by Jo Goodman
Mary stopped wiggling her toes. "But you said a day's walk."
Ryder shrugged. "They've moved again."
She frowned, her brow furrowed.
"It's all right," he said. "They're still expecting us."
Mary eased herself away from the rock and straightened. "What do you mean, 'They've moved'? And who's expecting us?" Militancy was back in her stance and her eyes were issuing a challenge.
Ryder ignored both. "Put your shoes on. There are a few miles left, and most of it's downhill." As he turned to go he thought he might get one of the shoes squarely in the middle of his back. He was grateful for Mary's restraint. He wondered what conclusions she had drawn about their destination. Whatever they had been, she was discovering them wrong. Her confusion was quite real, however. It forced Ryder to think about how much longer he could count on her cooperation. He was certain now that she had been plotting her escape.
It wasn't as surprising as it was disappointing.
* * *
Jay Mac stiffened slightly as the guard approached. Moira rose to her feet at the Chiricahua's gesture but stood protectively beside her husband.
"It is time to go," the guard said. "They are waiting." He withdrew a knife from the soft buckskin folds of his boot-like moccasin. His flat expression didn't change when he saw that Jay Mac did not flinch, but he was impressed. "You will follow me." He cut the bonds on Jay Mac's wrists, then the ones on his ankles.
Jay Mac got awkwardly to his feet. His palms and soles tingled with restored circulation, but he gave little notice to the discomfort. His arms went immediately around Moira. He could feel her heart beating madly as he pressed her close to his chest. Believing they had lived their hearts and that nothing had been left unspoken, they exchanged no words. Jay Mac broke the embrace reluctantly. It was easy to read the guard's expression now. It was one of repugnance. "It appears they don't approve of public displays of affection," Jay Mac muttered.
Moira smiled, resting her head momentarily on her husband's shoulder. "Imagine how he'd react if you kissed me properly. We'd probably be able to escape."
The guard was not amused. "This way," he said.
Jay Mac squeezed Moira's hand. "At least they want us together," he said quietly.
* * *
"What is it?" asked Mary. She was looking at the garments hanging from the end of Ryder's extended arm as if they might bite her. The truth was, they looked lovely and were treated to her suspicious stare because of that. The leather had been bleached until it was pale as eggshell and had been worked over and over until it was soft as butter. The beadwork in the fringe along the neck, arms, and hem was all turquoise and silver. "I mean," she corrected herself, "I know what it is, but what am I supposed to do with it?"
"Put it on."
Mary didn't reach for it. Instead her hands went behind her back and she actually retreated a step. "Oh, I couldn't," she said, shaking her head. "It must belong to someone. It looks very valuable. You should put it back where you found it."
"You're not usually so slow to the mark," he said calmly. "Is it that you really don't want to see?"
She merely stared at him, bewildered.
He explained patiently. "It does belong to someone. You. I found it because it was left for me to find."
Her hands came from around her back. "For me?"
He nodded. "I thought you might like a change of clothes."
Now Mary reached for the buckskin shirt and skirt eagerly, holding them up in front of her. "Beautiful," she whispered, awed. The weighted fringe on both pieces swayed and jangled as the beads rubbed together. The leather was soft to the touch, and she raised a sleeve to her cheek. "They look as if they will fit me."
Ryder simply shook his head. She was determined not to see any part of the picture that wasn't painted especially for her. "Of course they will fit. They were made for you."
That brought her head up. She stared at Ryder wonderingly. "You?"
"No, not by me."
Mary raised the fringe along the neckline gingerly. The tiny beads sifted through her fingers, cool and clear. "Like droplets of water," she said softly.
"Yes," he said. Some visions did not have to be explained. He saw it in her eyes now, the knowledge that these garments had not been an undertaking of a few days, but of months, and that they had been fashioned after a likeness he held clearly in his mind's eye. "Put it on, Mary."
It would be as if she were in the pool again, she thought. She would wear this garment as if it were the water and she were naked save for its cloak. And she would remember how he had looked at her when he thought of her only as a woman and how he had held her, comforted her, when she thought a woman was all she wanted to be. She had fallen asleep in his arms, exhausted by the despair that clutched her heart, yet strangely rested from his sweet succor. When she had awakened he was gone. She had never expected to see him again but she knew she wouldn't forget him.
This garment was proof that he had not forgotten her.
"I'll show you where you can wash," he said. Ryder led her through a copse of pines to a narrow mountain stream. It was only a few inches deep but the water was clear and cool. He knelt and washed his own face and hands. "When you're done we'll follow this stream to the bottom, and then it will be done."
Mary opened her mouth to ask a question, but Ryder was striding away. She watched him disappear into the shadows of the pines. It occurred to her he was giving her a chance to run. It also occurred that he was extending his trust. On the heels of that thought she considered that perhaps he was merely taking her compliance for granted, that in his arrogance he thought her cooperation was assured.
She gazed after him, staring at the spot where he had vanished from view, holding the fringed, pale, butter yellow skirt and shirt in front of her. It became clear that her decision would not be made because of what he wanted, but because of what she wanted. Carefully laying the gift aside, Mary knelt beside the shallow stream and folded her hands. It was not water that she raised to her lips but prayer.
Mary was not the only one who changed clothes. Ryder shed the last vestiges of the military and replaced it with garments that had been left for him. A long-sleeved buckskin shirt replaced the flannel one, and he added the breechcloth by looping the long strip of buckskin over his belt in the front, then drawing the long end between his legs and tucking it under his belt in the back. He pulled on the moccasins, tugging them up to his knees, then gathered the discarded clothes and bundled them.
For the first time in his life Ryder could find no peace in waiting. On this occasion anticipation was not a welcome companion. If Mary ran he would find her and bring her back. She could never get far enough away that he couldn't get her quickly, but he had no taste for the task. He did not want it to be against her will, yet he wanted it. Marriage was the condition he had placed upon their union. Mary did not seem to expect it or even particularly want it. She hadn't tried to bargain her body for a ring and a commitment, nor had she tried to seduce him like Anna Leigh Hamilton to appease curiosity.
The stillness that surrounded him now was an agony. He strained for some sound that would indicate Mary's presence by the stream. The pounding of his own heart left him deaf to sounds he could have heard in a windstorm. Unable to tolerate it another moment, Ryder shot to his feet and quickly retraced his path to the water.
Mary turned when she heard him, her smile more uncertain than eager. The remote, guarded expression on Ryder's face did not inspire confidence, and the clothes he wore startled her. She was reminded again of the predatory nature of man and of this man in particular. Mary wasn't certain she wanted to be in his sights now. Her eyes dropped away from his, and she fingered the fringe at her neck in order to have something to do with her hands.
He had steeled himself to accept that she would be gone, and now the expression was engraved on his features. It wasn't until her eyes fell away that he felt himself relax and the frost lift from his lightly colored eyes.
The pale leather outfit clung softly to her slender frame. When she moved, the beads glanced off one another, shifting and sparkling like a curtain of raindrops. The sun was just setting, waves of oranges and reds, like a tide of color in her hair, skimming the surface of each strand so its own rich hue was reflected more brilliantly. The fringe at the hem of her skirt almost touched her feet, and it was movement there that caught Ryder's eye. Barefoot, Mary was curling and uncurling her toes in a nervous gesture that kept the fringe swinging in time.
"A moment," he said. He was gone and then he was back, producing a pair of moccasins that were as soft as the shirt and decorated with the same beads of turquoise and silver. "Here," he said, handing them to her. "I should have given them to you before. I wasn't thinking." It wasn't quite true. He had been thinking, but only of how she would look in wedding raiment that was like shimmering water. In the end his vision had not done the truth justice.
Mary accepted the moccasins but looked at them doubtfully.
"I think they're going to be too big." The toe of the buckskin boots would extend well past her own toes, and the tips of the moccasins turned upward. She glanced at the moccasins Ryder was wearing. The toes of his had the same distinctive upward turn.
"They are as they are meant to be," he said.
Which was to say that when Mary put them on, the fit would be perfect. The rawhide soles protected her feet as her own shoes hadn't been able to do. "Thank you, Ryder."
It seemed to him that the use of his name was deliberate, as if she understood it was not the way of the Apache to use a given name carelessly, that one's name was invoked when there was something of importance to be expressed. Of course, she couldn't know that, but Ryder found he wanted to believe it anyway. He picked up her discarded clothes and bundled them with his. He held out his free hand. "This way, Mary."
As always, when he said her name in that peculiar way of his, as though attaching some singular importance to it, Mary found herself wanting to honor his wish. She slipped her hand in his and walked at his side along the edge of the winding stream.
Their descent was gradual and slow. The pines dwindled in size but never disappeared, and Mary realized their elevation was still high above the desert floor. It wasn't until the stream widened and pines circled a small clearing that Ryder stopped. He released Mary's hand and tossed the bundle toward the trees.
"What are we doing?" she asked. It did not seem odd to her that she was talking no more loudly than the wind as it whispered in the boughs. "And what is that?" She pointed to the large woven basket in the center of the clearing. It was filled with water and had the dimensions of a wooden washtub. Was she expected to do their laundry? "Why are we stopping here?"
"In a moment." He knelt in front of her and removed her moccasins while she rested a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance. When he was done he removed his own.
Mary wanted to giggle, but something in Ryder's manner sobered her. He was behaving solemnly, deliberately. He took her hand again and this time led her to the basket of water. He stepped in first and then lifted her. She caught her breath as much from his hands on her waist as from the first icy dip. "What are we doing?" she asked again. "What is this place?"
Ryder didn't answer. His fingers caught hers in a firm clasp.
Mary tugged, but she wasn't released. Her skin prickled with a mixture of cold and trepidation. "I don't think I want to—"
"Shh. They're coming."
At Ryder's whispered urging, Mary was silent. She followed the line of his vision half expecting to see spirits arise from the grouping of trees to the left of them. What came out of the wooded area was no spirit, but flesh and blood. The man wore clothing similar to Ryder's, except his breechcloth and shirt were of cloth, not buckskin. His hair was thick, darker even than Ryder's, parted in the middle and held back by a wide red bandana. At the side it was so long it nearly reached his elbows. The sun had been this man's companion throughout his life. His skin had the same reddish-brown tint of a polished chestnut and deep lines were carved into the corners of his eyes and mouth. His manner was solemn and proud, and he acknowledged Ryder and Mary with the merest nod of his head.
"My father. Naiche." Ryder's words were quietly spoken and for Mary's ears alone. "The woman is my father's wife. Josanie."
Josanie stood quietly at her husband's side, reaching just to his shoulder. She was a score of years younger than Naiche, and her face was filled out, rounded and smooth, not engraved with harsh lines. Her dark hair, streaked with strands of gray at the temples, was coiled in a knot at her nape. Her acknowledgment was also a faint nod, but there was no mistaking that her mouth was set tightly in disapproval.
Naiche and Josanie did not approach, and Mary realized she was somewhat relieved by that. She felt a little foolish standing in the water, and she had no idea what she was expected to do or say. Following Ryder's lead, she remained exactly as she was, though it was hard not to respond in kind to Josanie's obvious disfavor. Just at the point when Mary thought she would embarrass herself with nervous laughter, she felt Ryder stiffen and grasp her hand even more tightly. Mary winced, but it failed to gain her release. Her eyes flew to his, and she saw he was paying scant attention to her but was looking in another direction entirely. Once again she followed his gaze.
She had reason to be grateful for Ryder's tight hold as her knees buckled beneath her.
Jay Mac and Moira entered the clearing followed by their guard. Their clothes were dusty, a little disheveled, but they were all in one piece in spite of their ordeal. In Mary's eyes they looked wonderful. She took her fill of them, just as they were doing to her, their eyes eating her up, counting every blessed hair on her head. Joyous laughter began to rise in Mary's throat. Her entire body leaned away from Ryder and toward her parents. This time his grip was unwelcome. When she tried to step out of the basket he restrained her.
Except for a slight nod from each, Moira and Jay Mac didn't move. Assured now that she was safe, their expressions mirrored less anxiety and more confusion and silent questioning.
Mary opened her mouth to speak, but Ryder gave a warning by tugging on her hand. He stepped out of the basket, lifted her to join him, and announced, "It is done."
Mary barely heard him, and anyway his words had no meaning for her. She wrested her hand free of his and ran to her parents. Moira's arms were already outstretched, prepared to bring her firstborn back to her breast. Mary fell into them gladly, holding and being held, feeling in a primal way the deep nurturing love of that nascent embrace.
Jay Mac stood close to his wife and placed his hand on the crown of Mary's head, stroking gently. The distinct colors in her red-gold hair blurred as tears gathered in his eyes.
"Come. You must leave now." It was the guard who spoke.
Jay Mac's tears dried immediately, but his vision wasn't clear as blinding anger created a thicker haze than tears ever could.
"Give her a moment with her mother," he snapped. "For God's sake show some compassion."
The guard looked to Ryder for direction. Ryder's face was expressionless, but the single shake of his head was clear. Raising his rifle a notch, the guard motioned again. "Come. You must leave."
Jay Mac had seen Ryder's gesture and recognized it for the command it was. Fury was etched on his features, but he did not allow pride and anger to overrule his judgment. "Let us take her back," he said, his voice deep with emotion. "She doesn't belong with you."
"She does now," Ryder said quietly. "Mary is my wife." He nodded again to the guard. "Take them." He addressed Jay Mac, though he spoke as much for Moira's sake. "It's for your safety and that of your wife. The Army will be looking for you. If you are not returned quickly they will find the camp and destroy everyone."
Only a subtle change in Ryder's expression let Jay Mac know that "everyone" included his beloved Mary. Jay Mac understood then that Mary's life depended on their return to Fort Union and the offering of any explanation for their disappearance exc
ept the truth. That did not lessen his anger toward Ryder McKay, but it made the dictate make sense. His hand moved from Mary's bent head to his wife's shoulder. "Moira," he said gently. "We must go."
Ryder stepped forward to lift Mary away from her mother, but it wasn't necessary. She kissed Moira on the cheek, straightened, and then kissed her father. Her hand lingered on Jay Mac's forearm reassuringly before she came to stand beside Ryder. As her parents turned to go Mary's body vibrated with a wrenching shudder. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and prayed that neither Jay Mac nor Moira would find the strength to look back. Mary did not think she could remain with Ryder if they did.
The clearing was silent until Moira, Jay Mac, and the guard were out of sight. Naiche approached the newlyweds and offered his congratulations. Mary, pale and dazed, only half listened as Ryder translated from the Apache. She murmured what she hoped was an appropriate reply which Ryder repeated at some length.
"Do they understand English?" she asked tightly.
"A little."
"Words like cruel bastard and heartless son of a bitch?"
"Your eyes are speaking a language that requires no words," he told her. "It doesn't matter what you say, they can see into your heart. They know you're angry with me."
"Angry?" Mary almost choked on the word. "Then they should look deeper, as well you should, because it doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling." The coldness that clutched her inside and made it difficult to breathe also froze the fiery brilliance of her green eyes. She stared at him hard, willing herself not to shatter in front of him.
Ryder said nothing to Mary, but exchanged more words with Naiche and Josanie. After a minute the couple returned to the place where they had entered the clearing and began walking back to the encampment. It was at that point that Ryder addressed Mary. "Josanie's family has prepared to welcome us with a feast and dancing. It is not the Apache way that the husband's side should offer this. It was done because your family could not. Naiche is nanta—a leader—and he has brought great risk to his people by allowing us to be married here and to celebrate among them. To bring your parents here to witness the ceremony was Naiche's gift to me and his blessing. I could not have married you without their acknowledgment."