"Did Florence pack this for you?" Mary nodded.

"She said it had everything you wanted." She watched him as he sat on the cot and opened the valise.

"I was surprised you asked for a Bible."

Ryder glanced up.

"Don't I impress you as a religious man?" She didn't answer immediately. His question was tossed off with a certain sarcastic intent that wasn't meant to elicit conversation.

Ryder had already returned his attention to the valise when Mary responded.

"Not religious," she said.

"Spiritual." Ryder raised his head slowly. His narrowed glance wasn't penetrating now, only impenetrable.

"Is that right?" he asked.

"Yes." Complete confidence was evoked in the single word. On an equal footing now, Mary Francis sat.

"Why did you ask for me?"

"I thought that was obvious." He removed the Bible and the clothes from the valise. When it was empty his hand ran along the inside, found the edge of the piece that had been laid across to create a false bottom, and raised it. The Colt .45 felt wonderfully familiar in the palm of his hand. He left it there for the time being and placed the valise on the floor.

"I thought you might pray for me."

Mary didn't take issue with his lie.

"I've been praying since I learned you were here," she said simply.

Without conscious thought she sought out the rosary attached to her waist. Her fingers moved over the beads, calming her thoughts as she looked around the cell.

"I don't understand what's happened here."

"Surely someone's told you of what I'm accused."

"I've learned things from a number of people. My brother-in-law. My sister. Lieutenant Rivers. The general's mother. I still don't understand."

"You mean you don't understand why I betrayed the company?"

"No," she said.

"I don't understand why people believe you did." It was not difficult for Ryder to see that she was perfectly sincere. He had done nothing to justify that kind of faith, and he wanted to make certain she knew it.

"You don't know me," he said.

"You don't know the man I am or what I'm capable of. You only think you do. The little knowledge you have is dangerously incomplete.

You've underestimated me." Mary took his words as a warning rather than an explanation. Initially there had been an urge to flinch. She had quelled it.

"You're right," she said quietly.

"I don't know you." He was silent for almost an entire minute, watching her.

She didn't turn away from his scrutiny but held his gaze squarely in spite of her discomfort. Ryder broke the contact when he started to unbutton his shirt.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Changing my clothes."

"That can wait until I'm gone." He didn't explain that it couldn't.

Instead, Ryder came to his feet and placed the basin of water at the foot of his bed on the cot.

There was a washcloth among the things Florence had provided. He picked it up, wet it, and bathed his face.

"I'm going to shave, too. Turn around if it bothers you."

"This is ridiculous," Mary said sharply, coming to her feet.

"I'm calling Private Bishop."

She would never be able to say how it happened-Ryder's movements were mostly a blur--but when his body stilled again Mary found herself facing his steady arm and a Colt .45. "Please," he said politely.

"Stay. I'd like the company." Mary sat. She held her breath when Ryder approached, but all he did was pick up the chair with her in it and turn them both to face the wall. He touched her shoulder lightly.

Her tension could be felt through the heavy fabric of her habit.

"You can breathe now," he said softly.

"And don't call for Harry. You won't like the consequences."

"I don't care what you do to me," she said with foolish courage.

"I was thinking about Harry." Knowing he had guaranteed her silence, Ryder released Mary's shoulder.

"This won't take long." Mary gritted her teeth. Behind her, she could hear him washing. She recognized the scrape of the razor across his face as he shed his shadow of a beard. She enjoyed her petty self-satisfaction when she heard him swear softly as he nicked himself.

"It's not a fatal wound," he said, divining her thoughts. Mary's smug smile vanished.

"You used me," she said.

"Yes." There was no apology.

He stripped out of his clothes, replacing one item at a time, and dressed quickly. He would not feel clean again until he left the cell behind, but fresh clothes were a good beginning. Ryder slipped on the navy blue jacket over his crisp, white shirt and noticed Florence had repaired one of the loose eagle-stamped brass buttons. As he had instructed, she had also added a captain's insignia.

"You can turn around," he said. Mary didn't move.

"This view is just fine."

"Bullheaded, aren't you?"

"I prefer obstinate." With little effort, Ryder turned her again. He cupped her chin and raised her face.