Only in My Arms (21 page)

The watchfulness of his gaze faded as Ryder tucked into his meal. "I brought it in a little at a time."

"Then you didn't find it here?"

"No."

"So this chamber's a secret even if the cavern isn't."

Now he understood what she was getting at. "That's right. No one else knows about it."

Mary considered that. Her situation didn't have to be hopeless, she thought. Ryder had found a way to this chamber; that meant Jarret had a chance.

He could practically hear her thoughts, her eyes were so expressive. "I didn't find this chamber entirely on my own," he told her. "A prospector showed me the way more than fifteen years ago. Joe Panama hid out here after I helped him escape a Chiricahua raiding party."

She brightened a little, thinking about that prospector.

"He died years ago," Ryder told her flatly.

"Oh," she said softly, disappointed. Jarret's chances suddenly seemed remote. "Then I'm not going anywhere."

"That's right. Not until I say so."

Mary bent her head and continued eating even though she could no longer taste her food. She was silent, thinking. "How long will that be?" she asked finally.

"I don't know."

"What are your intentions?"

"Intentions? What do you mean?"

"Toward me," she said. "Do you intend to kill me?"

Ryder's look was a considering one. "I might," he said. "If you ask another stupid question."

Mary bristled. "It wasn't stupid. How am I supposed to know? You dragged me all over God's creation last night. You wouldn't let me stop to drink or rest. You wouldn't explain—"

His voice was calm. "There was no time," he said. "Resting would have delayed us, and I didn't know if you could have continued. It would have been hard for me, probably impossible for you."

It was his small admission that he had been tired that intrigued Mary. All through the night she had wondered if he were even human. There had never been any indication on the trail that he had suffered as she had from exhaustion and thirst. "So you ignored me until I fainted."

He would always count it as one of the most difficult things he had ever done. All he said was, "Yes."

"Then threw me over my horse like a sack of—"

"Yes." He was unapologetic.

Mary sighed. "You could have left me," she said.

"I could have." Ryder finished the last of his meal. "But you would have helped them find my trail again."

Her denial was emphatic. "I wouldn't have! I never would—"

"Your body would have."

The forest green eyes were wide in her oval face. She couldn't think of anything to say to that.

Ryder leaned forward and took Mary's plate from her nerveless fingers. "I'll put this over here," he said, getting up and pointing toward the larder. "You might want something later."

She couldn't imagine that she would, but she didn't argue. "What happens now?" she asked.

"We wait."

"Hours? Days?"

He shrugged. Ignoring her, he hunkered beside the pool to rinse his plate and utensils.

Frustrated, Mary came to her feet. At her sides, her hands were clenched. Even her toes were curled inside Ryder's thick woolen socks. "That's no answer," she said, her eyes fierce. "When can I expect to see sunshine again? When will I see my mother? My family?"

Ryder paused and glanced over his shoulder. In her cotton shift and his flannel shirt, with her stubborn, angry eyes and clenched fists, Mary was an odd combination of warrior and waif. "Do you want to be reassured with a lie or unsettled with the truth?"

"I don't want to be patronized," she said flatly. "Tell me the truth."

"Then the truth is, I don't know." Ryder returned to his work, dipping the plate in the cold water again, then shaking it off. He was unprepared for the two hands that were placed solidly on his back or the strength behind them as he was pushed forward. Ryder plunged head first into the well of icy water and when he came up, Mary paused long enough at the edge to wipe her hands clean of him before she calmly began walking out of the chamber.

Ryder hauled himself out of the water. He called to her once, but she had already disappeared into the corridor. His clothes dripped water on the stone floor, leaving a trail as he picked up a lantern and left the chamber. She was not in sight when he turned the corner.

There were three immediate passages she could have taken. Without a light Ryder concluded she had to be following the contours of the cool cavern walls. That would have led her to the very first passage.

His approach was far from silent. To Ryder, it had all the earmarks of a one-man band. Water squeezed between his toes and through his socks and boots with every step. It splattered loudly from the tails of his shirt and the ends of his dark, thick hair. A droplet found its way through a seam in the lantern and sizzled when it touched the flame. And for good measure, he sneezed.

Mary had not gone far into the corridor. Ryder raised the lantern when its light caught a glimpse of her cotton shift. She was leaning against the cavern wall, one shoulder pressed to the stone, her back to him.

"Go away," she said. He was close enough that she didn't have to raise her voice. His light stretched past her and cast a shadow where there had only been darkness before.

"Come back with me."

Mary's arms were crossed in front of her, warding off the cold and the abject misery that wanted to be her companion.

She shook her head. "There's nowhere for me to go. I can't see my hand in front of my face without a lantern."

Ryder stepped closer and saw Mary's entire body go rigid. She still refused to turn and look at him. "You don't want to stay here," he said.

One of her hands came up and she quickly dashed a tear from her eye. "You're right. So let me go. Take me out to the mouth of this cavern and let me find my own way back to the fort."

"You'd die out there."

She sniffed and angrily brushed away another tear. "I know," she said impatiently. "And my body would attract vultures and the vultures would attract the searchers and they'd find you because one of my bony fingers would be pointing directly at this cavern."

"Something like that," he said dryly. He raised a hand to place it on her shoulder, but she sensed the movement and flinched, drawing more into herself. He was quiet for several minutes. The only sounds in the corridor were the occasional staccato drip of water from Ryder's clothes and the muffled, throaty sob Mary couldn't suppress. "Let's go," he said finally, quietly. This time she came, turning, not looking at him, her shoulders hunched and head bent. He noticed she made certain she didn't touch him.

"I think I could learn to hate you," she said without inflection.

Ryder let that pass without comment, but his eyes followed her as she stepped around him and preceded him out of the passage.

As soon as they were back in the chamber Mary sat in the rocker and picked up a book. She held it up in front of her face as Ryder stripped out of his sopping wet clothes. She couldn't concentrate on the words in front of her. What she heard was the sound of Ryder rooting through the trunk for dry things to wear. What she saw in her mind's eye was the splendid breadth of his naked shoulders and the smooth line of his back.

Mary looked up when his shadow crossed her light. She lowered the book after he placed his index finger on the edge of the spine and pushed down. He was still naked to the waist. His dark, damp hair was tied back with a leather thong, but tiny beads of water still lay glistening on his shoulders.

There was an odd, unsettling flutter in Mary's stomach. Nonetheless she raised her eyes calmly to his. "Yes?"

"You're wearing the only other clean shirt I have."

She looked down at herself. The shirt was soft and comfortable, and it was warm. She glanced at the clothes on the line. Her habit was only a little less damp than the items Ryder had just added. "May I have a blanket?" she asked, putting aside her book.

When Ryder took one of the woolen blankets off the bed and gave it to her, she shrugged out of the shirt, handed it to him, and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.

"Your habit will be dry tomorrow," he said, putting on the shirt. It was warm from her body and, disconcertingly, held her fragrance. Ryder buttoned it and tucked the tails into his trousers. He watched Mary draw the blanket more closely about her. "Maybe you'll think twice before you toss me in the drink again."

"If all it costs me is a warm shirt, I'll gladly pay the price." She picked up her book, opened it, and effectively shut him out, though he was still blocking her light. Her breathing didn't settle into its normal cadence, however, until he moved out of the way.

Mary had no idea how much time passed. She read two chapters of
An Investigation of the Laws of Thought, on Which Are Founded the Mathematical Theories of Logic and Probability.
It was slow going, but it engaged her mind fully and for a few hours she didn't dwell on her situation. It was a call of nature that finally made her rise from the rocker and stretch.

Ryder was sitting cross-legged on top of the blankets when Mary got to her feet. He put down the gun he was cleaning as she picked up a lantern. "Where are you going?"

"The water closet," she said primly. "That
is
allowed, isn't it?"

"It's allowed." He came to his feet. "With an escort."

"Oh, for God's—" She clamped her teeth tightly and left the remainder of her thoughts unspoken.

Ryder noticed that Mary had no difficulty finding the route back to what she euphemistically called the water closet. Her sense of direction was as good as he feared it might be. He let her take the lantern in with her, but when she returned, he took it from her and made her wait in the dark passage until he finished. She was waiting in the exact spot in which he left her when he got back, seemingly paralyzed by the impenetrable blackness that had surrounded her. She blinked several times with the introduction of his lantern light. The blanket had slipped over her left shoulder. Ryder lifted it to cover her again, then placed his hand at the small of her back and nudged her forward.

Mary sat back in the rocker, but she hadn't had a chance to pick up the book before Ryder was towering over her. She raised her chin defiantly. "What is it now?"

"Give me your hand," he said.

"Why do you—"

"Give me your hand."

"Right or left?" she asked sharply.

He grabbed her wrists and squeezed until her fingers uncurled. Her left hand was empty. In her right one was a small, sharp stone. He picked it out of her palm before her fingers could close over it, held it up to examine it. The sharpest point of it was shiny and warm where it had been rubbed against another stone. Ryder didn't need to return to the passage to know that Mary had used the stone to mark the cavern wall.

He tossed the stone out of the entrance to the chamber. It ricocheted in the corridor before it landed on the floor. "You're determined to give me trouble, aren't you?"

Mary didn't deny it. "Let me go," she said, massaging her wrists. "Take me to a place where I can be found. I won't tell anyone where you are."

In answer, Ryder pulled a length of rope out of his back pocket. "Right hand," he said.

"What are you—"

He took her right hand and secured the rope around the wrist. Instead of tying her other hand with it, he attached the free end to his own wrist. When Mary jerked against her bonds she immediately tightened the knots. She tried to slip the rope off, but it wouldn't go over the ball of her hand. Her struggle made the blanket fall off her shoulders. She couldn't even reach it without pulling him with her.

Pride made her stop. A physical fight with Ryder wasn't dignified, and more importantly, she had no chance of winning it. "I suppose you think you have a reason for doing this," she said.

"I'm tired," he said. "I want to sleep. And I don't trust you." He bent, picked up the blanket, and gave it to her. "We're going to lie down, then I'm going to get some rest. I don't care if you do or not, but while I'm sleeping you'll stay by my side."

"This is ridiculous," she said, very low. She tried to hold her ground when he moved toward the designated bed, but he dragged her along with little effort, blowing out the lanterns along the way. Only one was left lit and he placed it on the slab of stone just above the blankets before he lay down. Mary was crouched uncomfortably beside him. "I don't want to sleep here."

"Then stay awake," he said. "You can sleep anywhere you want after I've had some rest." Ryder turned on his side. The movement of his arm forced her closer.

Mary was cold. She couldn't even rub her bare arms without disturbing him. "All right," she said with little grace, "but I need a blanket over me. I'm freezing."

Ryder sat up long enough to fix the blankets so some were under them and some could serve as cover. This time when he lay down it was so he could place his arm around Mary's waist.

He felt her stiffen, but she didn't pull away, not even when he fit himself to the contours of her curved body. "Warmer?" he asked.