Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,87
He would mate with her, acquire the bond, and discover for himself how such miraculous deeds were accomplished.
He glanced at Sharilyn thoughtfully. Perhaps he should dispose of Kray. The woman might be more agreeable to mating if her husband was dead. Then again, she might be more manageable if she thought her husband’s life depended on her cooperation.
“Hardane is getting away,” Bourke muttered irritably, “and you stand here doing nothing.”
“Are you questioning my judgment, my lord?”
“Perhaps. And perhaps you’ve forgotten that my throne will not be secure until both Kylene and the heir of Argone are dead. The people are growing weary of war. Many are looking forward to the peace promised by the prophesy.”
“Fear not, my lord. I will yet have Hardane’s head. We have his mother and his father,” Renick said with a sneer. “Hardane is a man of honor. He will feel it is his duty to return for his parents. When he does . . .” He shrugged. “He won’t get away again.”
“What of Selene?”
“What of her?”
“It is her ambition to rule Argone.”
“A woman, rule Argone?” Renick asked in amazement. “Impossible.”
“Not if you were to rule at her side.”
“My lord,” Renick murmured with feigned astonishment. “I’m honored that you would consider such a thing.”
Bourke’s green eyes narrowed. “Are you? Or have you perhaps already thought of doing just that?”
“My lord, you wound me deeply with your lack of trust.”
“I know you well, Renick. You’re an ambitious man. One without scruples or conscience.”
“My lord . . .”
Bourke cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Those qualities have served me well in the past, Renick. See that they don’t overcome your judgment.”
Renick bowed his head in a show of servitude. “You have nothing to fear from me, my lord,” he said humbly.
“But you have much to fear from me, Renick. Remember that.”
Renick murmured an obsequious farewell as Bourke left the dungeon, but inwardly he was seething with barely suppressed fury. Much to fear, indeed! Once he knew the secret of shape shifting, he would be indestructible. He would be able to take on any shape, be it man or beast, and slip past Bourke’s defenses, infiltrate Bourke’s secret chambers.
A slow smile played over his lips. He would be able to take on Bourke’s shape; indeed, he’d be able to take Bourke’s place if he so desired! It was a heady thought.
Bourke was naught but a weak-minded fool. He’d taken his brother’s throne by trickery and then, instead of disposing of Carrick as he should have, he’d banished the man from Mouldour. And now the peasants were crying for peace, and if he wasn’t careful, Bourke would give it to them!
Renick grimaced with disdain. Peace! What profit was there in peace? You couldn’t lay heavy taxes on the people in times of peace. You couldn’t send your armies to plunder foreign lands, robbing their coffers of gold and silver and precious stones in times of peace. You couldn’t take prisoners and sell them for slaves, or kidnap a beautiful woman who caught your fancy.
Peace! Bah! Tapping his quirt against the palm of his hand, he paced the floor. He’d been ruling Mouldour for months now, planting his ideas in Bourke’s mind, coaxing him to see things his way, gradually winning Bourke’s guards to his way of thinking. Perhaps it was time to rid himself of Bourke once and for all. . . .
A slow smile crept over his features as he contemplated ruling the lands of Mouldour and Argone.
He was still smiling when he left the dungeon.
A low groan, the smell of stale sweat and excrement. Frowning, Sharilyn opened her eyes to darkness. Where was she? A sharp pain rocked her when she tried to move. Instinctively, she reached for the source of the pain, only to find that her hands were strapped at her sides.
And then, in a rush, it all came back to her. They had managed to free Hardane from the dungeon and in so doing, Kray had been killed.
The pain of her loss struck her like a blow and then as quickly disappeared. He wasn’t dead.
“Kray?” She reached out to him, her tashada searching for her life-mate, her soulmate. With relief, she realized he was imprisoned in the cell across the corridor.
“Sharilyn?”
“I’m here, beloved.”
“Are you well?” he asked, his voice betraying his concern.
“Well enough. And you?”
“I’ll survive,” Kray said grimly, “at least until my sword has tasted the Interrogator’s blood.”
“For that you must wait your turn,” Sharilyn replied.