?”
“Some men are never satisfied. No matter how much land they own, they always want more. More land. More gold. More silver. I fear Renick is like that. If he conquers Argone, he still won’t be satisfied.”
Kylene rested her cheek on Hardane’s chest. “It isn’t just Argone he wants,” she remarked, “and you know it. He wants your power.”
Hardane grunted softly.
“Can’t you give him what he wants? What difference does it make if he can turn into a wolf?”
“No difference, perhaps, but I told him the truth. The secret of the Wolffan isn’t a trick. It’s not a magic spell that can be passed from one man to another. It’s what I am, Kylene, not something I do.”
“But . . .”
“He knows he can’t obtain the power, Kylene. That’s not why he’s here.”
“Then why?”
“The prophesy, Kylene. He’ll never rest easy on the throne of Mouldour so long as we live.”
“What are we to do?”
What are we to