Only in My Arms

by Jo Goodman

  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.

  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.