The storm rose without warning, the waves battering the ship's sides with watery hands of fury.
At first, Kylene had cowered in the bunk, her knuckles white as she clung to the side rail, her stomach heaving in rhythm with the churning waves. She'd retched until her stomach was empty, grateful that Hardane had the foresight to send a cabin boy to empty the malodorous bucket.
At the time, she'd been certain she was going to die, but the thought hadn't frightened her as it should have. Indeed, she would have welcomed death if it meant an end to the horrible nausea that assailed her.
But then Hardane had come, offering her a cup of broth heavily laced with ginger. She had drunk it eagerly, remembering how quickly it had settled her stomach a few days earlier.
Hardane had stayed with her while she drank the broth, then remained a few moments longer, wiping the perspiration from her face and neck with a cool cloth, assuring her that everything would be all right.
She'd felt bereft when he left her with a sympathetic smile and a promise that she'd feel better soon. That had been over an hour ago, and she did feel better.
With a sigh, she closed her eyes, wondering what he was doing on the storm-tossed deck, wondering if it was just wishful thinking on her part or if the storm was lessening.
She heard the cabin door swing open, heard Hardane mutter a foul oath as he stepped into the room.
"By Romar's Beard," he muttered, "it smells like the bottom of a privy in here."
"Sorry."
"I'm not blaming you," he said with a wry grin. "I'm only glad you're feeling better."
"Will we reach Argone soon?"
He shrugged. "Depends on how long the storm lasts." Crossing the room, he studied her for a moment, noting that the color had returned to her cheeks. "Get some rest. I'll look in on you again in an hour or two."
A sudden gust of wind rocked the ship and Kylene grabbed the side rail, her knuckles white. "Don't leave me," she begged plaintively.
He hesitated only a moment; then, taking her hand in his again, he sat on the edge of the bunk.
"Tell me of Argone," Kylene said, hoping the sound of his voice would keep her fear of a watery grave at bay.
"It's a beautiful country, all green and gold, with rolling hills and lofty mountains. There are lakes and rivers everywhere, and trees like you've never seen before."
Kylene closed her eyes as she tried to imagine such a place. Mouldour was a dark country, flat, arid. Houses were made of brick and stone because of the scarcity of timber.
Another wave crashed over the bow and Kylene clutched the bunk's rail as the ship rocked violently. Timbers creaked as the ship bucked the wind.
"You've never been at sea before," Hardane mused aloud. "I don't suppose you know how to swim, either."
Kylene shook her head, her heart pounding at the implication. Did he expect the ship to go down?
"Don't worry," Hardane said, smoothing her hair back from her brow. "Kruck's at the helm, and he's the best quartermaster in the fleet."
Kylene nodded, though his words did little to reassure her. "I guess it doesn't matter to you if the ship goes down," she muttered. "You'll just turn into a whale and swim away."
Hardane chuckled softly, surprised she could find humor in the situation when she was so obviously frightened.
She grinned faintly. "Or maybe you'll change into a bird."
"I think not," he said with a grin. "Though I have often wished I could."
"Really?" She stared at him curiously, her fear of imminent death temporarily forgotten. "I thought shape shifters could turn into anything they fancied."
"Perhaps some can," Hardane said, serious once more. "But, other than the wolf's form, the Wolffan can only assume human shapes."
A wolf, she thought, remembering her dream. A black wolf with dark gray eyes.
Hardane smiled at her. "Fear not, lady. If the ship sinks, I'll make sure no harm comes to you."
She nodded, fascinated by his ability to change shape. "Do it," she urged. "Change now."
Hardane frowned. "Shape shifting is a gift, lady, one that takes a great deal of concentration. It's not a game."
"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I didn't mean to offend you."
She gasped as the ship seemed to fall out from under her. They were going to die. She knew it. Weary of waiting, of being afraid, she wished the ship would just sink and be done with it.
She closed her eyes, praying for strength, for courage, only to open them with a start when a low whine sounded near her ear, followed by a sudden breath of heat.
Alarmed, she opened her eyes to find a wolf standing beside the bunk. A black wolf with dark gray eyes.
For a moment, she stared at the animal; then, tentatively, she reached out to stroke its neck, but a sudden overpowering fear made her snatch her hand back.
The wolf whined again, poking its nose over the side of the bunk, butting its head against her hand in a silent plea.
"Hardane?" She whispered the word as she laid her hand on the wolf's head and scratched its ears.
The wolf whined again, the sound distinctly one of pleasure. For a moment, the wolf gazed into her eyes, its pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth in a canine grin, and then it pulled away from the bunk to stand in the middle of the floor.
And while she watched, the wolf began to change, taking on the shape of a man, and Hardane stood before her, fully clothed as before.
"Does it hurt?" she asked.
"Not in the way you mean."
"How long can you stay in another form?"
"It depends. If I'm under stress, or in pain, it's very difficult to hold another shape for more than a few hours."
"How do you do it?"
"I'm not sure I could explain it to you. I think it, and it just . . ." He shrugged. "It just happens."
Kylene sat up, everything else forgotten in her fascination with the man before her. "Can you change into things that don't exist, like a three-headed dragon?"
"No. I was often tempted to find out when I was young, but my mother advised against it, warning me that I might change into a shape and not be able to change back." Hardane grinned. "I know now that she was teasing me."
"You? Afraid? I don't believe it."
Hardane shrugged. It was true whether she believed it or not. There were old legends of shape shifters who had tried to use their gifts for nefarious means, who had sought to pervert their gifts for riches or power. All had come to a bad end, dying horrible deaths, or finding themselves forever trapped in the body of some hideous beast.
"Have you ever assumed the shape of a woman?"
"No."
"Can you?"
"I don't know. As I said before, it's not a game. It's a gift, one I've not used over-much."
"The wolf is the easiest, isn't it?"
"You're very perceptive. The wolf is my tashada, the spirit of my maternal ancestors. It's the only shape I can hold indefinitely, without conscious thought." He dragged the back of his hand across his jaw. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anybody what I've told you."
"Why? Isn't it common knowledge?"
"No. There are rumors that I have the power, but only my family-and now you-have ever seen me do it."
She wondered about those "few others"; wondered if they were still alive to tell the tale.
"Do I have your word, lady?"
Kylene nodded, more intrigued by the man than ever before. She studied him for a long moment, the turbulent sea and the intricacies of shape shifting forgotten as her gaze moved over him, lingering on his broad chest, the width of his shoulders, his flat, muscular stomach and long legs.
Hardane frowned, wondering what she was thinking, until he looked into her eyes. And then he smiled. She might be an innocent, she might be promised to the Sisterhood, but she was still a woman, with a woman's desires, a woman's hungers.
For a moment, he contemplated climbing into the bunk beside her, taking her into his arms. She probably didn't even realize that her eyes were burning with a sweet, hungry flame, a flame he would be only too glad to extinguish. He imagined her lying beneath him, her hair like a splash of red against the pillow, her eyes smoky with desire, her skin warm and tingling beneath his hand . . .
With an oath, he forced his thoughts away from such a dangerous path, reminding himself that he was promised to a woman he'd never met, that the woman he wanted was betrothed to the Sisterhood.
But he had no desire to wed the woman who had been chosen for him.
And Kylene might never be able to return to Mouldour.
But they were here now.
Alone.
Together.
"Listen!" She cocked her head to one side, a wide smile playing over her lips as the roar of the wind and the waves diminished.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bunk and hurried to the porthole. Standing on tiptoe, she peered outside. The sea was calming, the waves less fierce, less threatening.
"Do you think it's over?" she asked.
"Aye, lady," he replied, thinking that the storm that had raged outside was as nothing compared to the tumult raging in his loins.
Hands coiled into tight fists, he let out a sigh. The gale was over. It was time to go on deck and assess the damage.
It was just as well, he thought as he left the cabin and closed the door firmly behind him. Had he stayed a moment longer, he had no doubt he would have done something he would have regretted later.
They arrived in Argone two days later. Kylene stood at the rail, mesmerized by the beauty of the land. There were trees everywhere-graceful willows that swayed gently in the breeze, tall oaks and pines. In the distance, wildflowers covered the hillside like a multicolored blanket. There were lacy ferns and climbing vines, bloodred night-blooming roses and bright yellow dandelions.
She took a deep breath, her nostrils filling with the scent of sea and earth, flora and fauna. She slid a glance at Hardane, who stood at the windward side of the quarterdeck, one hand shading his eyes, the other clinging to the mast. His hair, as black as the sea birds that hovered over the ship, billowed behind him like a battle flag. Days at sea had darkened his skin. He looked wild and untamed and outrageously handsome.
She forced the thought from her mind. He was not for her. Even if she wanted him, which she most decidedly did not, he belonged to another.
But she could not draw her gaze from his broad back, from the way the sun danced in his hair. He shifted his stance, and the sight of corded muscles rippling beneath sun-bronzed skin made her stomach curl in a most peculiar fashion. She felt her mouth go dry, felt her palms itch with the need to run her fingers through his hair, to measure the width of his shoulders, to map the unknown terrain of his broad chest and ridged belly.
"Stop it!" She muttered the words under her breath, chastising herself for letting her mind wander down a path that she had no business navigating.
With an effort, she drew her gaze from Hardane and stared over the rail again as the ship glided effortlessly into port.
A half hour later, Hardane was leading her down the gangplank. It seemed odd to be standing on solid ground again. She'd just gotten her sea legs, she thought wryly, and now it felt awkward to be on land again, to be able to take a step without worrying about being thrown off balance by a sudden swell.
Men called to Hardane as he passed by, their voices filled with respect as they welcomed him home. Women smiled at him, sometimes coyly, sometimes brazenly, but all with an unspoken invitation in their eyes.
Hardane accepted their adulation as his due, she noted waspishly, smiling and waving, occasionally pausing to speak to this one or that one.
Kylene stood mute, feeling like a crow in a flock of parrots. She'd never seen such beautiful clothing. Silks and satins in bright reds and blues and greens-stripes and plaids and gaudy prints. She wondered that such bright hues didn't completely overpower the women who wore them. The women. She had never seen such lovely women, with their dark skin and hair and sparkling dark eyes. The women of Mouldour could not begin to compare with the women of Argone.
Moments later, Hardane handed her into an open carriage drawn by a matched pair of blood bays. Taking up the reins, he clucked to the team.
In a short time, they had left the seaport behind and now they were traveling through a land of gently rolling hills.
"It's beautiful," she murmured, hardly aware that she'd spoken aloud. "It looks like . . . like Paradise."
"Aye," Hardane agreed. And you look like a seraph who hasn't yet tried her wings.
"Where are we going?"
"Home."
Home, she thought, and the word twisted through her like a hot knife. She'd never had a real home. The only place that had come close had been the gray stone abbey of the Sisterhood, and now that was forever lost to her. She had no place to call home, no one to call friend, except . . . She glanced furtively at Hardane. He had treated her kindly on board ship, looking after her needs, calming her fears. Surely that qualified him to be her friend.
"What will happen when we get to your home?" she asked tremulously.
"What do you mean?"
"Will you send me away?"
Hardane let out a sigh. Send her away? That was the last thing he wanted. "Is there somewhere you'd rather go?"
She shook her head quickly. "No."
"My people will make you welcome, Kylene. My mother has always longed for another daughter. She will receive you with open arms."
"I hope she'll like me."
"She will. And you'll like her."
"Does she look . . . different?"
"Different?"
"Someone once told me she was a descendant of the Wolffan."
"As I am." Hardane smiled wryly. "You needn't expect to find her with fangs and claws and blood dripping from her mouth."
Kylene stared up at him, mute, a flush of embarrassment staining her cheeks. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"You didn't. She has no fangs, Kylene, no claws, only a rather sharp tongue when she is angry. But she is rarely angry."
"Will we be there soon?"
"By nightfall."
"Oh."
"Don't be afraid, lady. My people are not savages. They do not eat helpless women or small children."
Kylene's cheeks burned hotter. Even in the relative solitude of the Motherhouse, she had overheard tales of Argonian treachery, of Mouldourian babies snatched from their cradles and fed to Wolffan young. Often, the Sisterhood had united in prayer for the poor lost souls of Argone who were doomed to burn in the fires of Gehenna for their brutality.
They traveled for some distance in silence. Kylene stared at the passing countryside, wishing she could run barefoot through the tall green grass, stop to touch the petals of a flowering shrub, splash her feet in one of the numerous blue-green pools that glistened in the bright sunlight.
They passed through several small villages. The houses were all neat, the yards well tended. The people they saw smiled and waved. Some flagged the carriage to a halt and plied them with warm wine and bread and cheese, baskets of sweet rolls, bowls of fruit. If they stared at Kylene, it was only with friendly curiosity, but the main focus of their attention was Hardane. That he was loved by his people was evident in every look, every gesture, every offering of goodwill.
How different from the attitude of the people of Mouldour toward Bourke, she mused. She had heard it said that he dared not travel unescorted, that he feared to eat the food that came from his own kitchens until it had first been tasted by another to make certain it hadn't been poisoned.
It was near dusk when they started up a steep, winding hillside. No trees grew along the narrow pathway, and when Kylene remarked on the lack, Hardane said it had ever been so, that no shrubs or trees were allowed to grow close to the road because of the danger of ambush in times of war.
It seemed they'd been climbing for hours when the road straightened and Kylene saw Hardane's ancestral home for the first time.
A soft sigh of wonder escaped her lips as she stared at the beautiful edifice. Constructed of white stone, it seemed to shimmer with a pale golden light in the last rays of the setting sun. Blue and white banners fluttered from the towers.
As they drew near, she saw that there was a wide moat, an enormous drawbridge, a well-fortified gatehouse. Mounted men wearing the blue and white of Argone rode out to meet them, escorting them across the bridge.
Two men hurried up to the carriage. One took the reins; the other helped Kylene out of the coach. They bowed respectfully to Hardane before leading the horses toward the stable.
As Hardane and Kylene neared the entrance to the castle, a tall, gray-haired man opened the door. He bowed low, then informed Hardane that his mother could be found in the Blue Tower.
Hardane smiled reassuringly at Kylene, then held out his hand. "Ready, lady?" he asked.
Kylene took a deep breath. "Ready," she said, and placed her hand in his, praying all the while that she wouldn't do or say anything to embarrass him, that his mother would like her, that she might stay here, in the heart of Paradise, forever.