Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,5

Of course, Carrick couldn’t be held entirely responsible. He had wanted peace. He had willingly agreed to see his daughter betrothed to the house of Argone in hopes of achieving peace.

But he had not been strong enough to keep the throne of Mouldour. Unfortunately, Bourke and his advisors seemed determined to keep the ancient feud alive, to seek the revenge that the ruling house of Mouldour had long felt was its due, and all because Hardane’s great-grandfather’s father had chosen to marry a Wolffan princess instead of the Mouldourian princess who had been selected for him. The Lord High Sovereign of Mouldour had been insulted when his daughter was passed over in favor of a woman he considered to be less than human. The Wolffan were an alien race. They were rumored to prowl the woods at night, slaughtering cattle and sheep and wild animals, stealing young children from their beds to be sacrificed to their heathen gods. The cry of war had been raised, and there had been war ever since.

“My people have never known kindness from any of Mouldour’s monarchs,” the Executioner remarked. “Surely Bourke does my liege no kindness by holding him prisoner in the dungeons on the Isle of Klannaad.”

Kylene leaned forward, fear for her own life momentarily forgotten. No place in all the known world was viewed with such horror as the dungeons located in the bowels of Castle Conn on the barren Isle of Klannaad. It was said that to be imprisoned there was to look into the face of certain death.

“Your liege is Lord Bourke’s prisoner?” she queried, frowning. “How can that be? Do you not serve Lord Bourke?”

“No, lady,” he said, tiring of the game. “I serve only my father, the Lord High Ruler of Argone.”

Kylene drew back as, quite unexpectedly, the Executioner’s gruesome face and form began to change.

Her breath caught in her throat as the man who lived in the shadow world of her dreams stood before her, his eyes as dark and stormy as winter clouds, his hair long and sinfully black, his skin the color of wild honey.

“You.” The single word whispered past her lips.

He inclined his head, the ghost of a smile hovering on his lips. “My lady.”

“Who are you?” She felt her mouth go dry as her gaze moved over him. Surely there could be no harm in looking, for he was beautiful enough to tempt Saint Lorinda herself.

“I am your betrothed, lady,” he said with a soft smile. “Hardane of Argone.”

Kylene shook her head. “I am not the woman you seek, my lord.” But now, looking at his broad shoulders, at the wide expanse of his chest, she felt suddenly envious of the woman who was destined to be his bride.

“Impossible,” he retorted sharply. “We have met often in your dreams.”

Kylene nodded. “That’s true, but I am not your betrothed. The Princess Selene is Carrick’s seventh daughter.”

Hardane grunted softly. Selene. Kylene. “What is the color of her hair, her eyes?”

“I know not. I have never seen her . . .” Kylene’s voice trailed off. “It was Selene you meant to communicate with, wasn’t it?” she asked, unable to stifle her disappointment.

The man of her dreams had become flesh—only he belonged to another. It was just as well, she thought, hoping to console herself. She had vowed to unite with the Sisterhood, to devote her life to easing the pain and suffering of others. There was no place in her future for a man, especially one who was heir to a throne.

“You can tell me the truth, lady. Surely you know I mean you no harm.”

“I am telling the truth,” Kylene replied quietly. “The Princess Selene is the woman you want.”

Hardane shook his head in confusion. It wasn’t possible. Only his betrothed, the woman destined to be his life-mate, had the power to receive his essence.

If Kylene was not the woman meant for him, how then to explain the fact that she had seen his tashada, his spirit, in her dreams?

Chapter 6

“Gone?” The Interrogator glared at the Executioner in disbelief. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

The Executioner shrugged helplessly. He could not explain what he did not understand. The last thing he remembered was being sent after the woman. He had gone to the dungeon, the key to her cell in his hand. After that, he remembered nothing until he woke, lying on the bed in her cell. Heart pounding with dread, he had hurried to find the Interrogator, curious to learn what had happened to