Authors: Jo Goodman
He gestured to her with his index finger, crooking it to indicate she was to come toward him.
Mary's dark red brows drew together. "I'm fine just where I am, thank you."
Ryder raised his gun again. He didn't point it at Mary; he aimed at Harry Bishop's hapless head. "It's not too late," he said. "I can still kill him."
Mary's own head was beginning to clear, and she had had time to take stock of the situation. She was feeling infinitely more confident than she had moments earlier. "If you shoot you'll bring soldiers running. I don't think you want that."
He didn't blink. "They're going to hang me," he said steadily. "I think I'll take my chances." He pulled back the hammer.
Mary stood. "Bully."
"Bring the valise. The Bible, too, if you want it."
She took it off the cot and stepped over Harry's body to precede Ryder out of the cell. He locked the door behind them and ushered her to the guardroom. It was still empty. He motioned her through.
"Now what?" she demanded stubbornly.
Ryder placed one hand at the small of her back. He noticed she responded as skittishly as if he'd placed his gun there. "Through those doors," he said softly, leaning close to her ear. "And into the courtyard. You know not to call attention to yourself."
"I think you and the gun will do that nicely."
"It's dark," he said. "The uniform I'm wearing has a captain's insignia—something Harry didn't notice—and my gun is going to be under my jacket. You walked in with a valise, and you're walking out with one. You're going to slip your arm through mine and I'm going to escort you away from the buildings and past the guards."
"To where your horse is waiting."
He didn't correct her. His firm prod was enough this time to get her moving. When she opened the door to the stockade, Ryder followed her out into the clear night air. She didn't require a reminder to loop her arm through his. He adjusted his hat a notch lower and forced himself to accept the unhurried pace she set.
"You must think you're very clever," she said through gritted teeth.
"It's going remarkably well," he replied pleasantly. The common grounds between the buildings weren't deserted, but Ryder only felt a few glances in their direction. Mary was targeted with looks more often than he.
She felt it, too. "Not many people have seen me in my habit," she explained softly.
Ryder nodded. "I thought it might be something like—"
"Mary!" It was Rennie's strident call from the long porch of the officers' quarters that cut Ryder off. "Mary! What in the world are you—"
Ryder didn't wait to hear more. "Ignore her," he said. "And move a little faster."
"One doesn't ignore Mary Renee," she said under her breath, but she walked faster to stay with Ryder. To her sister she called, "I'll be there in a moment, Rennie. I'll explain it all to you."
Moira joined her daughter on the porch just then. "Sure, and what are you girls yelling about? I can hear you all the way—" She broke off when she saw Mary's familiar shape crossing the parade ground. Moira's hand went to her heart. "Oh, my God! She's taken it up! I prayed and prayed—"
Rennie lifted her hand. She didn't look at Moira. Her eyes were narrowed sharply in her sister's direction. "No, Mama," she said softly, puzzled and disturbed. "She hasn't. I'd swear she hasn't. Something's not right." There was sudden urgency in her voice as her vision expanded to include Mary's escort. "Get Jarret out here, Mama! Get him now!"
Moira didn't respond quickly enough to suit Rennie. She raised her voice so there was no possibility that she could not be heard. "Jarret! Come here! I need you!"
With Rennie's cry, Ryder knew he had been discovered. He grabbed Mary's arm and pulled her around the garrison. She stumbled, but he helped her keep her balance and forced her to match his long stride.
"You'd better go," she said, as they rounded the building and were thrust into the shadows. "Quickly." Over his shoulder she could see a horse tied loosely to a post about fifty yards away. It moved, dropping its head to nose at something in the dirt, and that's when Mary made out the shadow of the second mount. She raised her face to look at him, her normally serene features stricken. "Oh, no," she whispered. "You can't mean to—"
There was no time to listen to her protests. Ryder gripped her firmly and yanked her toward the mounts. He could have covered the ground more quickly alone, but he wouldn't have had the same protection. The shouts from the parade ground were louder now, and he knew the alarm had been raised. "Faster," he said tightly. "Run with me."
Mary tried just once to dig in her heels, but he pulled her so hard that she thought her shoulder would be dislocated. She thought she would have a chance to break away when they reached the mounts, but Ryder practically threw her in the saddle. That action had the effect of winding her, and in the time it took her to catch her breath, he had already released the reins and was mounting the other mare.
Glancing behind her, Mary saw the first soldiers rounding the garrison. There was no moon, and they did not appear as individuals in her eyes. They moved as a shadowy tide, and the sharp angles protruding from their mass, she recognized as raised weapons.
"For God's sake, don't shoot!" Jarret called out. "He has Mary with him!"
"At last," Ryder said under his breath. "Someone with sense." He kicked his horse and pulled on the reins of Mary's mount.
"Mary!"
It was her mother's voice, raised above all the others, that Mary heard. It traveled the distance more clearly than every other frantic shout and barked order. Mary squinted into the darkness and tried to make out her mother's shape even as Ryder was drawing her farther away. "Mama!" She did not mean to sound frightened or panicked, yet she did. She heard that in her voice. "Mama!" she called again. "I love you!"
"Mary!" It was a forlorn cry, and it wrenched the heart of everyone who heard it.
Ryder urged their horses into a gallop to escape its eerie echo.
* * *
At the outset she swore she wouldn't ask for any show of kindness from him. She had already broken that promise twice, and she was fighting the urge to do again. The word 'please' was already forming on her parched lips. She was actually grateful for the dryness in her throat that prevented her from giving sound to the word.
The night was impossibly dark to Mary. In New York there was always light, even on a night with a new moon gas lamps illuminated the wide thoroughfares. Recently there was talk of adding electric lights. It would be like having stars on the ground, she thought, and not such a bad idea given her circumstances of the moment. Heaven's bounty of stars was not providing the trail of light she could have hoped for.
Ryder, she noticed, did not appear to have any difficulty finding his way. She knew he was more responsible for picking their path through the rocks than the horses were. There was virtually no hesitation on his part that she could sense. Except for the fact that he still commanded her mare's reins, Ryder didn't seem at all aware of her presence. He hadn't even spoken to her since leaving the fort. On the two occasions she had swallowed her pride and asked for help, he had ignored her. The pace he was able to maintain was as steady as it was cruel. Ryder was the only one who showed no signs of tiring. The mares were being run to the ground, and Mary owed her own ability to stay in the saddle to sheer bullheadedness.
She found no satisfaction in the thought that Ryder might be right about her. "If I had any sense I'd faint," she muttered. "I'd faint dead away and make him stop or leave me where I lay." She glanced wearily at Ryder's back. If he heard he'd given no indication of it. It fired her anger. "I can't keep going like this," she warned him. There was no part of her body that didn't ache. In some places she hurt so badly that thinking about them brought tears to her eyes. She swore she felt pain in the roots of her hair. "I can't, I tell you." The second admission came out as no more than a whisper. Mary was humiliated by the pathetic sound of it, and she was actually glad that Ryder didn't respond. She thought about another Mary, her namesake, and the perilous flight into Egypt to escape Herod's wrath. That Mary had ridden a donkey across miles of desert with her child, and nowhere was it recorded that she nagged Joseph or complained to God.
Even though the circumstances of her flight were quite different, Mary drew upon that story for comfort and strength. It supported her well, giving her the stamina to go another two hours without a word to Ryder. When she finally spoke her words were preceded by a derisive sound that came from the back of her throat. "But no one abducted the Blessed Virgin," she said under her breath, her voice raspy. "And I will wager someone left out the part where she complained." She didn't care that Ryder wouldn't understand the wandering of her thoughts; she wasn't speaking to him anyway. "She probably didn't have to beg Joseph for water either. He was kind enough to take care of..."
When Mary fainted it wasn't as part of any plan for revenge.
Ryder was unable to prevent her ignominious fall from the saddle. With no expression of remorse or frustration he simply dismounted and knelt beside her. Because the hard landing hadn't jarred her to consciousness he slipped one arm under her shoulders, another beneath her knees, and lifted her. Like so much baggage he laid her over her saddle, belly down. After securing her so she wouldn't slip off, he mounted again and resumed the hard pace he had set.
When Mary woke she was immediately disoriented. She knew her view was that of the ground, but it didn't make any sense. Her head throbbed with the rush of blood, and her nostrils were filled with the scent of horse sweat. As her thoughts cleared and the truth of her position became known to her, her face flamed with color. "The lowest circle of hell is too good for you, Ryder McKay."
"You're probably right."
Several things struck her at once: she had spoken her thought aloud, Ryder had replied, and his voice came from very close to her. She twisted awkwardly, trying to raise her head to see where he was standing.
"Be still," he said.
In spite of Mary's wretched weariness the urge was in her to fight his terse order. That Ryder merely waited for her struggle to end, and that he didn't have to wait long really defeated Mary. When he drew her off the saddle she sagged heavily against him. The humiliating truth was that she couldn't stand without Ryder's support.
"Shh," he said softly.
Mary realized she was crying. She felt an arm circle her shoulders, and she was secured now by his embrace. Tears streaked her face and wet his jacket, but he simply held her until even crying was too great an expenditure of energy. "I can't move," she said weakly.
"I know. It's all right." Ryder lifted her as he had done earlier, but this time he didn't place her over the saddle. He carried her toward a dark, yawning gap in the face of the rock around them and entered it. He set her down when the complete absence of light prevented him from making another step toward the interior of the cavern. "I have to see to the horses," he told her. "You'll be safe here."
Mary could only make out his slim shadow as he returned to the entrance of the cave. She continued to stare in that direction until her eyes could no longer focus. With each blink it became more difficult to raise her lids. She promised herself she would only sleep a moment.
Ryder dropped the valise, saddlebags, and horse blankets near Mary's curled body. Uncapping one of the canteens he carried, he knelt beside her, raised her head, and let water trickle over her lips. Her mouth parted and she took it eagerly, raising her hands to tip the canteen at a better angle. "It's enough," he said, his voice low.
It would never be enough, she thought. She let him take back the canteen only because she couldn't fight him for it. She would have told him so, but there was no strength in her to form the words.
Ryder slipped a blanket under Mary's head as he lowered the canteen, then he stretched out beside her. He could feel her trembling, the effect of complete exhaustion. She made no protest when he slid one arm around her middle and drew her closer.
Outside the mouth of the cavern the first threads of sunlight could be seen on the horizon as Ryder and Mary fell deeply asleep.
* * *
It wasn't a dream. That was Mary's first thought upon waking, and her sore, aching limbs verified it. Turning gingerly on her hip, she removed the pebble that had made a dimple in her flesh and flicked it out of the way. With some effort Mary pushed herself to a sitting position, leaned back against a large rock, and took stock of her situation.
At some point during her sleep Ryder had abandoned her. She vaguely remembered him dropping the valise and pushing a blanket under her head. Both were gone now, as was the canteen. That made Mary wonder about the horses that he'd said he had to "see to." Had he left with both of them or was one waiting for her?
Mary got to her feet, wobbled slightly, and picked her way among the rocks to get to the mouth of the cave. Sunlight blinded her momentarily. She raised a hand to shade her eyes before she stepped beyond the shadowed entrance.
Nothing about her surroundings was familiar. The harsh light of day brought the land into stark relief. She had known that they had been climbing throughout the night, but she was unprepared for the towering pines that seemed to erupt from ground wholly unsuitable to support them. The terrain was severe and hostile, rocks rising at odd angles and sparse grass making up the ground cover. The air was dry and the heat was already making a haze in the distance.