"How long will that be?" she asked finally.

"I don't know."

"What are your intentions?"

"Intentions? What do you mean?"

"Toward me," she said.

"Do you intend to kill me?"

Ryder's look was a considering one.

"I may," he said deeply.

"If you ask another stupid question." Mary bristled.

"It wasn't stupid. How am I supposed to know? You dragged me all over God's creation last night. You wouldn't let me stop to drink or rest.

You wouldn't explain--" His voice was calm.

"There was no time," he said.

"Resting would have delayed us, and I didn't know if you could have continued. It would have been hard for me, probably impossible for you." It was his small admission that he had been tired that intrigued Mary. All through the night she had wondered if he were even human.

There had never been any indication on the trail that he had suffered as she had from exhaustion and thirst.

"So you ignored me until I fainted." He would always count it as one of the most difficult things he had ever done. All he said was, "Yes."

"Then threw me over my horse like a sack of--" "Yes." He was unapologetic. Mary sighed.

"You could have left me," she said.

"I could have." Ryder finished the last of his meal.

"But you would have helped them find my trail again." Her denial was emphatic.

"I wouldn't have! I never would-"

"Your body would have." The forest green eyes were wide in her oval face. She couldn't think of anything to say to that. Ryder leaned forward and took Mary's plate from her nerveless fingers.

"I'll put this over here," he said, getting up and pointing toward the larder.

"You may want something later." She couldn't imagine that she would, but she didn't argue.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"We wait."

"Hours? Days?" He shrugged. Ignoring her, he hunkered beside the pool to rinse his plate and utensils.

Frustrated, Mary came to her feet. At her sides, her hands were clenched. Even her toes were curled inside Ryder's thick woolen socks.

"That's no answer," she said, her eyes fierce.

"When can I expect to see sunshine again? When will I see my mother?

My family?" Ryder paused and glanced over his shoulder. In her cotton shift and his flannel shirt, with her stubborn, angry eyes and clenched fists, Mary was an odd combination of warrior and waif.

"Do you want to be reassured with a lie or unsettled with the truth?"

"I don't want to be patronized," she said flatly.

"Tell me the truth."

"Then the truth is, I don't know." Ryder returned to his work, dipping the plate in the cold water again, then shaking it off. He was unprepared for the two hands that were placed solidly on his back or the strength behind them as he was pushed forward. Ryder plunged head first into the well of icy water and when he came up, Mary paused long enough at the edge to wipe her hands clean of him before she calmly began walking out of the chamber. Ryder hauled himself out of the water. He called to her once, but she had already disappeared into the corridor. His clothes dripped water on the stone floor, leaving a trail as he picked up a lantern and left the chamber. She was not in sight when he turned the corner. There were three immediate passages she could have taken. Without a light Ryder concluded she had to be following the contours of the cool cavern walls. That would have led her to the very first passage. His approach was far from silent. To Ryder's way of thinking it had all the earmarks of a one-man band.

Water was squeezed between his toes and through his socks and boots with every step. It splattered loudly from the tails of his shirt and the ends of his dark, thick hair. A droplet found its way through a seam in the lantern and sizzled when it touched the flame. And for good measure, he sneezed. Mary had not gone far into the corridor.

Ryder raised the lantern when its light caught a glimpse of her cotton shift. She was leaning against the cavern wall, one shoulder pressed to the stone, her back to him.

"Go away," she said. He was close enough that she didn't have to raise her voice. His light stretched past her and cast a shadow where there had only been darkness before.

"Come back with me." Mary's arms were crossed in front of her, warding off the cold and the abject misery that wanted to be her companion.

She shook her head.

"There's nowhere for me to go. I can't see my hand in front of my face without a lantern." Ryder stepped closer and saw Mary's entire body go rigid. She still refused to turn and look at him.

"You don't want to stay here," he said. One of her hands came up and she quickly dashed a tear from her eye.

"You're right. So let me go. Take me out to the mouth of this cavern and let me find my own way back to the fort."

"You'd die out there." She sniffed and angrily brushed away another tear.

"I know," she said impatiently.

"And my body would attract vultures and the vultures would attract the searchers and they'd find you because one of my bony fingers would be pointing directly at this cavern."

"Something like that," he said dryly. He raised a hand to place it on her shoulder, but she sensed the movement and flinched, drawing more into herself. He was quiet for several minutes. The only sounds in the corridor were the occasional staccato drip of water from Ryder's clothes and the muffled, throaty sob Mary couldn't suppress.

"Let's go," he said finally, quietly. This time she came, turning, not looking at him, her shoulders hunched and head bent. He noticed she made certain she didn't touch him.

"I think I could learn to hate you," she said without inflection. Ryder let that pass without comment, but his eyes followed her as she stepped around him and preceded him out of the passage. As soon as they were back in the chamber Mary sat in the rocker and picked up a book. She held it up in front of her face as Ryder stripped out of his sopping wet clothes. She couldn't concentrate on the words in front of her.

What she heard was the sound of Ryder rooting through the trunk for dry things to wear. What she saw in her mind's eye was the splendid breadth of his naked shoulders and the smooth line of his back. Mary looked up when his shadow crossed her light. She lowered the book after he placed his index finger on the edge of the spine and pushed down. He was still naked to the waist. His dark, damp hair was tied back with a leather thong, but tiny beads of water still lay glistening on his shoulders. There was an odd, unsettling flutter in Mary's stomach. Nonetheless she raised her eyes calmly to his.

"Yes?"

"You're wearing the only other clean shirt I have." She looked down at herself. The shirt was soft and comfortable, and it was warm. She glanced at the clothes on the line. Her habit was only a little less damp than the items Ryder had just added.

"May I have a blanket?" she asked, putting aside her book. When Ryder took one of the woolen blankets off the bed and gave it to her, she shrugged out of the shirt, handed it to him, and pulled the blanket around her shoulders.