Kylene knelt beside the hard wooden bunk, her head bowed, her hands clasped, her eyes closed in prayer. But try as she might, she couldn't concentrate on the words of the Morning Prayer that she had recited at every dawn since she had taken her first vows in the Motherhouse. Instead, Hardane's dark visage danced before her, his deep gray eyes mocking her attempt to pray.
How could she devote her life in service to others if she could not banish one man's image from her mind? How could she take her final vows of obedience and chastity when some wayward part of her, some wicked little corner of her mind, wanted only to feel Hardane's hands in her hair, to know the taste of his lips?
Had such sinful thoughts always been there, lurking deep in the dark corridors of her mind? And how did she banish them once and for all?
She pounded her fist on the floor, willing his image to depart and leave her in peace, but to no avail. She had no sooner managed to utter the first few words of the prayer when there was a knock at the door and she heard his familiar voice calling her name, telling her the morning meal was ready.
With a sigh, Kylene rose to her feet and opened the door. As always, she was astonished anew at how handsome he was, how tall, how broad. Shirtless, his legs encased in tight breeches, his feet shod in soft leather boots that hugged his calves, he exuded strength and power and sheer, overwhelming masculinity. For one whose only contact with the male of the species had been a gray-haired Confessor of the Sisterhood, Hardane of Argone was indeed a sight to take a woman's breath away, to make her sinfully, painfully, happily aware of the vast difference between men and women.
"My lord," she said, hardly able to speak the words, so intent was her gaze upon the vast expanse of his dark-furred chest and muscular shoulders.
"Are you ready to break your fast, lady?"
Kylene nodded, little tremors of pleasure skittering up her arm as he took her hand in his and led the way to the galley.
During their first few days at sea, she had eaten in Hardane's cabin. But now that she'd gotten her sea legs, they took first meal in the galley each morning, just the two of them, though sometimes Hardane's friend Jared joined them. Being seated between two such virile men, listening to their easy camaraderie, was almost more than she could endure. Strict silence had been observed at all meals she had shared with the Sisterhood. Idle conversation was to be avoided, just as one abstained from laughter and gluttony, greed and strong drink.
Today, they dined alone, just the two of them.
Kylene kept her gaze upon her plate, acutely aware of the man who sat across from her. She could feel him watching her, waiting for . . . for what, she didn't know. His scrutiny, indeed, his very nearness, made her feel clumsy and ill-at-ease.
She uttered a small cry of despair as she reached for the teapot, only to have it fall from her hand. A flood of hot spiced tea spilled into her lap.
Hardane was beside her in an instant, lifting her to her feet, dabbing at the dark stain on her skirt. "Are you hurt, lady?"
"No."
Like a child drawn to a promised reward, her gaze lifted to meet his. She felt a sudden warmth, a sweetness, as she saw the concern reflected in the depths of his clear gray eyes.
For a timeless moment, she let herself bask in the warmth of his gaze. Pleasure unfolded within her, uncurling like the bud of a flower opening to the light of the sun. Never had anyone looked upon her with such caring, such concern.
She had no memory of a mother's love, no recollection of a father's devotion. Always, she had been alone. Even in the abbey that housed the Sisterhood, she had been aware of a gulf between herself and the others. They had seen to her needs, provided her with nourishment and shelter, protected her from the outside world, but no one, man or woman, had ever looked at her as Hardane was looking at her now.
Lifting her onto a dry corner of the table, Hardane pushed Kylene's skirt and petticoat out of the way, exposing long, slender legs. She wore no stockings, only calf-high leggings made of heavy black cotton.
Alarmed that he would dare to take such a liberty, Kylene batted his hands away. "What are you doing?"
"Checking to make sure you're not burned."
"I can do it."
He nodded in agreement, but instead of moving out of the way, he bent to his task once again.
Hot color flooded Kylene's cheeks as he gently examined her right thigh. She gasped as the touch of his callused fingertips ignited their own brand of fire.
Hardane drew back, his brows rushing together in a frown. Her heavy skirt and thick petticoat seemed to have protected her delicate flesh from harm. No redness marred the ivory perfection of her skin, yet she shuddered at his touch.
"Are you in pain?" he asked.
"No," Kylene answered, and quickly drew her petticoat and skirt down over her exposed thigh.
Hardane swore under his breath, suddenly aware of the tension that hummed between them. He had never seen a woman's bare legs before, never realized what an impact it would have on his senses.
Kylene flushed under his probing gaze. It was hard to breathe, impossible to think, when he looked at her like that. The touch of his hand made her thigh throb with a fire that had nothing to do with scalding tea. Her heart was beating wildly.
Hardane took an abrupt step backward, then turned away from Kylene lest she see the effect her nearness had on him. By Romar's Beard, but he was tempted to throw away all restraint, lay her down on the table, and bury himself in her sweetness. Only the oath he'd made to his mother, and the knowledge that Kylene would never forgive him, kept him from surrendering to the lust that was roaring through him with all the ferocity of a maddened beast. For the first time in his life, he realized what a powerful force desire could be. Little wonder that men left thrones and countries for the love of a woman, that they turned their backs on wealth and power. At the moment, he would gladly give all he had, all he would ever have, to take Kylene in his arms and unlock the eternally sweet mysteries of womanhood.
"Finish your meal," Hardane said curtly, and stormed out of the room before the tiger rampaging in his blood made him do something he would forever regret.
Jared glanced up, his expression mirroring his surprise, when he saw Hardane striding toward him. It had been Hardane's habit to spend the morning hours with the wench. In the two weeks they'd been at sea, the heir of Argone had rarely made an appearance on deck before midmorning.
"What is it?" Hardane snapped, annoyed by Jared's probing gaze.
"Nothing, my lord," Jared replied. "How soon will we reach home?"
"In another week, if the weather holds." Hardane grunted softly, irritably. Another week of sleepless nights and tormented days.
He stared at the sea, thinking how pleasant it would be to dive overboard and cool his heated flesh in the chill water, to let himself sink into the sea's all-encompassing embrace and drown his problems once and for all.
"What's wrong?" Jared asked. "Did you have an argument with the lady?"
"No."
Jared cocked his head to one side, a knowing grin tugging at his lips. "You want her, don't you?"
"Of course not."
Jared snorted. "Don't lie to me, my friend. I've known you too long. She's a comely wench, and you're long overdue to sample a maiden's wares."
Hardane swore a vile oath. Was his need for the woman so obvious that everyone saw it?
Jared laid a sympathetic hand on his friend's shoulder. "Perhaps it's time to . . . to . . ." He cleared his throat. "There are many beautiful women in the House of Karos. All would be willing to, uh, initiate you."
"No."
"It's her you want? Kylene?"
Hardane nodded, his gaze still on the sea. "Even if I could bring myself to break my oath, she's a maiden. I couldn't . . ."
"I'd be glad to break her in for you."
Jared had spoken the words in jest, hoping to brighten Hardane's bleak mood. Too late, he realized he had made a serious error. With a roar, Hardane's hand closed around his throat, choking off his breath.
"You will not touch her," Hardane warned in a voice as hard and implacable as iron. "I will geld any man who dares lay a hand on her. Do you understand?"
Jared nodded, knowing, in that moment, that he was as close to death as he'd ever been.
He gasped with relief when Hardane released him. For a moment, he rubbed his neck, his expression thoughtful.
"I meant no disrespect," he said, his tone filled with the formality and deference due Hardane's position.
"I know," Hardane muttered, refusing to meet his friend's eyes. "Forgive me."
"I think it's more than mere lust that troubles you," Jared mused.
Hardane ran a hand through his hair. "Don't you understand? I can't allow myself to feel anything for her!" he exclaimed bitterly. "I am betrothed to another. I have given my pledge to marry Carrick's seventh daughter. I have made a sacred oath to my mother that I will live like a eunuch until the day I wed."
Jared dragged a hand across his jaw. Unlike Hardane, he had been born to poverty. His early years had been spent begging in the streets. As he grew older, his pride rebelled at begging and he turned to stealing, finding it more satisfying, less humiliating. He'd been almost sixteen when he had tried to lift Hardane's purse. To his eternal gratitude, the heir of Argone had not had him arrested but had instead taken Jared into the castle, accepting his word that he would steal no more. From that day onward, Jared had sworn allegiance to Hardane. Jared had never really understood why Hardane had spared his life. When asked, Hardane had only shrugged. Later, Hardane had confessed that, though he had six older brothers and a younger sister, he felt the need for a confidant closer to his own age.
Jared crossed his arms over the rail. "So," he asked after a while, "what's your next move?"
Hardane shrugged. "The Isle of Klannaad."
"To rescue your father?"
"Aye."
"No easy task, that," Jared mused. "The dungeon is well fortified, the prisoners as dangerous as the guards."
Hardane nodded. "Aye, and then I must return to Mouldour to find my betrothed." He spoke without enthusiasm.
"And what of Kylene?"
"I have promised to give her sanctuary on Argone, or to return her to Mouldour. The choice is hers."
Standing there, staring into the sea's blue depths, Hardane wondered which would be worse, having her leave, never to see her again, or having her stay, her nearness tormenting him like the fiery darts of Gehenna.