Only in My Arms (26 page)

"That doesn't tell me anything."

Ryder shrugged. "I could tell you the name of the place, but it wouldn't mean anything to you." He pointed to the pair of trousers he had laid across the back of the wing chair. "Get out of your shift and put those on. You can wear my shirt and my hat. You won't be able to tolerate the sun without one."

"Aren't we taking anything with us?" she asked.

"Water and jerky. It will be enough."

"All right," she said. "I trust you."

He didn't let that touch his conscience too deeply. "Get dressed," he said. "I'll wait for you in the corridor."

Mary was ready quickly. She gave a soft gasp of surprise when Ryder held up a bandana intended to covet her eyes. "What does it matter if I see the way out? We're not coming back."

Ryder tied the blindfold tightly. "I never said that," he said.

"But—" When she tried to tear at the bandana he caught her hands. "What are you—" A rope was twisted around her wrists until they were bound securely in front of her. "I don't want to fight with you, Mary. Not today."

Her struggle was with tears, not with her bonds. "I'm not fighting you," she protested.

"You will." He could have pulled her along by the leading string he had tied to the ropes, but he dropped it and looped his arm in hers instead. "I expect you'll fight me most of the way."

"Why? Why would I do that?" She could feel herself holding back already, stiff and unyielding as he tried to urge her forward. "What are you going to do to me?"

Ryder surprised her by simply taking her in his arms and holding her until she calmed. She felt his breath on her face a moment before his mouth closed over hers. The kiss was warm and gentle and sweet.

"I'm going to marry you," he said.

Chapter 8

John MacKenzie Worth found he could tolerate the ignominy of his position. What he could not tolerate was being ignored.

Moira tried to calm him. "Perhaps none among them speaks any English," she said quietly. Her eyes darted from her husband to the Chiricahua warrior guarding them. She absently massaged the chafed skin of her wrists. The leather thongs that had bound her on the journey to the Apache encampment had left their mark on her delicate skin. Smiling tentatively at the guard, she was met with a blank stare. "They don't appear to want to communicate with us at all," she told Jay Mac.

"And I don't like it," he blustered. In frustration he tried to free his wrists. There was no give in the leather, and his attempt merely restricted the circulation in his hands. Being bound was doubly frustrating because he only had himself to blame. Given the choice between cooperation and conflict, Jay Mac had chosen the latter. He wriggled his bound feet and found the result the same.

"Lean against me," said Moira. "It will ease the strain in your back." When Jay Mac stubbornly refused to move, Moira scooted closer and leaned into him. "Then let me lean on you," she said, linking her arm through his.

Although Jay Mac knew precisely what she was doing, he was placated. He turned his head. Threads of gray mingled with the deep red strands of Moira's hair, and a fine layer of dust from their harrowing ride covered all like a veil. He placed a kiss on the crown of her head. "I love you, Moira."

The edges of her mouth lifted, and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze.

Her calm fascinated her husband. He had always known she was possessed of strong character, but the well of peace she was drawing upon now was deeper than he had ever suspected. "I wish I hadn't let you accompany me this morning," he said. "I could have inspected the progress on the line alone."

"Don't be absurd. Where would I rather be than with you? If you had been captured without me, I wouldn't know that you were safe. Think about Rennie and Jarret and the babies. Would you really want me to be going through the agony of not knowing as they are doing now?" She closed her eyes briefly, and her voice lowered to a whisper. "As we've all done since our Mary was taken?"

Jay Mac wished he could put his arms around her. The catch in her voice that she hoped he wouldn't notice wrenched his heart. "I should not have been attending to business," he said, determined to lay blame for their predicament on his shoulders alone. "I should have remained at the fort with you and Rennie, waiting for Jarret to return."

"Jay Mac—"

"At least I should have accepted an Army escort."

"Should. Should. Should." Moira sighed. "You should have been a priest, and none of this would ever have come about."

"But I'm a Presbyterian."

"My point exactly," she said with a note of triumph. "You are what you are. And I love you for it." Moira's gaze wandered around the Chiricahua encampment as she spoke. Two women had leaped to help a fallen child. Another, with a cradleboard on her back, looked on fondly as the child hugged the skirt of one of her rescuers. It was human nature to protect one's own, she thought, and the knowledge of this bond she shared with her captors gave Moira an extra measure of peace. "You dropped everything in New York to come out here when you received our telegram. And you've rattled every official and every commander you could think of to elicit some help in finding Mary. You did what you could, Jay Mac. It's the waiting around that you're no good at. I was relieved when you decided to go out to the mine and look at the construction Rennie's put together. And, yes, I was quite happy to be asked to go along, because I'm no better at waiting than you are. I'm only more quiet about it."

That raised a faint smile. "You're good for me, Moira Mary," he said softly.

"Of course I am." She snuggled closer, wishing he could put his arms around her. "What do you think they intend to do with us?" she asked, surveying the encampment again. There was a lot of activity among their captors. Everyone in the camp seemed bent on some purpose. Even the conversation had an air of excitement about it.

"Hold us for ransom probably," Jay Mac said. "Exchange us for guns or money for guns."

"That doesn't make sense," Moira reasoned. "If the charges against Ryder McKay are true, they should be well armed."

Jay Mac had thought about that, too. But if he and Moira weren't being held for ransom, then... It wasn't a train of thought he wanted to pursue. "Perhaps this isn't the band that got the gold from the Colter Canyon raid. Or perhaps they don't want us to see their store of rifles and ammunition."

Moira didn't know what to think about that. She watched a group of women in consultation with one another over a meal preparation. Their congenial arguing dissolved into giggles as one of them looked toward Moira and Jay Mac and made some comment. "You don't think they're having us for dinner, do you?" she asked.

Jay Mac saw the unmistakable crooked smile on the mouth of their guard though it was quickly erased. Jay Mac no longer harbored any doubts that at least one of their captors understood English. That smile was not in response to the Apache woman's jest, but to Moira's interpretation. "No, dear, I don't think they plan to have us for dinner, at least not the way you're thinking. But it's clear they're preparing something."

Jay Mac took the count of the encampment to be one hundred, give or take a dozen. The site they had chosen was protected by a natural fortress of pale pink rock. Although the rocky walls were high, they had not boxed themselves in a dead end canyon, and lookouts had been posted above the camp to raise the alarm if the band was threatened. Although the Chiricahua looked settled, Jay Mac had learned enough from General Gardner to know that the bands moved quickly and easily from one location to another. In the years before the Spanish and the English had come, the Chiricahua moved in concert with their six seasons, going where the plants and game were most plentiful. Now they moved to flee an enemy as well.

Moira thought about what Jay Mac had said. "I think you're partially right, dear."

"How's that?"

"They're not preparing something." The purposefulness of the activity caught her attention again: the briskness of a warrior's stride, the discussion among the elders, the busy hands working beads into a fringed leather skirt. A joyous anticipation hung in the air and was given sound by fits of high-pitched laughter from the children. "They're preparing
for
something."

* * *

Ryder did not remove Mary's blindfold until they had walked from the cavern for two hours. The going had been slow, as much because Mary's steps were necessarily halting as because of the terrain. Covering their trail had slowed their progress also.

In all that time Mary had said nothing. When Ryder had announced his proposal he had effectively rendered her speechless, and she had remained that way throughout the first leg of their journey. It had occurred to her not to cooperate, to fight him just as he supposed she would, but perversely she didn't want to give him what he expected.

Ryder took the blindfold and tied it around his forehead. His dark hair was free of the thong, and it fell loosely past his shoulders. He watched as Mary squinted under the sudden glare of light. He shielded her face with his hands, protecting her eyes. It was the most natural gesture in the world to place his lips softly on her brow. He drew back after a moment. "Are you never going to talk to me again?"

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction," she said. Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, and the words fairly stuck in her throat.

Ryder stared back solemnly and then raised a canteen to her lips. He didn't need to persuade her to drink. She took the water with the youthful greediness of a child. When she had had her fill he let the canteen fall to his side and wiped her damp mouth with the pad of his thumb.

Mary pursed her lips and thrust her bound hands forward into Ryder's hard, flat belly. He raised both eyebrows at the force of the blow, but she knew he wasn't hurt. Ramming her fists into his abdomen was like punching a brick wall: she was more jarred by the impact than he was. "You can remove this rope now. I'm not going to be yanked across the countryside on a leading string. I'll go where you go because I want to, not because you have me on a tether."

Ryder's frost gray eyes were remote as he considered her words. "Then you agree we should be married."

Mary hesitated. "I didn't say that. I said, 'I'll go where you go.' That will have to satisfy you for now." She waited until he removed the rope before she added, "And for the record, you didn't ask me to marry you."

His eyes narrowed as he tried to fathom the twists and turns of her thoughts, but her features were once again cloaked. An expression of complete serenity made Mary as unreadable as she was beautiful. "For the record," he said, "I'm not taking any chances."

Mary didn't reply, following him instead as he began walking ahead of her, but taking chances was exactly what she thought he was doing. How did he think he was going to engage her cooperation in front of a priest?

At first she considered that he would be taking her to a town to have the ceremony performed. The longer she pondered it, the more insanely dangerous it seemed. Mary imagined that Ryder could hardly hope to bring her into public without attracting notice. If they weren't identified immediately he must know she would make sure they were discovered. Ultimately she dismissed the possibility of a town wedding.

It occurred to her now that Ryder had a mission as his destination. The Southwest Territory was dotted with Spanish missions, especially near the border. It was not difficult to determine that they were heading south. Perhaps they were even in Mexico already, she thought, and wondered how hard it would be to escape Ryder's side in a foreign country. Was she better with the devil she did know than among strangers who might have no sympathy for her situation or wouldn't even believe her?

Ryder had told her they were a day's walk from their destination. She wondered if he counted the day as twenty-four hours or until sunset. After walking so far he must expect to spend the night. Would it be at the mission? The thought of sleeping in a real bed again, with a feather tick and pillows, a comforter pulled up to her neck, made Mary sigh aloud. The idea of sleeping in a real bed with Ryder's body fitted against her own made her knees grow weak.

She stumbled.

Ryder caught her before she fell. He helped her up and steadied her. "You did better when you were blindfolded," he said.