Only in My Arms (18 page)

Mary could not see the horses nor could she find the trail Ryder had used to come or go. She didn't know if she were north or south of Fort Union, east or west of the rail line. She only knew she was higher than she had been before and that there was higher ground around her to be covered. The mountains where she found herself were totally unknown to her. It occurred to Mary that she might easily walk for days and never come across anything familiar or friendly.

She would have to be found, of course. Her survival depended upon that. Thinking what she might do to call attention to herself in this wilderness, Mary unfastened her headdress and shook it out. The black veil was coated with a fine layer of dust; the white wimple was stained with dirt and perspiration. Mary tiredly threaded her fingers through her hair, plucking away the strands that lay flat against her temples.

"It's longer than I remember."

Mary spun around and faced the cave. Ryder was on the lip of the entrance, half in its protective shadow, half out. She had to squint to see him clearly, and what she saw made no sense. He was as relaxed as she was tautly strung, as clean as she was unkempt. Mary's hand fell away from her hair. "I thought you left."

His appearance alone stated the obvious. Ryder didn't waste words explaining that he hadn't. "You have to come in here," he said. "Out of the open."

Mary didn't move. "I don't see the horses."

"I sent them away."

"Sent them? But—"

"Come here."

Mary walked toward him slowly, painfully aware of her awkward stiffness and of Ryder's flat appraisal. When she was close to him he took her arm and pulled her inside. "I can manage," she said resentfully. "I have so far."

He ignored that. "You're not to step foot outside this cavern again. Do you understand?"

"I understand what you're saying," she said, her tart spirit returning. "I just don't understand why you're saying it."

His grip tightened momentarily. "I only care about the first. You don't have to understand my reasons to obey my orders."

Mary's mouth flattened mutinously. Not for the world would she have told him his fingers were bruising her skin. With mock civility she asked, "And what do you suggest I do about a call of nature?"

"Answer it." He released her arm. "I'll show you where." Ryder didn't lead her into the cave immediately. First he stepped out and quickly shinnied up one of the pines, cutting a small branch from a point high enough so that it wouldn't be noticed at ground level. He used it to wipe away the trail of his own footprints and then Mary's. Even the telltale patterns of her gown sweeping the ground were obliterated. Ryder replaced a stone her shoe had overturned so the sunbaked side was on top again.

Watching him, Mary understood why she couldn't find the trail. More importantly she understood the difficulty others would have finding it. Ryder was leaving nothing to chance. "No one's going to find us, are they?" she asked when he joined her.

He shrugged. "This way." Without waiting to see if she followed, Ryder began walking. When he reached the point where they had slept the night before, he picked up a lighted torch he had wedged between two rocks.

"Where did that come from?" Mary asked. Light flickered on the walls of the cavern as he held it up. She realized that his sudden appearance at the cave's entrance had been possible because he had been in the cavern all the time, not outside of it. Now, when he held the torch higher, she began to have some concept of the vastness of the place to which he had brought her.

Just beyond the area where she had slept, the cave opened up into an immense antechamber. The torchlight was not strong enough for Mary to make out more than a half-dozen separate passages emanating from the area though she suspected there were twice that many. She knew enough about the interior of such a cavern to understand there would be passages within each of the others, literally hundreds of different routes along miles of corridors, all of them leading somewhere—or nowhere. She could lose herself more easily in the cavern than she could lose Ryder.

"You've been here before," she said. There was accusation in her tone.

Ryder merely held out a hand to her to help her over the rocky ground. When she refused it he shrugged and kept going, leading her through a shallow wash of water by stepping on a series of well-placed stones. The interior of the cavern was a cool and constant temperature, but the air was clear, not damp or musty. It seemed to Mary that Ryder chose an opening completely at random yet she knew it couldn't be the case. She tried to pay attention to the entrance, the shape of the smooth rock, the formation of the stones leading up to it. The wavering torchlight played havoc with her perception, and it seemed to her that Ryder juggled the torch purposely to keep her from seeing anything too clearly.

The passage twisted and turned, narrowed and widened, and as Mary had anticipated, there were more choices to be made along the route. After only a hundred yards, she was hopelessly disoriented. She was about to ask him if he had forgotten about her physical needs, which were now reaching the stage of urgency, when he pointed to a narrow corridor and handed her the torch.

"Take the second opening on your right," he said. "I'll wait here."

"Your manners leave me breathless," she simpered. Her rolling eyes supplied the sarcasm. She took the torch and disappeared into the corridor.

"There's nowhere you can go," he called after her. "So don't bother trying. The other passages are all dead ends." He watched her back stiffen and could imagine she was gritting her teeth to bite off a retort. Ryder permitted himself a small smile, a salute of sorts to her astonishing resiliency. He leaned back against the cool walls of the cavern and waited in the darkness for her return. As always, waiting brought a pleasure of its own. He savored the anticipation of seeing her again. She would be disheveled and cranky, but her spirit would precede the torchlight.

He pushed away from the wall as she approached and took the torch. "It's only a little farther," he said. "Will your legs carry you or do you want me to?"

Mary was disappointed that she hadn't been able to conceal her limp. "I'll be—"

"I don't know why I asked," he said. Thrusting the torch back in her hands, Ryder picked her up. "Keep that thing high. Don't burn my hair."

It was tempting, but Mary did as he asked, raising it over their heads. He carried her another fifty yards, and she never sensed his breathing change. His stamina confounded her, but before she could comment on it, he stopped on the threshold of another chamber.

Mary's eyes widened as Ryder slowly turned to show her the interior of the room. Five lanterns hanging from hooks embedded in the stone provided light. There was a small pool of water to the left of where they entered, and Mary could hear the faint trickle of the underground stream providing the water and carrying the runoff. Thick, colorful blankets were laid out on a wide stone shelf, which made a rocky loft of a bed. The chamber had no real corners, but one area that was more angled than the other was the storage site for hundreds of cans of food, also for dried meat and staples in kegs and sacks. There were cooking utensils, stoneware jugs, wooden buckets, baskets, and tin cups stacked haphazardly among the foodstuffs. Nearby, a crate of Henry rifles and cases of ammunition rested beside a small unmarked trunk.

The chamber was not only well stocked, it was also furnished with a rocker, a three-legged stool, a faded brocade wing chair, and a cherry wood pie table. While the mix of pieces was odd, Mary recognized the quality.

She was as astonished as she was appalled. "It's true, then," she said softly.

"What's true?"

Mary hadn't been aware she had spoken aloud. She nudged Ryder's shoulder, and he set her down. When he would have supported her, she took a step away from him. "Is this where you've hidden the gold?" she asked.

He came to understand what she thought was true. She believed the contents of the chamber had something to do with the Colter Canyon raid. "There's no gold here." It was the only explanation he would make. When it looked as if she wouldn't be satisfied with that, he pointed to the well of water. "It's cold, but you can wash there. Bathe if you like. I get our drinking water from the source so you don't have to worry that it will be contaminated. There's soap in that trunk and liniment in my saddlebags."

Mary looked longingly at the water, then back at Ryder, less critically this time. There was no gold here, he'd said. Did she dare believe him? Did she dare not? "I'd like a bath," she said quietly. "And perhaps I could wash my habit." From beneath her wide sleeve she pulled out her dusty veil and wimple. "And these."

"Whatever you like."

"Are there towels?"

"This isn't a hotel."

"I'm not likely to make that mistake. I just thought—" She glanced around the room. "It seems you have all the important amenities."

He took pity on her. Her eyes were large and impossibly green, and for just a moment she had been uncertain. "In the trunk with the soap. I'll get them both for you."

Mary exchanged the torch she was holding for the soap when Ryder brought it. She eased herself carefully onto the flat stones that ringed the small pool and took off her shoes and stockings. Looking sideways at Ryder, she raised her black skirt slightly and massaged her calves. "You already bathed," she said. "Alone." It wasn't a question; it was a hint.

Ryder hesitated.

"There's no way out," she said. "I'm not going anywhere."

His eyes narrowed on her face a moment longer. "Very well," he said at last. "There are things I can do elsewhere." Ryder picked up one of the wooden buckets and a ladle. Still carrying the torch, he left the chamber.

Mary waited, wanting to be certain Ryder was really gone before she stripped out of her habit and undergarments. When his light footfalls receded completely she believed she was safe. The pile of clothing she intended to wash was forgotten as she took stock of her bruised and battered body. There were large discolorations on her shoulder, upper arm, and hip and it wasn't until she recalled fainting that she understood their origin. The small, tender blisters on her palms and fingertips were easier to explain. She remembered the tight grip she had had on her saddle because Ryder wouldn't give her the reins.

Mary explored lower, touching her ribs, her flat belly, the faint outline of her hipbone. Where she had controlled her mount with her inner thighs, the soft skin was burned from the constant rubbing. Touching herself gingerly now, Mary winced. It would take more than liniment to ease her pain there.

Mary dipped her toes in the water, just skimming the surface. Ryder had understated the fact when he'd said it was cold. It was icy. She sat on the stones again and eased herself carefully into the pool until she touched bottom. The water cupped the lower curve of her breasts, and her nipples became almost painfully hard with the frigid temperature. In the beginning it was difficult to breathe. Mary was tempted to haul herself out, but it would have taken more strength than she could immediately muster.

The current tugged on her at the level of her ankles and feet as the underground stream rushed past. The deeper water was even colder than the surface, so Mary made no attempt to dunk herself entirely.

That is, until Ryder reappeared.

She had soap in one hand and a scrap of linen in the other. She held both aloft as she sank into the water as far as her chin. "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Ryder didn't miss that her tone was as icy as the water. "I didn't hear any splashing," he explained calmly. "I wanted to be sure you hadn't drowned."

Mary made a sound that was both derisive and impatient. "You couldn't be that lucky."

His pale gray eyes widened fractionally. "It didn't take you long to recover your sass."

She wasn't certain she heard him correctly. "What did you say?"

"I said you were sassy."

It was a word that had never been applied to Mary before. Tart. Blunt. Sarcastic. Those were descriptions she had heard. Sassy was girlish, a little flirty. It made her feel gauche, youthful in a way that she'd never been, even when she was young. Embarrassed, Mary lowered her hands and crossed them in front of her breasts under the water. Some of the heat drained from her face.

Ryder watched her thoughtfully and revealed nothing. He approached the pool slowly until he could hunker at the edge. "This seems familiar," he said quietly.

Mary was thinking the same thing. Except for the cold. That would fade in time, she thought. Soon she would be mercifully numb to it
and
the humiliation of her predicament. Mustering what dignity her situation allowed, she stared back at Ryder and waited for him to move away. When he didn't she said, "You might demonstrate some decency."

"Do you need help?" he asked politely. It seemed the decent thing to do. He watched her lips flatten with exasperation, and one corner of his mouth lifted in an arch smile. "I've riled you again, haven't I?"

Mary didn't know which she disliked more, the fact that he could get a response from her so easily or the fact that he seemed to enjoy it. "Will you please leave?" she asked.

"You only had to ask." Still watching her from behind a mask of impenetrable calm, Ryder rose slowly. The stiffness that plagued all of Mary's movements was noticeably absent from his. He didn't know it, but that did as much to fire her anger as his careless reply. As soon as his back was turned she pitched the bar of soap at him hard. It caught Ryder squarely between his shoulder blades before it thudded to the ground.