Beneath a Midnight Moon
Chapter 43

For the first time in her life, Kylene felt a sense of coming home as they entered the Great Hall of Castle Argone.
Parah, Teliford, and Hadj had hurried out to meet them on their return, their smiles of welcome quickly turning to expressions of concern when Hardane's father was lifted from a litter and carried inside.
Lord Kray's condition had worsened during the voyage. He had drifted in and out of awareness during the first ten days; since then, he'd been unconscious. His face was as pale as moonstone, his cheeks were gaunt, there were dark shadows beneath his closed eyes.
News of their liege's illness quickly spread throughout the castle and kingdom. Almost immediately, gifts began to arrive-dried flowers, sachets filled with healing herbs and spices, prayers and good wishes written in the ancient language of Argone.
The castle physician had been called to attend Lord Kray's injury. Grim-faced, he had drained the wound and cut away the putrid flesh.
The Wolffan priest came, offering what comfort he could. All of Hardane's brothers had come home, lending their strength and support to Sharilyn.
Druidia had been summoned, but for once none of the witch's unguents or potions had any effect, and now, three days after their arrival, Lord Kray remained unconscious.
In his father's illness, Hardane sat upon the throne of Argone. Kylene had been startled the first time she entered the Great Hall and saw her husband sitting in his father's place.
Lord Kray's throne was massive. It had been fashioned from the same dark wood as the doors of the Temple of Fire. The arms were carved in the likeness of wolves lying on their bellies, heads resting between their paws. The back of the throne was in the shape of a wolf's head.
Sharilyn's throne was the same as Kray's, only slightly smaller.
And now it was the night of the third day and Kylene was wandering through the castle. The servants had gone to bed long since. Sharilyn was sitting beside Kray. She'd hardly left her husband's bedside since their arrival. Hadj had to remind her to eat. Old Nan, the cook, prepared all Sharilyn's favorite dishes in hopes of tempting her appetite, but to no avail. Sharilyn ate only a few bites at a time, never taking her eyes from Kray's face, never leaving his room except when absolutely necessary.
Kylene's father had been given free run of the castle with a thinly veiled warning that the dungeon awaited him should he try to escape. Kylene had spent her days with Carrick, getting to know him, listening to stories of her mother and sisters.
On one occasion, Carrick had reminisced about his childhood, about the happy times he'd had as a boy growing up in Castle Mouldour. Bourke had once been his best friend, he had confided. They had explored the castle together, from the topmost turrets to the hindermost regions of the dungeons. They had played tricks on the housemaids, learned to ride together, to fight together, shared secrets. Being twins, they had tried to fool their parents and friends, laughing with delight whenever their mother mistook Bourke for Carrick. Their closeness, the bond they had shared, had made Bourke's treachery all the more painful for Carrick to accept.
Kylene saw little of Hardane. He was burdened with the affairs of Argone, and when he had a free moment, he sat with his father. Kylene could not help feeling guilty because her own father was here, strong and healthy, while Lord Kray hovered in the netherworld between life and death. She tried to tell herself she had no cause to feel guilty. She'd been years without a father; surely no one could begrudge her the time she spent with him now.
Kylene sighed heavily as she made her way to the Great Hall. She needed to see Hardane, to feel his arms around her, to feel his strength.
He was there, sitting on his father's throne, a sable cloak wrapped around his shoulders.
She stared at him from the doorway, wishing there was something she could do to ease the pain in his heart.
She had been there only a few moments when Hardane looked up, his gaze finding her in the shadows. Wordlessly, he held out his arms and she hurried toward him, climbing onto his lap to pillow her head against his shoulder.
They sat that way for a long time before Hardane spoke. "I was missing you," he murmured, one hand burrowing in her hair. "I'm glad you're here."
Kylene snuggled deeper into his arms, hoping her presence would comfort him.
"Why don't you come to bed?" She traced the outline of his jaw with her fingertip. "It's been a long day."
Hardane grunted softly. Bed, he thought. A nice soft bed with Kylene to warm him.
"A hot bath to relax you," Kylene suggested, "a glass of wine, and then a good night's sleep."
Hardane nodded. Effortlessly, he stood up and then, carrying Kylene with him, he made his way up the winding stairway that led to their bedchamber.
He closed the door behind them. A tub of scented hot water awaited him. A flagon of wine stood on the bedside table. The blankets were turned back, and his pillows had been plumped.
"Thank you, wife," he murmured, kissing her cheek.
"You're welcome, my lord wolf. Will you put me down now?"
"If you wish."
He let her slide through his arms until she was standing in front of him, her body pressed to his.
Kylene smiled up at him as she began to unfasten the laces of his shirt. Lifting the garment over his head, she tossed it onto a chair, then knelt to remove his soft leather boots and breeches.
Taking him by the hand, she led him to the tub, trying not to notice his body's reaction to his nudity and her nearness.
When he was settled in the tub, she dropped to her knees beside the tub, took up a soft cloth, and began to wash him.
Hardane groaned softly.
"Is something amiss, my lord wolf?" she queried, dragging the cloth across his chest and down his belly.
"Nay, lady."
"You don't seem very relaxed," Kylene mused, noting the taut muscles in his arms, the tension in his jaw.
He gasped as the cloth brushed the inside of his thigh. "You can hardly expect me to relax with you so near."
She had not meant to arouse him, only to soothe him. "I did not mean to torment you," she remarked, not certain whether she was causing him pleasure or pain.
"Ah, lady," he muttered hoarsely as her hand hovered dangerously near his groin, "it's torment of the sweetest kind, I assure you."
"Shall I stop?"
"No." He ground out the word, his body aflame as the soapy cloth moved over him, teasing, tantalizing.
His nostrils filled with the scent of the water, and with Kylene's own sweet scent, which was more intoxicating than ale, more potent than Mouldourian wine.
Lifting a hand, he cupped the back of her head and drew her toward him, his mouth covering hers. She was his woman, his life-mate, overflowing with life. His free hand moved to the soft swell of her belly. She was life renewing itself, and he needed that reassurance, needed it badly.
Kylene sighed with pleasure as his lips moved over her face, her neck, and then, abruptly, his arms went around her waist and he buried his face in the cleft of her breasts. She felt his shoulders shake and realized he was crying.
"Hardane." She dropped the cloth and wrapped her arms around him, her heart aching for his sorrow.
She held him close until his sobs subsided and then she coaxed him from the tub, dried him with a square of heavy toweling, and led him to bed.
Undressing, she slid in beside him, turned onto her side, and drew him to her breast.
Like a fox to its den, Hardane snuggled against her, his arms locked around her waist, his face buried in the warm softness of her breasts.
For a time, he didn't move, only lay there beside her, content to be held in her arms. The warm womanly fragrance that was hers and hers alone rose all around him. He could hear her heart beating a soft tattoo beneath his cheek.
He lay still for so long that Kylene thought he'd fallen asleep. Gently, she smoothed his hair, caressed his cheek, her heart swelling with such an outpouring of love it was almost painful. She wished she could do something to ease his sorrow, and the knowledge that there was nothing she could say or do brought tears to her eyes.
"Why do you weep?" Hardane murmured.
"Because you're unhappy and I . . . I love you so much and . . . and there's nothing I can do to help."
"Your presence comforts me, lady, as nothing else can."
His words, so clearly spoken from the depths of his heart, brought a fresh wave of tears to her eyes.
Rising on one elbow, Hardane kissed the moisture from her cheeks, and then his mouth covered hers. As always, her nearness fanned the embers of desire until he felt as though his very blood were afire.
Hardane caressed her with his lips and his eyes, and everywhere he touched, her body came to life. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her thighs parting to receive him. And for a brief moment, there was nothing in all the world but the two of them, life reaching out to life as their hearts and souls entwined, love engulfed by love.
Something was wrong. Kylene sat up, her heart pounding with dread. In the darkness, she reached out for Hardane, only to find the bed empty beside her.
Truly worried now, she lit a candle and glanced around the chamber. There was no sign of Hardane.
Frowning, she slipped out of bed and drew on a heavy fleece-lined wrapper. Holding the candle in one hand, she crossed the floor, opened the chamber door, and peered into the corridor. All was dark.
She hesitated for a moment and then, as though guided by an invisible hand, she made her way down the stairs, through the main hall, and down the passageway that led to the gardens behind the keep.
When she reached the narrow door that led to the gardens, she blew out the candle and left it on a nearby table. Then, taking a deep breath, she lifted the latch and stepped into the yard.
It was like stepping into another world. Overhead, the moon was full and bright, almost blinding in its intensity. A fountain bubbled in a corner of the yard; tall trees stood like sentinels in the darkness, their leaves whispering a requiem to the dead.
The rich scent of flowers and earth hung heavy in the air. And there, in the midst of the garden, she saw a half dozen wolves gathered together. One lay beside the fountain, its head between its paws, while the others stood around it, their tails lowered. She hadn't made a sound since she stepped into the yard, yet one wolf, the tallest of them, immediately swung around to face her.
It was Hardane. In spite of the distance between them, she felt the touch of his eyes on her face, felt the heavy sadness that permeated his whole being, and she knew, without being told, that Lord Kray had passed away in the night.
Hardane, I'm so sorry. She spoke the words in her mind, and the wolf nodded its head. She glanced at the prone wolf and knew that it was Sharilyn; knew, without knowing how she knew, that the other wolves were related to Hardane's mother, that they had come to share her grief in the loss of her husband.
She was turning to go, to leave them to mourn in private, when she heard Hardane's voice in her mind.
Stay. I need you here.
She met his gaze and nodded. There was a small wrought-iron bench beside the doorway and Kylene sat down, wanting to remain unobtrusive.
For a long time, the wolves simply sat there, and then, one by one, they lifted their heads, their voices rising on the night wind in a long lament that bespoke their sorrow, their loss.
The anguished cries sent a shiver down Kylene's spine, and she thought she had never heard anything as sad, as heartbreaking, as the sound of those melancholy howls as members of the Wolffan clan mourned the passing of a loved one.
One by one, the wolves stepped forward to lick Sharilyn's face, and then, like shadows before a storm, they disappeared into the darkness until only Sharilyn and Hardane remained.
With a low growl, Sharilyn rose to her feet. She rubbed against Hardane a moment, whining softly, and then trotted away.
Almost immediately, Hardane assumed his own shape.
As always, the incredible sight of wolf transforming into man trapped Kylene's breath in her throat. It was an amazing thing to watch, mesmerizing, frightening.
And then Hardane was walking toward her, and her breath escaped in an audible sigh of relief that he was again the man she knew and loved.
She rose to meet him, her arms outstretched to enfold him.
"I'm sorry" she murmured, drawing him to her, "so sorry."
"He went in his sleep," Hardane said, his voice thick with unshed tears. "He never woke up. My mother . . ." He took a deep, steadying breath. "She's grieving, not only for his death, but because she was denied the opportunity to tell him good-bye."
Kylene's arms tightened around him. There was nothing she could say to comfort him, to make the loss any easier to bear.
They stood there, in the waning moonlight, for a long time. Hardane rested his head on Kylene's, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist, finding solace in her nearness, in her quiet understanding of his grief.
His father had been a man in his prime. He should have ruled Argone for years to come, should have lived to see the birth of his grandchildren, to see lasting peace forged between Mouldour and Argone.
You'll pay for this, Renick, he vowed, his arms tightening convulsively around Kylene. You'll pay in blood.
"No!" Kylene drew back, shaking her head vigorously as the image of a bloodstained sword flashed through her mind. "No, Hardane, please."
"I must."
"Why?"
"Why?" He looked at her as if he'd never seen her before. "How can you ask that after what he did to you? To my father? Not to mention what he did to my mother. To me."
Releasing her, Hardane ran a hand through his hair, then began to pace the yard. "My father's blood cries out to be avenged."
Kylene wrapped her arms around her swollen belly. "And what if you're killed? What do I tell our sons?"
Hardane whirled around to face her, his jaw rigid. "You tell them the truth, that I died avenging their grandfather's death."
"And do you think that will comfort them? That it will bring me comfort on cold nights?"
"Kylene, try to understand."
She shook her head, her long auburn hair swirling around her shoulders like a thick fiery mist.
"I understand that vengeance means more to you than I do."
"That's not true!" Hardane exclaimed, suddenly angry.
"I don't want to raise our sons alone."
"Have you so little faith in my ability to defend myself that you already fancy yourself a widow?"
"Fighting Renick will solve nothing. Your father's gone, and the Interrogator's death will not bring him back."
Closing the distance between them, Kylene laid her hand on her husband's arm. It was as unyielding as stone.
"Please, Hardane . . ."
With a sigh, he drew her into his arms again, his chin resting lightly on the top of her head.
"Lady, you don't know what you ask."
Taking his reply for assent, Kylene rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes.
The next few days would be long and difficult for all of them.