Hardane woke from a restless sleep. For a moment, he stared into the utter darkness of his prison. His leg, though mending, was still painful when he put any weight on it. His arms, stretched over his head, ached from the strain, and his wrists were swollen from the constant chafing of his restraints. The noose and the thick iron collar around his neck made breathing difficult.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips. Being chained to the wall day and night gave him little opportunity to rest his injured thigh and made it virtually impossible for him to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time.

Heartsick, homesick, he murmured Kylene's name. And then, in a rush, he knew what had awakened him. He'd been walking in Kylene's dreams, holding her close, caressing the satin smoothness of her skin, his face buried in the silky mass of her hair as he breathed in her scent.

Kylene . . . She was near, he thought, near enough that he could walk in her dreams again.

He frowned as his mind filled with a myriad of images: his ship, the Sea Dragon, was under full sail as it made its way toward Mouldour, cutting through the water like a scythe through hay. He saw his father, a look of grim determination on his face as he paced the quarterdeck; he saw his mother and Kylene sitting in the captain's cabin, their faces shadowed with worry.

Kylene . . . he could see her clearly in his mind, her beautiful red hair flowing, unbound, down her back. Because he liked it that way. Her eyes, warm and brown, were dark with concern. His gaze caressed her face, then moved to the gentle swell of her belly. His sons rested there, within the safe haven of her womb.

Kylene . . . she seemed so near, his whole being yearned toward her, aching to hold her, to be touched by her.

"Go back," he murmured. "Go back to Argone before it's too late."

Closing his eyes, he willed her to hear his thoughts. He'd been so certain his father would realize the necessity of keeping Kylene safe in Argone, and now they were all en route to Mouldour, determined to free him.

He tugged against the chains that bound him, cursing softly as the heavy irons cut into his flesh. He had to get away before it was too late, before everyone he loved was at Renick's mercy.

He groaned low in his throat as he realized there was nothing he could do. Nothing at all.

Kylene lay curled on her side on Hardane's bunk in the captain's cabin, her eyes closed as she hugged his pillow to her breast. If she breathed deeply, she could detect his scent, though faint.

Kylene sighed heavily. Hardane's brothers had wanted to accompany them to Mouldour, threatening to tear the Interrogator limb from limb, but Lord Kray had insisted they stay behind to guard Castle Argone should the Interrogator return. Dubrey, Liam, and Morray had castles of their own that would also need protecting in the event of an attack.

Kylene had been surprised to learn that some of Hardane's brothers had their own castles. She'd once asked Dubrey if he didn't occasionally feel jealous that his youngest brother would one day inherit the throne. It was then she'd learned that Hardane's three oldest brothers had land and holdings of their own.

"There's no need for us to be jealous," Dubrey had assured her. "We knew from the day of his birth that he would rule Argone. There's always been something special about Hardane. Not just the fact that the blood of the Wolffan is strong within him. The people love him. As you do."

As you do . . . The words repeated in her mind.

"Please, let him be all right," she prayed fervently. "And please," she added as her stomach churned with nausea, "please let this voyage be over soon."

She'd been sick ever since they lost sight of land, and nothing seemed to help, but she didn't care. She knew she'd endure anything, take any risk, to free Hardane from the bowels of the Fortress. She thought of him constantly, praying that he was well, that he was still alive.

Her nights had been filled with nightmare images of the ship filling with water, slowly sinking beneath the waves. She felt the cold water closing over her, heard the sound of terrified screams, her own and those of her unborn children.

Just one good night's sleep, she thought. If she could just have one good night's sleep . . .

"Kylene."

His voice, deep and vibrant, called to her.

"Hardane?"

"Lady."

Relief, sweeter than Mouldourian honey, washed through her as he took her in his arms and held her close.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

She nodded, unable to speak for the rush of emotions that swelled within her breast. She gazed into his eyes, warming herself in the love she saw reflected there. His hands stroked her arms, caressed her breasts, rested on the slight swell of her belly.

"I've missed you." He lifted one hand to cup the back of her head as he bent toward her, his mouth slanting over hers.

He kissed her with such exquisite tenderness it brought tears to her eyes, and she pressed herself against him, needing to feel his nearness, his strength, wishing she could somehow slip inside of him and never let him go.

"Love me," she begged. "Love me now."

He breathed her name as he swept her into his arms and carried her to bed. Gently, he kissed and caressed her, his hands playing over her willing flesh until she was on fire for him, until she had to touch him in return. He filled her senses, until there was nothing in all the world but the sight and taste and touch of Hardane, the sound of his voice murmuring that he loved her, would always love her.

Caught up in the never-ending wonder of his nearness, she followed him up, up, to the heights of desire, his name a cry on her lips as their bodies merged, heart to heart and soul to soul.

She was drifting, floating on a sea of sensation and satisfaction. He was here, beside her, and nothing else mattered . . .

"Go back."

She frowned at the urgency in his voice.

"Kylene, you must tell my father to return to Argone."

She woke abruptly, her body sheened with perspiration. "Hardane?"

"Tell my father to turn the ship around. There's nothing you can do."

She sat staring into the darkness for several moments, stunned by the realization that it had all been a dream.

But there was nothing imaginary about the voice in her head, Hardane's voice, warning her to turn back.

Sitting up, she shook her head. "No, my lord wolf," she murmured into the darkness. "I'll not leave you there."

"Go back, lady . . . go back . . ."

His voice, filled with pleading, grew faint and then was gone.

Sharilyn listened quietly as Kylene told of hearing Hardane's voice warning them to turn back. He was alive, at least, she thought, relieved.

"You don't think it was just a dream, do you?" Kylene asked.

"No, child."

"Don't tell Lord Kray," Kylene begged. "I'm afraid he'll insist we go back to Argone."

"Nothing will make us turn back, Kylene. You needn't worry about that. We'll reach Mouldour tomorrow night." Sharilyn placed her hand over Kylene's. "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be all right."

"You don't look well."

"I'm fine, really. Just a little queasy."

"We'll find him, Kylene. I promise you that." Sharilyn gave Kylene's hand a squeeze. "Get some rest, child. And try not to worry."

As she watched Hardane's mother leave the cabin, Kylene prayed that their plan, as impossible as it seemed, would work.

She gazed out the window, staring at the far horizon where the land met the sea. The thought of returning to the Fortress filled her with dread. Too clearly, she recalled the ugly little cell the Interrogator had locked her in, the constant oppressive darkness, the foul stench of excrement and vomit, the cruel sting of the whip on her back, the smell of her own blood and fear.

And now Hardane was there, perhaps in the same dreary cell. He was hurt, alone, and yet his thoughts were only for her safety.

With a sob, she buried her face in his pillow and willed him to find comfort in her love, to know that he would not be alone much longer.

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