A home. Love. Children.

She would never feel those strong arms wrapped around her body, those of the man whose image haunted her dreams. And she would never hear his whispered endearments, the ones she so longed to hear.

She felt rather than heard her last cry rip from her heart, body, and soul.

It echoed through the stormy night.

Greylen drew upon the reins of his horse. “Gavin,” he called through the fury of the storm. “Take Duncan and Hugh and search the perimeter.” He turned to lead Kevin, Connell, and Ian toward the cliffs.

Gavin reached his side moments later, his horse dancing upon its hindquarters as he heeded the command to stop. “Greylen—”

“She will come, Gavin.” His anger spilled into each word he shouted back.

“’Tis not an argument,” Gavin assured. “We swept the perimeter but moments ago.” They had in fact swept it for the last four hours. Hours of relentless rain and thunder so loud, the storm’s center had yet to move from above them.

“Take the northern trail,” Greylen conceded. “I’ll—” Lightning tore through the sky, drawing Greylen’s attention. ’Twas the only time it distracted him that night, but with the blast came awareness. His entire body tensed—good God, she was in the waters below.

He raced toward the cliffs.

’Twas a descent of record time, each second pure torture as Greylen’s eyes fixed on a sight far from the shore’s edge, each flash of lightning confirming his worst ungodly fear.

He dropped his sword and dagger on the sand as he ran for the water. His boots and shirt lost to the surf as he shucked them while charging through the shallow depths. When the water reached his thighs, he dove into the white-capped waves, his deft strokes closing the distance. Strokes driven by an all-consuming rage. Rage at the peril in which this woman was placed.

His woman.

His eyes never lost sight of her. Finally, a solitary wave between them, but strokes away…she vanished beneath the crest.

She did not resurface.

She did not resurface.

He dove into the wave, and long minutes surely passed before he felt her lifeless body making its descent to the ocean’s floor. He grabbed at her with both hands, his fingers twisting harshly through her hair, his arms leashing viciously about her waist. Finally clutched fully in his embrace, an extreme sensation passed through his body.

’Twas as powerful as lightning, intense light and heat. Yet he kicked to the surface above, stunned the force did not take them.

Certain she didn’t breathe, and unable to fathom the horrid possible truth of the thoughts that followed, he ceased to think them. He did not live by emotion. He lived with it. But it did not rule him. No one ruled him.

’Twas a lie of such magnitude he would have laughed had this predicament not been his. And if this woman knew what was good for her—this woman whom he held within his grasp, this woman whom he knew to the very depths of his soul was the woman for whom he had waited—she’d better take his blasted breath. And she’d better make a damn good show of it.