the woman while he had been unconscious.
The Interrogator paced the floor, his brow furrowed in an angry frown. “When I left you, she was securely bound. How did she get away?”
“When you left me, my lord?” the Executioner queried.
“Yes, you idiot! This evening, in the interrogation chamber, I told you to dispose of her, but not too quickly. Don’t you remember?”
“Nay, my lord.”
A wordless cry of frustration rose in the Interrogator’s throat. “Start from the beginning,” he said, taking a deep, calming breath. “What do you remember?”
“I remember being told to bring the woman to the interrogation chamber.”
“Yes, yes, go on.”
The Executioner shook his head. “I went to the dungeon and then . . .” He shrugged again, his hand massaging the large lump on the back of his head. “The next thing I knew, I was lying on the cot in her cell and she was gone.”
“That’s impossible! You were here, in this room. I saw you. . . .” The Interrogator swore a vile oath. “Hardane! It had to be Hardane.”
The Executioner looked bewildered. “My lord?”
“He took on your shape, you fool!” The Interrogator dragged a hand across his jaw, his expression thoughtful as he stared out the window. “So, we had the right woman, after all. I hold you responsible for this,” he said, whirling around to face the Executioner.
“But my lord—”
“You will never fail me again,” the Interrogator said curtly. “You are hereby banished to the Isle of Klannaad.”
“No! My lord, please, I beg of you. I’ve served you well, done all you ever asked of me.”
“It is done. You leave on the morrow. Pray I never see your face again.”
Heavy shoulders slumped in despair, the Executioner left the Interrogator’s chambers.
Banished to the Isle of Klannaad. It was a sentence of living death.
Chapter 7
Hardane sat with his back against the cave wall, his gaze straying once again to the woman sleeping beside the fire. He had never seen anything so lovely, he thought, as Kylene’s face in the firelight. Her hair was as red as the flames, her skin as smooth as Argonian silk. Her brows were delicate crescents, her lashes dark fans against her pale cheeks. And her lips . . .
He cursed softly as he felt a sudden tightening in his loins.
She is not for you. He repeated the phrase in his mind, over and over again, hoping to cool his rising passion, but to no avail. He had dreamed of this woman, yearned for her, imagined what it would be like to possess her. No matter that she insisted she was not the woman he thought her to be, he knew he couldn’t be wrong. He couldn’t be. . . . And yet, when he probed her mind, he knew she was telling the truth, that she was not Carrick’s seventh-born daughter.
He stood abruptly, his hands curled into tight fists as he walked to the entrance of the cave and drew in a deep breath.
He had never had a woman. His life had been spent in studying, in training for battle, in the subtle nuances of ruling Argone so that he might be prepared to take his father’s place when the time came. But a knowledge of women had been denied him.
He glanced over his shoulder, overwhelmed with a sudden urge to disregard all he had been taught and trained for, to run his hands over her skin, to taste the certain sweetness of her lips, to bury himself in her warmth and learn the hidden mystery of her femininity.
Body rigid with desire, he stared at her, at the steady rise and fall of her breasts, at the long, shapely outline of her legs beneath his cloak. The need to mate burned strong within him, and only the knowledge of what would be lost kept him from crossing the short distance between them.
With regret, he drew his gaze from Kylene. He was Hardane, heir to his father’s throne, his country’s only hope for a lasting peace between Argone and Mouldour.
He had been betrothed since birth to marry Lord Carrick’s daughter. On the seventh day of the seventh month, he would take her to wife and plant his seed within her. According to prophesy, twin sons would be born of their union, sons who would one day rule the lands of Argone and Mouldour, thereby putting an end to the ancient feud.
He gazed at Kylene once more. Was Selene as fair of face and form? Was her hair as soft, her skin as translucent?