"But I did not want to deny you... or myself." Mary wrested her chin away from his light grip and looked down through the crystalline water.

Ryder made no attempt to shield his aroused state.

"I think you did deny yourself," she said.

"That's only because you're still an innocent." She looked at him oddly, not understanding. Rather than ask him what he meant she determined to find out for herself. Looking around, she spied the slim bar of soap she had used on her hair. Mary picked it up, ignoring the cloth that lay nearby. She raised a bit of lather between her hands, then she applied the soap and suds to Ryder's body.

"I don't think-" he began.

"You think too much," she interrupted gently. Her hands worked deftly, sliding the soap over Ryder's shoulders, massaging his chest and upper arms with slippery lather. Her fingers glided to his neck before she circled around him and rubbed down his back. His flesh rippled under her touch and defined the hardness lying beneath his taut skin. She washed the base of his spine, finding the small dimples with her index finger. She soaped his hard buttocks and the backs of his thighs, then returned to his back, slipping her palms along his tapered waist and narrow hips. Mary slipped her arms around him from behind, resting her forehead against his back. Her soapy fingers traced the ridges of his rib cage and rubbed lather across his abdomen. Her hands went lower to the arrow of hair below his navel. That was when she dropped the soap.

And the pretense.

Made buoyant by the water, Mary slipped around Ryder again, her entire body rubbing smoothly against his. Her hands went below the surface of the water and grasped him. She could feel the coursing of the blood that was making him hot and hard beneath her fingers.

Ryder's hand closed over Mary's and he showed her how to take him.

She discovered that by giving this pleasure she had denied herself nothing.

"You were right," she said quietly when he set her outside the pool.

She picked up a thin cotton quilt and began drying herself. Ryder hoisted himself out of the spring and steadied himself. Water dripped on the stones in a slowing staccato rhythm. He had a little less strength coming out than he had had going in. There was no chance that he was going to forget that dip in the spring anytime soon.

"About what?" he asked.

"That I was an innocent." Though Mary wasn't looking at him, he couldn't miss her smug smile.

"Just a little full of yourself, aren't you?" he asked dryly.

"Pride is my worst fault. Sister Benedict always said so." Ryder dried himself off briskly, hitched the damp blanket around his hips, then pulled Mary to her feet. She dragged the cotton quilt around her, tucking the ends neatly between her breasts. Ryder turned her toward their bed and gave her a pat on the bottom, urging her forward.

"How is it that you ever became a nun?" he asked. Mary stiffened at the question. She slowly pushed herself onto their stone shelf bed.

"You say that as if you think I shouldn't have. It's not very complimentary."

"I only meant-" She held up her hand, stopping him.

"I don't want to hear it. You think because I respond to you so completely I was somehow unsuited for convent life. If I carry your reasoning a little farther it's natural to conclude I should have become a whore at seventeen instead of a bride of Christ." One of Ryder's brows kicked up.

"I was trying to--" Mary's full mouth flattened mutinously, and if it had not been so predictably childish, she would have clapped her hands over her ears.

"I'm hungry." Ryder hesitated. He had no liking for their argument and even less for the misunderstanding. However, it seemed that Mary had closed the discussion.

"Very well," he said after a moment. He turned and went to their larder, opening tins of meat and vegetables. Realizing he was hungry as well, Ryder set out the portion on two plates. He handed one to Mary, but didn't join her on the bed. He sat in the wing chair, his long legs stretched negligently in front of him. She pushed the cold food around her plate. Hunger had been a diversion, not a need. She tried to think of some way to make amends for her sharpness. She had never been very good at saying she was sorry. She lamented that pride, indeed, was her worst fault.

"I can't talk about it," she said at last.

"It's too.." She struggled for the word.

"Too personal." Ryder nodded, saying nothing.

"You'd have to know my parents better, particularly my mother." She sighed.

"I'm just not ready." She sighed again. This time her eyes were apologetic as she shrugged uncertainly.

"I'm sorry." Ryder couldn't pinpoint the precise thing her regret was supposed to cover, but he accepted it.

"Eat up," he said gently. Mary tucked into her food.

"Tell me about our ceremony in the clearing," she said around a mouthful of peas.

"Why did we stand in the water?"

"The Apache trace their origin to the Child of the Water. We were united with that blessing and the acknowledgment of both families."

"It's very symbolic, then." She liked that. Her life in the Church had been full of symbols and ritual.

"Although I'm not certain my father actually acknowledged us. It's not as though he gave me away."

"His presence was enough." She ate more, thoughtful now.

"You realize I don't consider us really married."

He nodded.

"It seemed like a good compromise." Mary barely heard him.

"I mean, it's more of an arrangement, isn't it, instead of a marriage?"

"If that's the way you want to think about it."

"It won't require an annulment or a divorce."

"Not a church annulment," he said.

"And not a lawyer's divorce." Ryder set his empty plate aside and regarded Mary steadily. An edge of frost had returned to his lightly colored eyes.

"You only have to pack my things and put them outside the entrance to our home." He spread his hands to indicate their chamber and shrugged.

"That's all. If you find me lazy or unwilling to provide for you, if we're incompatible, if we bicker too often, or if I'm uncommonly jealous--all of these things can end it." His eyes darkened a fraction.

"As can infidelity."

Returning his stare, Mary swallowed hard. It was almost as if he was warning her.

"Well, yes," she said, bemused.

"Of course.

Infidelity." His smile was not a smile at all. The watchful predator had returned.