Beneath a Midnight Moon

She stood on the shore beside a quiet pool, her eyes drinking in the beauty of the crystal clear water. Hardane stood beside her, his hand reaching for hers. She smiled as she followed him into the depths of the pool, shivering a little as the cool water closed over her.

But she wasn't afraid, not even when the water rose over her knees, her hips, her waist. She was never afraid when he was beside her.

"Trust me, lady," he said, and lifting her into his arms, he carried her into the depths of the water and taught her to swim.

It was wonderful, being in his arms, floating beside him, seeing the approval in his dove-colored eyes.

They swam for hours, going deeper and deeper into the pool. And she was never afraid, because he was there beside her. . . .

A ray of sunlight tickled Kylene's eyelids. Reluctant to awake from such a beautiful dream, she snuggled deeper into the blanket. Her eyelids flew open when the bed beneath her moved.

Only then did she realize she wasn't in bed at all, but in Hardane's arms.

Only then did she realize she had spent the night on his lap, wrapped in his embrace.

How handsome he was! His lashes rested like black fans on his tanned cheeks. His nose was wide and straight, his lips full and well formed, tempting her touch.

Unable to help herself, she lifted her hand, one fingertip extended, reaching to trace the curve of his mouth. . . .

She quickly withdrew her hand when she realized he was no longer asleep.

He stared at her through heavy-lidded eyes. "Good morrow, lady," he said, his voice raspy.

"Good morrow," she replied, embarrassed to have been caught staring at him while he slept. She felt her cheeks grow warm under his knowing gaze.

"Did you rest well?"

She nodded. With each passing moment, she grew more and more aware of the intimacy of their position. But when she started to rise, his arms tightened around her, holding her in place.

"Let me up, please."

"Are you not comfortable here?" he asked, his eyes dancing with amusement.

Too comfortable, she thought irritably. "I . . . please, my lord."

He knew he should let her go, but he continued to hold her, liking the weight of her in his lap. Her scent, warm and womanly, filled his nostrils. Mesmerized by her nearness, her beauty, he traced the soft curve of her cheek, ran the back of his hand down the slender column of her neck.

His body reacted immediately, filling with warmth, pulsing with need.

Abruptly, he stood her on her feet and headed for the door. "I'll have one of the men bring you something to eat," he said, not looking at her. "And water for a bath," he added, and then he was gone.

On deck, Hardane endured the speculative looks of his crew, but only Jared had the nerve to approach him.

"I trust you slept well, my lord," he inquired cordially.

Hardane glared at the man who had been his friend for more than twenty years. "Well enough."

Jared grinned at Hardane. They had grown up together, always conscious of the fact that Hardane would one day be the ruler of Argone, yet it had never hindered their friendship. Jared readily accepted the fact that one day Hardane would be his liege, but it never stopped him from speaking his mind, nor did he ever forget to give Hardane the respect that was his due. Respect that had been earned on the field of battle where they had fought side by side.

"She's a comely wench," Jared remarked.

Hardane scowled at his friend. Jared was a handsome young man, tall and lanky, with dark brown hair and eyes that always carried a hint of laughter. Women had always flocked to Jared, fawning over him, eager to share his bed. And, gentleman that he was, Jared always obliged them, effortlessly seducing them, the married and the unmarried alike.

Jared's easy conquest of anything in skirts was one topic that wasn't often discussed, the one subject where Jared tread softly, always careful in his choice of words. The fact that Hardane had never had a woman was something they rarely discussed, except obliquely. And yet, on occasion, Jared could not help but give in to a little lighthearted teasing.

"Was the bunk a tight fit?" Jared asked, his voice deceptively innocent.

"What?"

"Surely you did not make the wench sleep on the floor."

"Of course not."

A smile tugged at the edges of Jared's mouth. "We will be long at sea," he mused. "You are indeed fortunate to have such a delectable creature to cuddle with."

Hardane made a sound of disgust low in his throat. "Don't you have something better to do than worry about how I spent the night?"

"Aye, my lord," Jared replied with a grin. Turning on his heel, he sauntered across the deck, whistling softly.

For Hardane, the hours seemed to pass with unusual slowness. Usually, he enjoyed being aboard ship, exulting in the power of the waves beneath him. The sea air was invigorating and he loved nothing more than running into the wind, or facing the challenge of a gale, pitting his wits against the elements.

But now he could think of little but the woman who occupied his cabin. Time and again he made excuses to go below decks-he needed a drink, a compass, his charts. Each time, he lingered longer than necessary in his quarters. Each time, he was struck anew by Kylene's beauty.

She was still seasick, though not as bad as the day before. He sent her broth laced with ginger, and warm watered wine. And each time he saw her lying in his bunk, his body reacted in the same way. It was ridiculous, he thought. She was fully clothed, indifferent to his presence as she tried to conquer her aversion to the sea, yet his loins swelled with longing and a traitorous voice in the back of his mind whispered that she was his prize, that he could take her at any time.

It was on his fourth trip to his cabin that he found her on her knees, her head bent over a bucket as she vomited her supper.

She glanced up, her pale cheeks stained with embarrassment, when she saw him watching her.

He swore softly as he knelt beside her, one arm going around her shoulders, supporting her as she began to retch again.

When the spasm passed, he helped her to the bed, wiped her mouth, offered her a drink of water.

"I'm sorry to be so much trouble," she mumbled.

"You're no trouble, lady."

Her gaze slid away from his, only to return, her eyes drawn to his face like a fox to its hole. A faint flush warmed her cheeks. There was an odd feeling in her chest, like butterflies dancing.

She was acutely conscious of his hand supporting her back. His scent filled her nostrils, the combined odor of man and sea making her senses reel. He was near, so near.

She pushed the cup away, knowing she could never swallow past the lump in her throat.

Gently, he took her into his arms and carried her to the window seat in the stern.

"Here," he said, opening the jade green curtains, "keep your eyes fixed on the horizon."

"Why?"

Hardane shrugged. "Sometimes it helps when nothing else will."

She didn't think anything would help, but then common sense won out. He was a sea captain, after all. Surely he knew about such things.

Sitting in his lap, with his arm around her waist, Kylene gazed out the window. The water was calm, restful. Hardane's fingertips were gentle as they massaged her brow, his touch both soothing and arousing, making her long for a way of life that was forbidden to a member of the Sisterhood. Making her yearn for a man's love, for a home of her own, children.

"Rest, lady," he urged.

His voice was as deep as the sea, as soothing as warmed wine. She felt a sense of peace as she gazed out the window, at the blue-green of the sea and the deeper blue of the sky.

Her eyelids fluttered down as she gave herself up to his touch. The rocking of the ship and the gentle murmur of his voice lulled her to sleep, to dream of a vine-covered cottage, and a tall, dark-skinned man with hair like liquid ebony and eyes as gray as the stones that flanked the chapel at Mouldour.

Hardane paced the windward side of the quarterdeck, confident no one would dare invade what was traditionally the captain's private domain. His eyes were gritty with the need for sleep, his body tense from wanting what he could not have. He knew every man on board was wondering if he had finally broken his lifelong vow of celibacy and bedded the wench . . . bedded Kylene.

How easily her name came to his lips, how readily his mind conjured her image.

The mere thought of her, of bedding her, was enough to bring a fine moisture of sweat to his brow and make his body throb with desire. He paused at the rail, staring blankly at the sea, his hands clenched so tightly they ached. He had promised his mother he would abide by the ancient law of the clan, that he would remain celibate until he took a life-mate. It was for the good of the people, she had assured him when he looked doubtful, and for his own good as well. He would expect his bride to be nothing less than a virgin; should his future wife have any reason to expect less?

Hardane groaned softly. What if Carrick's seventh daughter did not stir his blood? What if Selene's eyes were not as warm and brown as the sun-kissed earth of Argone? What if her hair didn't shimmer like a flame in the moonlight?

What if he'd waited so long to possess a woman that his body wouldn't function at all?