Beneath a Midnight Moon - By Amanda Ashley Page 0,2
marriage would signal the beginning of the end of Bourke’s reign as Lord High Sovereign.
The Interrogator drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, shuddering sigh. If Bourke were destroyed, the Interrogator’s life would also be forfeit, for he had sworn a blood oath to follow Bourke not only in life, but in death, as well. Bourke, the reigning Lord High Sovereign of Mouldour, had stolen the title from his elder brother, Carrick, through trickery and deceit. Carrick’s whereabouts were presently unknown, though it was feared he might be trying to muster an army in an attempt to regain his throne.
At the moment, Carrick was no threat. Bourke was confident that he could defeat his brother in battle, but an alliance between Carrick’s daughter and Hardane of Argone would be the first step in fulfilling the ancient prophecy. It was possible that the people, superstitious fools that they were, would read more into the marriage than there was. Weary of war, the common folk desired peace. But there was no profit to be made in peace, and neither Bourke or the Interrogator would rest secure until any possible alliance between Mouldour and Argone had been thwarted.
Permanently.
“She must know Hardane’s whereabouts,” the Interrogator insisted, his voice cracking with tension. “How could she not know? She is betrothed to the man.”
“You speak foolishness,” Kylene said. “I am betrothed to no one save the Sisterhood.”
“So you keep saying, but it is well known that you are Carrick’s daughter.”
Kylene frowned. “His daughter, my lord?”
The Interrogator took a step closer. His frigid blue eyes narrowed, his breath mingling with hers.
“I grow weary of these games. If you value your life, you will speak the truth. Are you not Carrick’s seventh daughter?”
“No.”
“No?”
“Has your hearing gone amiss, my lord?”
The Interrogator whirled around, his ice-blue eyes boring into the pale brown eyes of the Executioner. “Have you brought me the wrong woman?”
“I brought the woman you described,” the Executioner said quickly. “A woman with hair the color of dark fire and eyes the color of newly turned earth.” His voice softened with obvious admiration. “A woman with skin like alabaster come to life. . . .”
“I did not ask you to praise the girl’s beauty,” the Interrogator replied brusquely.
The Executioner shrugged, the movement causing the coarse material of his shirt to pull taut over his massive shoulders. Who could help but be spellbound by such a rare creature?
“Where was she found?”
“Cos and his men found her gathering herbs near the Motherhouse at the farthest reaches of Carrick’s holdings.”
Near the Motherhouse? The Interrogator muttered a mild oath. Was it possible that Carrick had returned to Mouldour? Was he even now plotting to depose his brother and regain the crown?
The Interrogator shook his head. Even if Carrick had returned, it was unthinkable that he would allow his daughter to prowl around the countryside alone, gathering herbs, of all things!
His gaze moved from the Executioner’s pock-marked face to Selene’s. For the first time, he began to think the girl might be telling the truth, that they did, indeed, have the wrong woman.
“She fits the description,” the Executioner remarked.
“Aye,” the Interrogator agreed absently. “Tell me, girl, if you are not Carrick’s daughter, who might you be?”
“I am a foundling, my lord, allowed to live on the outskirts of my chieftain’s lands. I would have taken my final vows so that I might join the good sisters who raised me if your men had not abducted me.”
Kylene’s heart began to pound erratically as confused looks spread over the faces of both men. Did they believe her? Would they now let her go?
The Interrogator stroked his bearded jaw thoughtfully. It was possible they had taken the wrong woman. It was just as possible that she was lying.
“Kill her,” he said curtly. “If she is the wrong woman, it matters not. If she is the right woman, so much the better.”
“And if Lord Carrick learns her fate?”
The Interrogator shrugged. “He need never know. Indeed, if she is not his daughter, he will not care.”
The Interrogator walked swiftly toward the door, only to pause with his hand on the latch. Glancing over his shoulder, he fixed his accomplice with a hard stare. “Attend me in my chambers when it is done.”
“Aye, my lord.”
With great deliberation, the Executioner secured Kylene’s hands to the iron bar, took a step back, and raised the whip.
“Do not make her passing too easy,” the Interrogator warned. He turned his narrow-eyed gaze on Kylene. “You should have told