Gathering all three items, Linnet glanced back at her bed, at the dark head on her pillows, silent and still, then she turned, went out of the door, and closed it quietly behind her.

Logan woke to a dark room.

To a soft bed, and the scent of woman.

Thathe recognized instantly. All the rest, however…

Where the devil was he?

Very carefully, he opened his eyes and looked around. His head hurt-throbbed, ached. So badly he could barely squint through the pain. Doing so, he located a hearth across the room, the fire within it a pile of glowing coals.

Where in all hell was he?

He tried to think, but couldn’t. The pain intensified when he tried, when he frowned. Shifting fractionally, he realized there was no bandage about his head, but there was one-a large and long one-winding about his torso.

So he’d been wounded.

How? Where? Why?

The questions lined up in his brain, but no answers came.

Then he heard voices-from a distance, through walls and doors, but his hearing seemed as acute as usual…

Children. The voices belonged to children. Youthful, too high-pitched to be anything but.

He couldn’t recall anything about children.

Disturbed, uncertain, he moved his arms, then his legs. All his limbs were functioning, under his control. It was only his head that ached so fiercely. Gingerly, pushing aside lumps he recognized as wrapped bricks, he eased to the side of the bed.

Some primal memory kept insisting there were enemies about, even though he couldn’t remember anything specific. Had he been captured? Was he in some enemy camp?