"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 Eight.

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're doing now?" She closed her eyes momentarily, 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 cradle board 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 line 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.