Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,81

rest, child. And try not to worry.”

As she watched Hardane’s mother leave the cabin, Kylene prayed that their plan, as impossible as it seemed, would work.

She gazed out the window, staring at the far horizon where the land met the sea. The thought of returning to the Fortress filled her with dread. Too clearly, she recalled the ugly little cell the Interrogator had locked her in, the constant oppressive darkness, the foul stench of excrement and vomit, the cruel sting of the whip on her back, the smell of her own blood and fear.

And now Hardane was there, perhaps in the same dreary cell. He was hurt, alone, and yet his thoughts were only for her safety.

With a sob, she buried her face in his pillow and willed him to find comfort in her love, to know that he would not be alone much longer.

Chapter 37

Naked save for a scrap of cloth knotted around his loins, Hardane stood in the middle of the inquisition chamber, his wrists tightly lashed to a thick iron bar suspended over his head. The end of the noose around his neck was also secured to the iron bar to discourage him from turning into the wolf. Should he do so, the noose would tighten, and he would be left hanging in midair while the rope choked the life from his body.

How long had it been since Kylene had stood in this very room, in this very spot? How long since the Executioner had laid a whip across her tender flesh?

Hardane’s hands curled into tight fists as he stared into the eyes of the man who had replaced the former Executioner. He was a tall man with a long narrow face and cruel brown eyes. But he was a master with the long black whip in his hand.

For the last twenty minutes, he had plied the lash with infinite skill, sometimes sending the whip through the air so that it flicked lightly, painlessly, at Hardane’s groin. At other times, the lash cracked through the air to land with sickening force across his bare back, cutting deep into sweat-sheened flesh and quivering muscle.

He was a man who enjoyed his work, this new Executioner, Hardane had to give him that. And he was good at it, able to command the whip so that it fell soft as a caress, or sharp as the bite of an adder.

Hardane tensed as, from the corner of his eye, he saw the Executioner lift his arm, saw the whip slither through the air. His stomach clenched with dread and his mouth filled with the sharp taste of fear as the lash snaked through the air with a sharp whistling sound to bite deep into the backs of his legs.

He choked back the urge to cry out as the thick black whip fell again, slicing into the half-healed wound on his right thigh.

Head hanging, his breath coming in labored gasps, Hardane closed his eyes, his whole body trembling convulsively as he waited for the lash to fall again.

But there was only blessed silence. And then he heard a faint creak as the door to the inquisition chamber slid open and he knew the Interrogator had arrived, come to ask the same question he’d asked every day and every night since their arrival at the Fortress.

Renick stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Tapping a short black riding crop against his thigh, he circled the prisoner, a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. The Lord of Argone would break soon. No man could possibly endure what he’d endured and continue to resist. It was only a matter of time.

“I don’t want him dead,” Renick remarked as he walked around the prisoner. Face impassive, he observed the blood dripping down Hardane’s back and legs. “Only cooperative.”

“Yes, my lord.”

With a grunt, Renick dismissed the man, then went to stand in front of Hardane. Lifting his crop, he delivered a stinging blow to Hardane’s chest.

“Look at me!”

Wearily, Hardane opened his eyes and stared into the face of the Interrogator.

Dressed in a light gray wool shirt, dark gray breeches, and black boots, his face cleanly shaven, Renick looked fit and well rested, as if he hadn’t a care in the world. His eyes, as blue as an icy river, held a keen look of anticipation.

“The secret, Hardane,” Renick said brusquely. “I would know the secret of the Wolffan.”

“There is no secret.”

“She’ll be here soon,” Renick said, tapping the butt of his crop against Hardane’s chest.