Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,95

of his eyes, heard the barely suppressed pain in his voice. She remembered then that the wound in his thigh was not yet fully healed, that he should still be in bed, resting his leg.

“Good sleep, Father,” Kylene said, kissing his cheek, and then, smiling sweetly, she put her arm around Hardane’s waist, giving him the benefit of her support without anyone being the wiser.

Sharilyn bid them good night and hurried to her cabin to check on Kray, leaving Jared to escort Carrick to the aft cabin.

Alone in his quarters with Kylene, Hardane sat down, his head resting against the back of the chair. His leg ached incessantly, his head throbbed, and all he wanted to do was sleep. But he couldn’t rest. Too many troublesome thoughts were churning through his mind. His father was badly wounded and might not recover. . . . Carrick was not dead, after all. . . . He was here. . . . He said he wanted peace, but could he be trusted. . . . Bourke wanted to rule Argone. . . . Renick intended to have it all. . . .

He closed his eyes and summoned the image of the wolf. Putting everything else from his mind, he imagined the freedom of running across the fields in the dark of night, of dancing in the light of a midnight moon.

A low growl of pleasure rose in his throat as he felt Kylene’s hands soothe his brow, felt her fingertips knead the stiffness from his shoulders. Her fingers slid down his arms, and then began to work their magic on his injured leg, her touch soft and soothing, the warmth of her hands banishing the pain from his taut muscles.

“Sleep, my lord wolf,” she murmured, and her breath fanned his face. “Sleep, beloved. All will be well.”

And because he loved her, he believed her.

Chapter 42

Bourke sat on the tall, intricately carved throne, his hands resting on the arms, which were covered with rich purple velvet.

“He’s alive, I tell you. Someone saw him leaving the castle. With Kray. And Sharilyn.” Bourke dragged a hand across his brow. “And the wolf of Argone.”

“It’s impossible!” Selene exclaimed. “I was with him when he died.”

“Then he must have risen from the grave.” Bourke was practically shouting now. “What say you, my Lord Interrogator? How is it that Kray managed to escape from the dungeons?”

“It is obvious to me that his wife took on my shape and effected his release,” Renick replied calmly. “Never fear, my lord, we will have them.”

“You’re a fool, Renick,” Bourke retorted angrily. “We’ve lost everything.” He ran a hand through his hair, then drummed his fingers on the carved arm of the throne. “We’ll have to flee the country. Find sanctuary. He’ll never forgive me—”

“Stop babbling, you fool!” Renick snapped. “We’ve lost nothing!”

Bourke glared at the man who had held the title of Lord High Interrogator for the last twelve years.

“If you think that, Renick, then you’re a bigger fool than I imagined. The people have always loved Carrick. Now that he’s returned, they won’t rest until he’s restored to the throne.”

“This is all your fault, you spineless dolt. If you’d killed him in the first place, as I suggested, we’d have nothing to worry about now.”

Bourke stood up, his face flushed with rage. “You dare to call me such names! Jance! Arrest this man!”

“There will be no need for that, Jance,” Renick said.

A slow grin spread over the Interrogator’s face as he drew his sword and climbed the three steps that led to the throne.

“Jance!” Bourke screamed, staring past Renick to the guard who stood at his right hand. “Arrest this man at once!”

“I’m afraid Jance no longer takes orders from you,” Renick said with mock regret. “I bought his loyalty a long time ago.”

“This is an outrage!” Bourke sputtered.

“Indeed?”

With a cry, Bourke reached for his sword.

It was the move Renick had been waiting for. Face void of all expression, he drove his sword into Bourke’s heart and gave it a short hard twist.

For a long moment, Bourke stood there, his body impaled on the Interrogator’s sword, his eyes staring at the blood that dripped from the blade, and then his eyes glazed over and he fell forward.

Renick put out a hand to stop Bourke’s fall. Withdrawing his sword from Bourke’s chest, he gave a gentle shove and the body teetered backward and dropped with lifeless grace onto the throne.

Slowly, Renick turned to face Selene. She was watching him, her face drained