Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,14
understand? I can’t allow myself to feel anything for her!” he exclaimed bitterly. “I am betrothed to another. I have given my pledge to marry Carrick’s seventh daughter. I have made a sacred oath to my mother that I will live like a eunuch until the day I wed.”
Jared dragged a hand across his jaw. Unlike Hardane, he had been born to poverty. His early years had been spent begging in the streets. As he grew older, his pride rebelled at begging and he turned to stealing, finding it more satisfying, less humiliating. He’d been almost sixteen when he had tried to lift Hardane’s purse. To his eternal gratitude, the heir of Argone had not had him arrested but had instead taken Jared into the castle, accepting his word that he would steal no more. From that day onward, Jared had sworn allegiance to Hardane. Jared had never really understood why Hardane had spared his life. When asked, Hardane had only shrugged. Later, Hardane had confessed that, though he had six older brothers and a younger sister, he felt the need for a confidant closer to his own age.
Jared crossed his arms over the rail. “So,” he asked after a while, “what’s your next move?”
Hardane shrugged. “The Isle of Klannaad.”
“To rescue your father?”
“Aye.”
“No easy task, that,” Jared mused. “The dungeon is well fortified, the prisoners as dangerous as the guards.”
Hardane nodded. “Aye, and then I must return to Mouldour to find my betrothed.” He spoke without enthusiasm.
“And what of Kylene?”
“I have promised to give her sanctuary on Argone, or to return her to Mouldour. The choice is hers.”
Standing there, staring into the sea’s blue depths, Hardane wondered which would be worse, having her leave, never to see her again, or having her stay, her nearness tormenting him like the fiery darts of Gehenna.
Chapter 11
The storm rose without warning, the waves battering the ship’s sides with watery hands of fury.
At first, Kylene had cowered in the bunk, her knuckles white as she clung to the side rail, her stomach heaving in rhythm with the churning waves. She’d retched until her stomach was empty, grateful that Hardane had the foresight to send a cabin boy to empty the malodorous bucket.
At the time, she’d been certain she was going to die, but the thought hadn’t frightened her as it should have. Indeed, she would have welcomed death if it meant an end to the horrible nausea that assailed her.
But then Hardane had come, offering her a cup of broth heavily laced with ginger. She had drunk it eagerly, remembering how quickly it had settled her stomach a few days earlier.
Hardane had stayed with her while she drank the broth, then remained a few moments longer, wiping the perspiration from her face and neck with a cool cloth, assuring her that everything would be all right.
She’d felt bereft when he left her with a sympathetic smile and a promise that she’d feel better soon. That had been over an hour ago, and she did feel better.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes, wondering what he was doing on the storm-tossed deck, wondering if it was just wishful thinking on her part or if the storm was lessening.
She heard the cabin door swing open, heard Hardane mutter a foul oath as he stepped into the room.
“By Romar’s Beard,” he muttered, “it smells like the bottom of a privy in here.”
“Sorry.”
“I’m not blaming you,” he said with a wry grin. “I’m only glad you’re feeling better.”
“Will we reach Argone soon?”
He shrugged. “Depends on how long the storm lasts.” Crossing the room, he studied her for a moment, noting that the color had returned to her cheeks. “Get some rest. I’ll look in on you again in an hour or two.”
A sudden gust of wind rocked the ship and Kylene grabbed the side rail, her knuckles white. “Don’t leave me,” she begged plaintively.
He hesitated only a moment; then, taking her hand in his again, he sat on the edge of the bunk.
“Tell me of Argone,” Kylene said, hoping the sound of his voice would keep her fear of a watery grave at bay.
“It’s a beautiful country, all green and gold, with rolling hills and lofty mountains. There are lakes and rivers everywhere, and trees like you’ve never seen before.”
Kylene closed her eyes as she tried to imagine such a place. Mouldour was a dark country, flat, arid. Houses were made of brick and stone because of the scarcity of timber.