For a moment she thought herself in one of her dreams—lying in Matthew's arms, her cheek against his bare chest, the slow, even rhythm of his breathing a counterpoint to the gentle rise and fall of the ship. But gradually her still-hazy mind assured her that she was not asleep and dreaming; this was real. "Matthew," she whispered. "Matthew." How had she gotten here? Why was it so difficult to think clearly? Thank God, at least the colors and distortions were gone. "Mm?" he rumbled, still asleep. "Matthew, wake up. I'm frightened." His eyes opened. "Katherine? Are you all right?" "Oh, Matthew." She squeezed herself against him. "Where are we?" "My ship, love." "Truly? Are we safe?" "Very. We are on my ship, in my cabin with the door locked, and all around us on the ship are my men. No one can get to you or hurt you." He spoke softly, as to a child, and his arms tightened around her. "Oh, Matthew." Suddenly the tears began to flow, spilling quietly down her face. "She said you wouldn't come, that you couldn't find me." "But you knew better, didn't you?" "I thought so, but I—I was so afraid you might not." "I shall always find you, Kathy, you know that.
