"No." Ryder removed his hand from her hip and let his arm fall around her waist.

"But you're right. It's not fair." She hadn't expected that. His admission didn't change anything, not really. The fact that it made her feel better was troubling in its own right.

"You could let me go," she said. He didn't bother responding to that.

"Go to sleep." Ryder stretched his other arm out above his head and lay down.

"I want to see the sun again," she said softly. Ryder didn't answer, but he was awake a lot longer than Mary, thinking about it.

"Do you want to come with me?" Ryder paused in the stone archway as he spoke. He had not planned to ask. It was not like him, but the words were simply there, on the tip of his tongue, and then they were given sound. He could not call them back. He only hoped she had not heard him. Mary lowered her book. Ryder was not even looking at her, and she suspected the invitation was reluctantly offered and already regretted. That didn't bother her. She didn't ask him to repeat himself or wonder aloud if he was serious. Dropping her book into the basket, Mary came to her feet.

"Yes," she said.

"I'd like that." By the time she reached the exit, Ryder was already striding down the corridor. Lantern light made a slow sweep of the walls as the lamp swung in his hand. Mary stayed close enough to follow the light, but didn't try to come abreast of him. He was making it patently obvious that he didn't want the company. She was so intent on following that light that when Ryder stopped she almost ran into his back. Glancing around, she saw they hadn't come very far. The corridor forked and to the right was the chamber used for nature's calls. Mary's disappointment was deep. She was certain he had intended something else when he'd made his offer. She had expected a trip to the outside, not a trip to the privy. Ryder placed the lantern on the ground and turned to Mary.

"You'll have to wear this," he said.

She looked at him in confusion until he raised one of his bandanas in front of her eyes.

"A blindfold?" she asked. He nodded.

"Do you agree?"

"Yes," she said quickly.

"Oh, yes." The alacrity of her reply, the eagerness in her voice, struck Ryder like a physical blow. Her face was raised to him, and her eyes were already closed in a gesture of offering. Long lashes fanned the curves of her lids. Her mouth was set in a faint smile, anticipation warring with impatience. She had the ripe, expectant expression of a woman inviting a kiss, not a blindfold. Ryder's head bent. Mary opened her eyes. They stared, hardly breathing.

Time passed. An eternity, a few heartbeats. It was all the same.

Ryder drew back first. Mary swayed slightly, her slender body pulled forward by his withdrawal. He steadied her with firm hands;

then he put the blindfold around her eyes, picked up the lantern, and took her hand.

"This way," he said. His voice was a little rough, a little husky, and it vibrated through Mary, unsettling but not unpleasant. She gripped Ryder's hand.

"You won't go too fast?" she asked.

"No, Mary. Not too fast." At the entrance to the cavern Ryder finally let Mary remove the blindfold. She tore it off quickly, squinting as she anticipated the sunlight that would shower her face. Her eyes widened slowly, and she was horrified by the depth of her disappointment.

"It's night," she said. And not just any night, she thought, but one so thick with clouds that starlight and moonshine couldn't penetrate.

Ryder tucked one end of the bandana into his waistband, then moved to stand behind Mary. He nudged her closer to the lip of the cavern, resting his hands on her upper arms.

"Give it time," he said quietly.

"Night doesn't last forever." When she nodded he could feel strands of her silky hair brush his chin. If they had been intimate he would have kissed the crown of her head then or lowered his mouth to her ear. His eyes fell instead to the habit's collar which framed her slender neck and the black fabric that shrouded her shoulders. A gentle breeze swept the mouth of the cavern and lifted the fragrance of her hair to his nostrils. Ryder breathed deeply. She never wore the veil and wimple anymore; she hadn't since the day they'd arrived at the cavern.

He'd never wondered about it. Now, with the subtle fragrance of Mary's soft hair filling his senses he had cause.

"You don't weaar your veil," he said. In an immediate, self-conscious gesture, Mary's hand went to her hair. She tugged at the curl near her temple and tucked it behind her ear. Ryder's hand closed over hers and drew it away.

He let her hand fall, then again placed his own on her upper arm.

"There's nothing wrong with your hair." Quite the opposite.

"I.

just wondered about the veil." She shrugged.

"It seemed too much," she said vaguely. His palms were warm on her arms, and where her back touched his chest she could feel his heat.

Mary crossed her arms in front of her as another breeze eddied through the entrance, whistling in the chamber behind her and raising a soft sighing sound from the pine trees ahead.

"You're cold," said Ryder.

"A little." He rubbed her arms lightly.

"I should have brought a blanket."

"No, it's all right." She turned her head to the side, raising it slightly to see him better.

"This is enough," she said.

"To smell the ....... the fresh air... even if there's no--" Mary broke off as a crescent of light appeared on the horizon. Almost immediately there were bands of mauve and deep lilac running along the underbelly of the clouds. The vision blurred as tears washed Mary's eyes.

Sunshine scattered its bright light across the plateaus and mountain peaks and carved out an arc that crossed the mouth of the cavern. Mary and Ryder stood in the center of it. Her solemn face was raised in greeting, in thankfulness. He was watching her. Ryder handed Mary the bandana. She stared at it, stricken.

"Already?" she asked hoarsely.

"Can't we stay-"

"For your tears." he said.

"We can stay." Mary gave him a discomfited, watery smile but her eyes radiated her pleasure.

"Thank you." Ryder took his bandana back and wiped her tears himself.

The backs of his fingers brushed her cheek when his hand fell away. He turned her around to face the sun before her pleasure prompted promises from him that he shouldn't make and couldn't keep. The clouds lifted, spread, and claimed the sky like a sheer white shroud floating in a cerulean sea. The first rays of heat had just radiated from the ground outside the cavern when Ryder touched Mary's shoulder lightly and said it was time to go. She nodded in understanding, but she didn't move and Ryder didn't force the issue.

"The Apache call this time of year ghost face," he told her.

"Ghost face," she nepeated softly. It fit. Sunshine was falling on a mostly barren land. Evergreens brought color to the landscape, but the shrubs were bare and the low vegetation was brown and scrubby.

"That's a proper name for winter in this part of the country."

"Not winter exactly. The Apache divide the year into six seasons, not four. We've just finished earth-is-reddish-brown."

"Autumn," she said.

"Late fall," he corrected her.

"When your survival depends on the availability of wild plants you're particular about naming your seasons."