Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,35
stood in the doorway for a moment, wondering if it would cause suspicion if he went down to the dungeon. The guard made it easy for him.
“It’s time to check on the prisoners,” the man muttered, checking the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. “Take care of it, will you?”
Hardane grunted. Then, his heart hammering, he took a torch from the nearest wall sconce and made his way down the narrow stone stairway.
The stink of urine and vomit and unwashed bodies hit him even before he reached the bottom of the stairs. Voices called out to him, begging him for food, for water, for mercy.
He walked slowly down the corridor, peering into each cell, appalled by the gaunt faces, the sunken eyes devoid of hope.
He found his father in the last cell on the left. For a moment, he could only stare in horror at the human skeleton that sat huddled on a filthy pallet. A heavy chain secured Kray’s right foot to an iron ring in the wall.
Anger churned through Hardane as he took in his father’s ragged clothes, his bare feet. His long black hair and beard were matted with filth. His father had always been a proud man, careful of his appearance, conscious of his station in life. He was the Lord High Ruler of Argone. As such, he should have been treated with respect.
“You’ll pay for this, Bourke,” Hardane muttered under his breath. “By damn, you’ll pay!”
At the sound of Hardane’s muffled words, the prisoner looked up. Hardane watched in amazement as a change came over his father. Kray lifted his head, his black eyes blazing with contempt. Gone was the forlorn prisoner of a moment before and in his place sat the Lord High Ruler of Argone, haughty, defiant, as though he were sitting on his throne instead of a rank pile of straw.
Hardane couldn’t stay the grin that tugged at his lips. He had thought his father cowed, beaten, humbled. He should have known better.
“Father.”
Kray leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. “Why do you call me father?”
“Because it is better to die as a wolf than live as a dog,” Hardane whispered, quoting an old Wolffan proverb.
“Hardane!” Rising to his feet, Kray closed the distance between them.
“Are you well, my lord?”
“Well enough. How’s your mother?”
“Anxious to see you again.”
Kray smiled, the expression softening the harsh lines of tension around his mouth and eyes.
“I’ll have you out of here soon,” Hardane promised.
Kray nodded. He didn’t ask questions. There was no need.
“How many guards on the island?”
“Six, I think. They’re well armed, but lazy.”
Hardane grunted softly. “Look for me tomorrow night at this same time.”
“Take care,” Lord Kray urged. He reached through the narrow barred opening and placed his hand on Hardane’s shoulder. “Your mother will never forgive me if anything happens to you.”
“Nothing will happen.” Hardane placed his hand over his father’s and gave it a squeeze. “Until tomorrow.”
Kray stared at the bleak walls of his prison, the heavy chain that hampered his movements. Locked in the dreary cell, his leg shackled to the wall, he had wished, endlessly and uselessly, that he could somehow escape.
But now Hardane was here and he knew that freedom was at hand. True, all his sons were brave, fierce, loyal. He knew each of them would willingly risk their life to save his, but, of them all, Hardane had the best chance of success. It was only his youngest son, his seventh son, who possessed the special Wolffan gift.
“Until tomorrow . . .” Lord Kray smiled as he repeated Hardane’s parting words.
For the first time in months, he had hope again.
“Tomorrow.” He breathed the word aloud as he sank down on his straw pallet once more.
Like a magic talisman, the word hovered in the air, keeping all his nightmares at bay, repeating itself in his mind until he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Tomorrow . . .
Chapter 18
Under cover of darkness, Hardane and his men went over the side of the Sea Dragon, swam to the Isle of Klannaad, and made their way ashore.
Leaving his men well hidden behind a jumbled mass of boulders, Hardane did as he had done the night before. He overpowered a prisoner who had wandered away from the others and rendered him unconscious. After assuming the man’s shape, Hardane moved up the ridge toward the abandoned castle that housed the dungeon.
Lurking in the shadows, he waited for one of the guards to step outside; then he quickly disarmed the