by Jo Goodman
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 whe
n he fit himself to the contours of her curved body. "Warmer?" he asked.
Mary couldn't find her voice. Aware of him to the point where she could be aware of nothing else, Mary could only nod. Her limbs ached with rigidity, but she couldn't make herself relax, couldn't imagine that she would be able to fall asleep.
"You have a great deal of courage," he said. His voice was thick, husky, just a shade louder than a whisper. His breath was warm, and it touched the back of her neck. "Perhaps too much."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Too much courage can make you foolish. Trying to mark the passage with a stone... that was foolish. And earlier... with the Henry rifle... that was foolish."
"I suppose it seems that way to you."
He wanted to shake her, make her see sense, but he was too tired. Except for the few hours of rest he'd grabbed when they'd first reached the cavern, Ryder had had almost no sleep in more than two days. Waiting for his sentence, then waiting for it to be carried out, had not been the stuff of dreams. "I don't want to hurt you, Mary," he said quietly. "I don't want to be responsible for you getting hurt."
"You're threatening me."
Ryder echoed her earlier words as he closed his eyes. "I suppose it seems that way to you."
* * *
Mary woke thirsty. She sat up and scooted forward before she felt the pull of the hateful tether. Ryder was still sleeping and didn't appear to be aware of the tug on the rope they shared. Mary looked at him, her smile scornful. She'd hardly dared moved because he'd made her believe he'd know it right away. The truth was a little bit different than that.
Asleep, he wasn't nearly so intimidating. His strong profile had softened. The lips, slightly parted, and the thick sweep of lashes made him seem young, even vulnerable. His dark hair had dried. An inky strand of it had escaped the thong and lay across his cheek. Mary was tempted to touch it, to push it aside. She resisted.
Instead she bent her head close to her wrist and began working the knots with her teeth. Not wanting to take unnecessary chances, she was careful not to disturb Ryder by pulling too hard on the rope. The knots were tight, but Mary was able to work them loose gradually. Eventually the loop around her wrist was large enough for her to slip her hand through.
She rubbed her wrist where the rope had burned her skin, then slid to the edge of the stone loft and eased herself down soundlessly. The bucket of fresh drinking water was near all the other foodstuffs. She dipped the ladle and drank from it. The water was cool and refreshing. A few droplets slipped past her lips to her chin. She wiped them away with the back of her hand.
Her eyes fell on Ryder's saddlebags. Putting down the ladle, she reached for them. She sifted through the contents. Liniment. A small pouch of tobacco. A deck of playing cards. Peppermint sticks. A sewing kit. Comb. Brush. A flask of alcohol. Three carefully folded bandanas. Mary took everything out and began packing the bags with jerky. She filled his canteen with water and set a sack of dried navy beans beside it.
After taking off the thick woolen socks she was wearing, she pulled on her stockings, then her shoes. When she took clothing from the line, it wasn't her habit she removed but Ryder's damp shirt and pants. They were ridiculously large for her slender frame, so Mary determinedly rolled up the sleeves and the bottoms of the trousers. She knotted two of Ryder's bandanas together to make a belt. The third bandana she wrapped around her head.
Mary then checked the lanterns, taking oil from several of them to fill one completely. She lighted it and immediately extinguished the lantern that Ryder had left burning. Hefting the saddlebags over her shoulder and carrying the lantern and the sack of navy beans, Mary walked boldly out of the chamber, plunging it into darkness.
* * *
Ryder couldn't see anything when he opened his eyes. The blackness of the chamber was total. Without light there was no chance that his eyes could adjust; there was nothing to reflect color or shape. He sat up and felt the blankets around him. Shaking his head to clear it, he swore softly when he realized Mary was gone. There was nothing attached to the rope. It dangled uselessly from his wrist.
Ryder tore it off and tossed it aside. He'd been more tired than he knew. Mary shouldn't have been able to get away from him, yet she had. He was soft, he thought. Months of confinement in the stockade had dulled his senses, and he hadn't counted on Mary's single-minded desire to escape him. At best he had considered her anger would become resignation. He wondered what prompted her to take so many risks. Coming to his feet, he decided it was something to think about.
Feeling around in the dark, Ryder finally put his hands on one of the lanterns. It took him long minutes to find the supplies and even longer to find matches. The sudden flare of light almost blinded him. There was enough oil left in the lantern to give him thirty minutes. To be safe he added more from a container hidden among the supplies.
Barefoot, carrying only the lantern, Ryder left the chamber in search of Mary. He didn't bother with any of the immediate side passages. He was confident she could get as far as the water closet without any difficulty. How she would go on from there, he wasn't as certain. She would have had to make a choice in another thirty yards and when Ryder came to the juncture he paused, looking for signs.
He lowered the lantern when something near the edge of the passage caught his eye. Ryder hunkered down and ran his fingers along the oddly shaped pebbles that were clustered together. They were all small, smooth, and similarly contoured. He picked one up and rolled it back and forth between his fingers.
"I'll be damned," he said softly. "Beans."
It was easy after that. Mary's trail was clearly marked. Ryder knew she had done it so she could retrace her own steps if necessary. It was good thinking except for the fact that she was being followed. He collected the beans as he went, filling his pockets.
He was amazed at the number of times she chose the right route. Ryder's map was in his head and in the nearly imperceptible markings on the stone walls. He had also been through the corridors hundreds of times over the years and was familiar with the pattern of twists and turns. Mary, on the other hand, was just plain lucky.
Following at a safe distance, Ryder waited for her luck to run out. When he saw the choice she had made after the long serpentine passage, he knew it had finally happened. He picked up the mound of navy beans at the entrance and went inside. The tunnel narrowed and angled upward. It was not dissimilar to the passage that ran parallel to it, but it would end abruptly in a spacious chamber with a single inaccessible exit that opened fifty feet overhead. The diameter of the opening was less than twelve inches. On the surface it appeared as a shadow among some rocks. From inside the chamber it seemed no larger than a saucer in the daylight; at night it was all but invisible.
Mary was moving carefully among the rocks in the chamber, looking for a way out, when Ryder appeared at the entrance. He glanced at the vaulted ceiling. It was night now. A lone star pinpointed the opening.
"Mary." He said her name softly, but it was enough. He saw her stiffen then stop in her tracks. "Come here."
She turned slowly and shook her head.
"There's no way out."
Even though his voice was a mere whisper she could hear him clearly. She opened her mouth to tell him he could go to hell.
Ryder placed a finger on his lips then pointed upward.
Mary glanced overhead and her breath caught in her throat. The roof of the chamber was alive with movement. Her knees threatened to give way as she realized what she was seeing.
Bats. Hundreds of them. Mary dropped the sack of beans and raised her hand to stifle a scream. She needn't have bothered. The worn, threadbare sack broke and the beans tumbled out, rolling along the rocks with the clatter of spilled coins in a banker's vault. There was a flurry of movement and a high-pitched squealing like nothing Mary had ever heard. Something fluttered in front of her face and then again at the periphery of her vision. She dropped to her knees as the bats soared and dove and whistled around he
r head.
Some bats took flight through the opening in the chamber. Dozens more flew past Ryder's head and out the passage. Ryder crouched, shielding his face and hair, then went for Mary. She was frightened but uninjured. He picked up her lantern, protected her with his body, and herded her out of the chamber. A frenzied tornado of bats swirled around them. They dipped and rushed. Their thin wings beat the air frantically. One flew past Mary's mouth. She cried out and held onto Ryder tightly. He half dragged, half carried her to the entrance, where he picked up the second lantern and led her quickly through the tunnel.
Mary had no opportunity to catch her breath or whisper her thanks. Ryder's features bore no expression. Only his gray eyes were stormy as he gripped her hand and led her swiftly through the passages back to their chamber. Once there he practically flung her inside.
Mary stared at him, waiting for the force of his anger, steeling herself to give as good as she got.
He set the lanterns down and then turned to Mary. He studied her raised chin, the fiercely defiant eyes. She had pulled the bandana off her head and was twisting it between her hands. It was the only sign that she had more fright in her than fight. He wondered what she expected from him.
He spoke calmly, deliberately. "Take off your clothes."
Chapter 7
Though he had said them quietly, Ryder's words seemed to echo in the chamber. Take off your clothes... your clothes... your clothes... Mary stared at him, not moving.
Ryder took a step toward her. There was nothing menacing or threatening in his approach, yet it prompted Mary to throw out a question as her first defense.
"Why?" she demanded.
His approach halted. He stared at her for a long moment. Her complexion was markedly paler now, and her hands had stopped twisting the bandana. Tension kept her body rigid and rooted to her spot. "I believe I've already told you that you don't have to understand my orders to obey them."
Mary sucked in a breath as if she'd been slapped. The first wave of anger had to pass before she trusted herself to speak. "There's something you should understand about me, Mr. McKay," she said quietly. "I obey no man unquestioningly. Blind obedience is for my God alone."
