Beneath a Midnight Moon

Sometime during the night, Kylene awoke, shivering violently, her mind filled with vague images, indistinct images of a man and a woman that seemed oddly familiar though she was certain she'd never seen either of them.

She stared wildly around the room, the covers clutched to her breasts, her heart pounding with an impending sense of doom.

With a hand that trembled, she lit the taper beside her narrow bed, but even the flickering light of the candle failed to dispel the thick darkness that hovered around her.

She whimpered Hardane's name, wishing he was there beside her. The thought had barely crossed her mind when the chamber door burst open and she saw him silhouetted in the dimly lit corridor, his sword clutched in his hand. He was naked save for a bit of cloth that covered his loins.

"What is it?" he asked harshly.

Kylene shook her head. "I . . . I don't know." She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. "Nothing, I guess."

Frowning, Hardane stepped into the room. And then he felt it, an aura of darkness, of evil.

Crossing the floor, he put his arms around Kylene and held her close.

"You feel it, too, don't you?" Kylene asked, her voice filled with wonder and fear.

"Aye, lady, I feel it." His arms tightened around her as the evil in the room swirled around them, growing stronger, more oppressive.

Kylene buried her face in the hollow of Hardane's shoulder, certain that only he could protect her from the unseen menace that seemed to lurk in the shadows, ready to envelop her. His skin was cool against her cheek, his arms solid and reassuring as he held her close.

Abruptly, he swept her into his arms and carried her out of the room into the hallway.

"Where are you taking me?"

"To my chambers."

She stared at him in horror. "No. Please, I . . . what will your mother think? Oh, please, Hardane, don't do this."

But it was like trying to reason with a mountain. He carried her as if she weighed no more than a thistle, his long legs carrying them down the long corridor to his room.

Inside, he closed and bolted the door. Tossing his sword aside, he lowered her to his bed.

Kylene stared up at him, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The evil that had engulfed her only moments ago was completely forgotten as she found herself alone in Hardane's room, sitting on the edge of his bed.

Her gaze skittered across the width of his broad shoulders, the vast expanse of bare male chest, a bronzed belly ridged with muscle. Her gaze darted quickly back to his face as a new fear took hold of her, one more frightening, one infinitely more dangerous, than the darkness that had hovered in her room.

"Please, don't." She forced the words from a throat gone suddenly dry.

"Don't what, lady?"

"Don't defile me."

He cocked his head to one side, his gray eyes glittering. "Do you think I would take you against your will?"

"No," she said, her voice barely audible. "But I fear you could make me want you with very little effort."

Hardane stared at her, his heart accelerating at her words. "You do want me," he replied, his tone confident. "You want me as I want you."

Kylene nodded. There was no point in arguing, nothing to be gained by lying, not when he could read her thoughts.

"Lady, there's something I should tell you."

"Tell me, then."

"Kylene, I . . ." Slowly, he shook his head. He couldn't tell her, not now. Instead, he leaned toward her, his gray eyes blazing.

Knowing it was wrong, Kylene lifted her face for his kiss.

He didn't close his eyes as his lips covered hers, nor did she.

She felt the heat of his kiss, saw the bright flames of passion that burned in the depths of his eyes, felt his hands clasp her shoulders. She knew then that she would never return to the Sisterhood, that she was truly bound to this man who could divine her innermost thoughts, who had the power to make her heart soar and her soul rejoice.

Hardane felt the change in her, felt the walls she had built between them fall away, and knew she would be his. A low moan of pained pleasure rumbled in his throat as he drew his lips from hers.

"You have accepted me at last," he murmured, ignoring the voice of his conscience that chided him for being a coward, for not telling her who and what he was.

His fingertips traced the curve of her cheek, and then he kissed her again, savoring the taste of her lips. "Tell me," he whispered, "tell me that you'll be mine."

"I will be yours," she replied breathlessly. "I think I have always been yours."

His smile warmed her as nothing else could. Exultantly, he swept her into his arms and crushed her to his chest, his arms tight around her, his desire for her evident in every taut line of his hard, muscular body.

"Kylene, ah Kylene."

He said her name again and again, the sound filling the room like a prayer and a promise.

Dizzy with happiness, she stared deep into his eyes, wondering if he would make love to her now.

Slowly, Hardane shook his head. "I want to," he said, answering her unspoken thought. "I have wanted you since the day I first saw you, but I cannot. Not now."

Reluctantly, he let her go, his hands curling into tight fists as he fought to keep from laying her back on the bed and burying himself in her sweetness. A low groan that was almost a growl rumbled in his throat as he fought down the urge to possess her, to learn the secrets of a woman's love.

"Go to sleep, Kylene." He forced the words through clenched teeth.

"Perhaps I should go back to my own room," she suggested.

"No. I don't want you to be alone." He drew a ragged breath. "I'll sit there," he said, pointing to the window seat on the far side of the room. "Try to get some rest."

For a moment, she sat there staring up at him. It didn't seem right that she should take his bed and she was about to say so when something in his gaze warned her to keep still and do as she was told.

"Good sleep, my lord," she murmured, and crawled under the covers, pulling the blankets up to her chin.

"Good sleep, lady," he replied, knowing that he would not find any rest this night, not with her lying there in his bed.

Already her scent seemed to fill the room. And her thoughts, uncertain, filled with a yearning for that which she didn't understand, played havoc with his imagination.

With a great effort of will, he drew his thoughts from Kylene and focused instead on the darkness that had hovered in her room, a blackness fraught with evil. It might have been a sorcerer's spell, he mused, or the ghost of some ancient inhabitant of Castle Argone, and yet he knew instinctively that it had been neither one. It had been the essence of a dark vengeful soul, a festering, palpable hatred that had been directed at Kylene.

But why?

In the morning, Kylene woke to find herself alone in Hardane's bedroom. A dress had been placed on the foot of the bed, along with the necessary undergarments, thick white stockings, a pair of soft-soled white boots, and a length of fine white ribbon.

Kylene stared at the dress. It was made of finely spun yellow wool, pale and soft. The underskirt was a darker shade of yellow, almost gold. The sleeves were long and full, slashed at intervals to reveal a layer of the same dark gold cloth as the underskirt. A froth of cream-colored lace decorated the square-cut neckline.

Sitting up, she let her hand slide over one sleeve. What would it be like to wear such a dress?

Before she could change her mind, she slipped out of bed, threw off her sleeping gown, and donned the exquisite yellow dress. After braiding her hair and tying it with the ribbon, she stood in front of the mirror and studied her reflection. The yellow of the dress made her hair seem redder, her eyes more brown.

With a sigh of resignation, she started to remove the gown, intending to put on the dreary black habit she had been wearing when she arrived from the Bourne Sisterhouse.

"No."

Startled, Kylene sent an anxious glance toward the door to find Hardane standing there, his arms crossed over his chest, his slate gray eyes warm with admiration.

"How long have you been there?" Kylene demanded.

"Long enough to know you'll never wear black again."

"Members of the Bourne Sisterhouse aren't allowed to wear colors," she retorted inanely.

"You're no longer a member of the Bourne Sisterhouse," he reminded her.

"The Motherhouse at Mouldour doesn't-"

"You'll never go back to the Motherhouse at Mouldour, either."

"But I . . ."

Hardane crossed the floor in three long strides and took her in his arms.

"You're mine, Kylene. Have you forgotten what you said last night?"

She hadn't forgotten, but now, in the cold light of day, it didn't seem possible. Even if she wanted him, even if he wanted her, he was betrothed to another.

"You're mine," Hardane murmured again. "Always and forever mine. I'll not let you go again."

His hands slid down her arms, the heat of his touch penetrating her cloth-covered arms, sending shivers up and down her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he took the ribbon from her hair and ran his fingers through the thick braid until her hair fell in a glorious mass around her face and over her shoulders.

Kylene swallowed hard, unable to take her gaze from his face. There was something terribly intimate about the touch of his hands in her hair, something that spoke of possession in the way his hands rested on her shoulders.

Hardane gazed into her eyes, his expression telling her more clearly than words that he found her beautiful, desirable.

"I like it down," he said, his voice husky.

Kylene blinked up at him, her heart fluttering like the wings of a hummingbird. "Then I'll wear it down."

A slow smile curved the corners of Hardane's mouth and then he lowered his head and brushed a kiss over her lips. It was no more than a whisper, a promise, but it sent waves of delight crashing through her. She could feel the pressure of his hands on her shoulders, sense his barely controlled passion.

Without conscious thought, she leaned toward him, her arms wrapping around his waist, and he obligingly kissed her again, his lips lingering on hers as he held her close against him.

With a groan, Hardane let her go and took a step back. He took several deep breaths to still the pounding of his heart, and then he took her hand.

"My parents are waiting for us in the dining hall," he said, giving her hand a squeeze.

It took a moment for his words to penetrate the fuzzy web of desire that he'd spun around her with only a kiss. "What? Oh . . ."

Hardane chuckled, pleased by Kylene's heated response to his kisses, by the way her cheeks pinked with pleasure.

"Your parents! Oh, Hardane, your mother doesn't want me here."

He wanted to argue, to put her mind at rest, but he could not lie to her. He knew that, as grateful as his mother was for Kylene's help in restoring his health, she would never forgive him if he refused to marry Carrick's daughter. But it couldn't be helped. Knowing Kylene, loving her, he could not wed another.

Kylene stared up at him, her eyes wide. "You love me?"

Hardane grinned at her. "Are you reading my mind, lady?"

"Did you not speak?"

He shook his head, his eyes glinting with delight. "No, lady."

Kylene clapped her hand over her mouth, astonished that she had so easily read his mind.

"It seems our bond is growing stronger," Hardane remarked.

She could think of nothing to say. Hand in hand, they went down the wide stone stairway that led to the dining hall.

Kylene's stomach fluttered nervously when she saw Sharilyn and Lord Kray sitting at the table.

Hardane's parents greeted her warmly. Sharilyn smiled at Kylene, her appreciation for Kylene's help in restoring Hardane's health shining in her eyes.

Lord Kray nodded in her direction, his expression speculative, and Kylene knew he was wondering if she was indeed Carrick's daughter, even though she had told him that such a thing was impossible.

Kylene was decidedly uncomfortable during the course of the meal. Troubled by chaotic thoughts, she was hardly aware of what she ate, if she ate at all. She kept hearing Hardane promise that he would never let her go, that she was his, always and forever. A warmth flooded her as she remembered hearing his words of love in her mind.

They had just finished the last course when a messenger hurried into the dining hall.

"What is it, Parah?" Lord Kray asked.

"We have a visitor, milord," Parah said, his words tumbling forth in a rush. "A most auspicious visitor."

Lord Kray sat forward expectantly. "Who is it?"

Parah took a deep breath, held it, and then let it out in a long, slow sigh, as if he relished the moment of drama and hated to see it end.

"Parah . . ." Lord Kray's voice spoke of his growing impatience.

"Lord Carrick's seventh daughter."

Sharilyn and Lord Kray exchanged astonished glances, and then Sharilyn looked at Hardane, who was frowning.

Kylene sat motionless, her face drained of color.

"Show her in," Lord Kray commanded.

The air in the dining hall seemed to crackle with expectation as they awaited the arrival of Lord Carrick's daughter.

Kylene felt as if someone had drained the very life from her limbs. She looked at Hardane, and even as her eyes moved lovingly over him, it seemed to her that he was moving farther and farther away even though he remained seated beside her.

In moments, a lady swept into the room, her bearing regal in spite of her tattered gown.

Kylene gasped as she stared into the woman's face. It was like looking into a mirror.

"May I introduce the Lady Selene," Parah said in his most formal voice.

There was a long moment while everyone in the room looked from Selene to Kylene and back again.

Lord Kray recovered first. "Welcome, Lady Selene," he said, rising to his feet. Crossing the room, he extended his hand.

"Thank you, my lord," Selene replied, dropping a proper curtsey.

"This is my wife, Lady Sharilyn, and my son, Hardane. And this," he said, gesturing at Kylene, "can only be your sister."

"Yes, Kylene," Selene murmured. She stared at her twin for a long moment and then, as if suddenly remembering where she was, she bowed to Sharilyn, then turned the full warmth of her smile on Hardane.

"Twins," Hardane said, glancing from one to the other.

"Yes," Selene said. "Won't you embrace me, sister?" she asked, and held out her arms.

Still stunned at the realization that she had a sister, Kylene crossed the room. For a moment, she stared into Selene's eyes, eyes so like her own, and then she put her arms around her sister. She felt no warmth in the gesture, no sense of unity, of kinship.

And then Selene was hugging her back, and for a moment Kylene felt as if she were trapped in a dark cave.

With a start, Kylene dropped her arms to her sides and stepped away. She saw Sharilyn and Lord Kray smiling at the two of them, obviously touched by what looked like a warm reunion. Kylene frowned. Had she imagined the sense of darkness that had swept over her? She glanced at Hardane, wondering if he'd been aware of it, but his expression was closed to her.

Selene felt a sense of relief as the contact was broken. Turning away from her sister, she smiled at the man she intended to marry. He was more handsome than she had dared hope. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded the kind of raw masculinity that was impossible to ignore.

"Selene, won't you please sit down," Sharilyn invited, gesturing at the chair beside her.

"Thank you." Selene sat down and folded her hands in her lap. It was said that the Lady Sharilyn was descended from the Wolffan, but now, looking at the petite woman, Selene dismissed what she'd heard as scullery gossip.

But it was Hardane who held her gaze. "My lord," she murmured. "I hope you will forgive me for arriving without an invitation."

Hardane nodded. For the moment, he seemed incapable of speech as he glanced from Kylene to Selene and back again, wondering if he had imagined the dark pall that had seemed to engulf Kylene when she embraced her sister. Her twin sister. For some inexplicable reason, his shade had been received by the wrong woman.

"You're welcome here, of course," Lord Kray said, frowning at his son's rudeness. "Tell me, where is your father?"

Selene squeezed a tear from her eye. "He has passed on, milord. I came here unbidden as I had nowhere else to go."

"I'm sorry," Lord Kray replied. "Carrick of Mouldour was an honorable man. In another time and place, we might have been friends."

Hardane leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied the woman who was destined to be his bride. "How is it that you and your sister were separated?"

"I hesitate to say, since it makes my father sound quite cruel, but he decided that since I was the eldest, and betrothed to wed into the House of Argone, he would send Kylene to live with the Sisterhood. By so doing, he could enlarge my dowry."

Selene glanced at Kylene, hoping to see the effect of her words, but Kylene's face remained expressionless.

Hardane nodded. It was a common practice for the second sons of the Mouldourian nobility to be given to the church, since they had little hope of inheriting their father's lands. He had not been aware that the custom pertained to women, as well.

Selene smiled benignly. "I am glad to see you again at last, sister. Our father spoke of you often." Too often, she thought bitterly. But all that was over now. She would soon have everything she deserved.

"I am surprised to meet you," Kylene said, her voice curiously flat. "How did our father die?"

"Of a fever. We have been in hiding for quite some time, trying to elude Bourke's men. It was Father's hope to regain his throne, but it was not to be. The Lord High Interrogator executed all those who tried to come to our aid, until our people feared to help us."

Kylene shivered at the mention of the Interrogator. She could well imagine his evil influence striking terror into the hearts of any who opposed him. It occurred to her suddenly that Bourke was her uncle, that her father was dead, that her sister, a sister she had no memory of, was the woman who was rightfully betrothed to Hardane. She felt a curious emptiness inside, a disappointment that she could summon no sense of love or affection for the woman who was her kin, only soul-shattering envy.

Kylene stood abruptly, her legs trembling. "If you'll excuse me, Lord Kray, I should like to go to my room. I'm sure Lord Hardane and my sister have much to discuss, and I . . . I . . ." She sent a pleading glance at Lord Kray. "Milord?"

His eyes were kind as he said, "You have my leave to retire, Lady Kylene."

"Thank you," she murmured, and hurried from the dining hall. Only when she reached the safety of her own room did she let the tears fall.