Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,37

saw the huge, scar-faced man hurl himself at Hardane. The impact knocked Hardane off his feet and sent the sword flying from his grasp.

Muttering an oath, Jared sprinted across the uneven ground, knowing, even as he did so, that he wouldn’t get there in time.

Lord Kray watched in horror as the scar-faced man plunged a crudely fashioned knife into Hardane’s chest.

And then Jared was there, his finely honed saber cutting through the air like a scythe, cleanly severing the Executioner’s head from his body.

Heedless of the shocked gasp that hissed from the prisoners, Jared hurried to Hardane’s side. Lord Kray was already there, his face pale as he cradled his son’s head in his lap.

“Is he . . . ?” Jared looked into Lord Kray’s eyes, unable to say the word.

“No, only unconscious. We must set sail for home at once.”

Jared nodded. Rising to his feet, he ordered the prisoners into the antechamber and locked them inside so that they could not swarm the ship in a bid for freedom. It wouldn’t take them long to break down the door, but the Sea Dragon would have set sail for home by then.

Lord Kray packed the wounds in Hardane’s chest and shoulder with damp sea moss, then ripped his shirt into strips and bound the wounds. When that was done, several of the crewmen carried Hardane toward the shore.

A short time later the Sea Dragon was running before the wind, her course set for Argone.

Lord Kray paced the captain’s quarters, his gaze never leaving his son’s face. He was free at last, he thought, but at what a price!

Kylene sat up in bed, her face and body drenched in perspiration, the sound of her own anguished cry still ringing in her ears.

She had been dreaming of Hardane, dreaming that they were walking hand in hand through a shady glen, when suddenly she had heard a wolf’s agonized cry.

Instantly, the images of her dream had vanished and she had seen Hardane lying on the ground, his shirt covered with blood, his eyes closed, his lashes like dark fans upon his pale cheeks.

She glanced around the small, barren cell that was hers, her heart pounding. She’d had the same dream for the past four nights.

Rising from her narrow cot, she went to the window and gazed out into the darkness. Low clouds shrouded the moon and the stars. The only light visible came from the garden below where a single candle burned before a life-size statue of Saint Hadreas, the patron saint of the Bourne Sisterhouse.

“Please let it be a dream,” Kylene murmured, yet even as the words left her lips, images of Hardane lying helplessly in bed surrounded by candles flooded her mind. A bloody cloth was bound around his chest; his face was as white as the coarse linen nightgown that covered her from neck to heels. He tossed restlessly on the big four-poster bed, his hands clenching and unclenching. He was in terrible pain, feverish. She saw his lips move, heard the harsh rasp of his voice as he whispered her name over and over again.

It wasn’t a nightmare at all. She knew it with a sudden heart-wrenching fear. Hardane was hurt, perhaps dying, and he needed her.

“Hardane, hear me.”

She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until she heard the sound of her own voice. She frowned, confused by the inexplicable inner prompting that had forced the words past her lips.

“Hardane, I’m coming. Wait for me.”

Kylene spoke the words with fervor, willing them across the miles to Castle Argone, repeating them again and again without knowing why.

And then, in her mind, she saw her words encircle Hardane like a soft blue flame. A deep sigh escaped his lips; his body stopped its restless churning.

She was surprised to find herself dressed and standing before the Holy Mother a few minutes later.

“What is it, sister?” the good Mother asked. “Are you ill?”

“I have to leave.”

“Leave? Leave the Sisterhouse?”

“Yes. Right away.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“I have no time to explain, Mother, but I have to go. Immediately.”

The Holy Mother frowned in consternation. “You realize that, once you leave the order, you cannot return?”

Kylene nodded. There was no time to ponder the wisdom of her decision, no time to fret over the future. Hardane needed her, and an inner force she didn’t understand was urging her to go to him as quickly as possible.

“Let us pray about your decision, child,” the Holy Mother suggested, rising to her feet. “Surely a few days of meditation will