Only in My Arms Page 27

  Ryder took her wrist. As his thumb passed along the soft inner skin the contact was almost too much for her. Her quick, indrawn breath was like a reaction to pain. He paused, searching her face, and recognized her response for what it was. She stepped toward him, not away. His hand closed over her breast. His thumb brushed the erect tip of her nipple and she sipped the air again. Her flesh swelled beneath his cupped palm.

  He bent his head. His mouth touched hers but a single moment before its sweet warmth was on the curve of her neck, then her shoulder. She arched, aroused by the slow, inexorable journey of his mouth to her breast. His lips caught the nipple. The damp edge of his tongue bathed the tip.

  Mary's fingers tangled in his hair, holding him to her as ribbons of pleasure uncurled just beneath her skin. He drew out her response, and when she didn't think she could stand it any longer he showed her that she could. Mary felt herself being lifted to the edge of the stone shelf, and now Ryder was standing in front of her. The blanket that had covered him lay on the floor. He cupped her bottom and brought her closer to the edge of the stone bed, hooking her legs on either side of his hips. His mouth took hers again, and this time the plunging force of his tongue was matched by his hard, swift entry. Mary's gasp was trapped by his mouth. He was in her deeply, completely. She was raised against him, accommodating the heat and hardness of him, holding him to her as surely as she was held.

  "Please," she whispered against his mouth. But she could not have said what she was asking for. It was only when Ryder began to move inside her that she realized this was what she had been wanting. It did not bother her that he knew it better than she.

  The force and rhythm of his body seemed to rob her of breath and thought. She could only feel.

  She felt the heat of his skin, the strength of his arms, the steady rise of pleasure. Not as a single sweep, but as a force that ebbed and flowed, and never abandoned her. She felt the press of his hands, the imprint of his fingers. The shape of his mouth was a brand on her shoulder. Where he rocked between her thighs she felt the hot, darting lick of delicious tension.

  Ryder's senses were filled with Mary. He breathed in the fragrance of her skin, her hair, and her sex. He tasted her sweet mouth and the faintly salty flavor of the curve of her shoulder. Her skin was smooth and warm to his touch. His head was filled with the small cries of pleasure at the back of her throat. Mary was in his vision even when he closed his eyes.

  The climax was sharp and searing. He shuddered against her powerfully. Mary held him, her legs tightening against his hips, her hands clutching his shoulders. The thrust of his body shattered the last of her defenses. She embraced her release as she embraced him. Pleasure vibrated between them.

  Ryder eased Mary back on the bed. She lay there, looking up at him, relaxed and replete. The smile on her face was faintly smug, certainly satisfied. She stretched lazily as he climbed onto the bed beside her. His kiss was tender, and Mary fairly hummed with the sweetness of it.

  "You're looking a shade too full of yourself," he said, propping himself on one elbow.

  Nothing changed about the placement of her lips. She couldn't help herself. "A little while ago I was a shade too full of you."

  Ryder blinked. He could have convinced himself he had misheard her if it hadn't been for the tide of red sweeping over her face. For once she looked as if she wanted to call back her words. At the same time she was practically daring him to mention them. Instead he simply stared at her, fascinated by the contradiction.

  The intensity of Ryder's expression, his darkly searching gaze, held Mary still. She tried to imagine what he was thinking when he looked at her like that, when he peered all the way to her soul.

  Ryder picked up a blanket and drew it over them. "You should have gone with your brother-in-law," he said after a moment.

  Of all the things she had thought she might hear, this comment was not among them. "That subject is closed," she said flatly.

  It was as if she hadn't spoken. "Why didn't you?"

  Mary's mouth flattened, and she simply refused to answer.

  Ryder sighed. "Very well." Ignoring her small, stiff response when he touched her, Ryder tucked a strand of Mary's hair behind her ear. "We're not going to stay here much longer," he told her.

  She frowned, not understanding. "But Jarret is going to cover your trail. He promised. Rosario won't—"

  He cut her off, shaking his head. "I'm not worried about Rosario. And I believe Jarret will do as he promised, but he'll be tempted to return just to be certain you're safe."

  "No. You're not—"

  "It's what I would be tempted to do," he said. "He'll make one trip and then another, then another. It's only a matter of time before he's followed and we're found out. Rosario won't come in here, but there are plenty of Gardner's soldiers who will."

  Mary considered that. Ryder was probably right. Jarret would feel a powerful obligation to assure her safety. She hadn't considered that when she'd sent him away alone. She hadn't meant to endanger Ryder with her presence; her intention had been exactly the opposite. Her forest green eyes clouded as she considered the consequences of her actions.

  Ryder had no liking for the anxious, reflective look in her eyes. "What is it?" he asked.

  "I should have left," she said, worrying the inside of her lower lip. "I'm sorry. I didn't understand."

  Ryder wasn't sure that she did now. Her agreement didn't necessarily mean she had surrendered to his point of view. "I think you'd better explain yourself," he said.

  Mary sighed. Couldn't he just accept that he was right? Did he have to hear the whole of her error? "I didn't realize I was endangering you by staying behind. It makes sense that you would want me out of the way now."

  Ryder listened to the explanation and nodded slowly. It was just as he thought. She couldn't imagine that he had wanted to protect her. "I'm the one endangering you," he said. "You should have left to protect yourself. That's all I meant." One side of his mouth lifted as he watched her try to take that information in. She was working up to another argument. "You really are a perverse creature," he added.

  She bristled predictably. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means that not so long ago you were fighting to make me let you go. Now you're arguing with me about staying."

  "That's entirely different," she said immediately.

  "Entirely."

  Mary looked at him suspiciously. Was he agreeing with her or only pretending to agree? There was a faint edge to his tone, but his expression was shuttered. "You're maddening, do you know that?"

  "Maddening? Is that good or bad?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say bad. That, after all, was the easy answer. The truth was more complicated than that. Could he really hold her attention so completely if he weren't a little maddening? His calm intrigued her. His humor undid her. His logic gave her pause. From the very first he had challenged her. Mary made a small concession. "Being maddening is not entirely bad," she said.

  "Be careful," he chided her. "You almost complimented my character."

  She nudged his hard belly gently with her fist. When she would have drawn back he placed a hand over hers and held it there. Her fingers unfolded and lay flat against his skin. When his hand fell away hers remained. She traced the edge of his rib cage. There was still some faint bruising from his fall, but he appeared to be on the mend. "There's no pain here?" she asked.

  "Hardly any."

  "And your leg?"

  "Much better." He raised one brow when her eyes narrowed. "Do you doubt it?"

  He was referring to the way he had taken her, of course. With her legs anchored around him Mary had felt the strength in his thighs. "No," she said after a moment. "I don't doubt it."

  Ryder liked the breathy, husky quality of her voice when she said that. He lowered his head and touched her mouth. The kiss lingered sweetly. When he pulled back, he adjusted his position to accommodate her. Mary rested her head in the crook of his shoulder and
laid an arm across his chest. He wondered how often or how long she had slept during his illness. Jarret's presence had eased the physical tasks of taking care of him but had not lightened the emotional burden.

  "Thank you," he said quietly. When Mary didn't acknowledge him, he thought she had fallen asleep. It was only when he glanced down and saw wet, spiky lashes and the tears on the curves of her cheeks that he knew otherwise. "Mary?"

  She knuckled her damp eyes and gave him a tentative, watery smile. "Relief," she said, explaining her tears. "And gratitude."

  He nodded, understanding. His fingers sifted through the curling ends of her soft hair. "I hadn't imagined you would know so much about healing," he said.

  Mary remembered how often she had prayed for the skill that was her sister Maggie's. It didn't seem to her that she knew so very much. "I've always worked in a hospital," she said. "That's what the sisters of my order did."

  "Tell me about it."

  "The hospital?"

  "If you want to start there."

  She shrugged. "There's not much to tell."

  "I don't believe that," he said. "How did you choose your order?"

  "I don't know that I did choose it," she said. "At least not consciously. It was the place that called me. My mother used to make visits to the sick every Wednesday. When I was still very young she would take me to the hospital the Little Sisters operated. Usually I would sit beside her while she read to the patients or wrote letters for them. Sometimes I would get them water or help them with their pillows."

  Mary turned a little in his arms. "Jay Mac used to argue with Mama about going. He was afraid she would contract some disease. He thought giving her money for the charity would keep her away, but she always delivered it in person and stayed to tend the sick anyway. It couldn't have been easy for Mama to cross Jay Mac, but she did it once a week for years."

  "And took you with her."

  Mary nodded. "Every week."

  "Until you entered the order. Then she stopped."

  Mary raised her head and looked at him. "How did you know?"

  "Just a guess."

  No, she thought, it was more than that. He had the uncanny ability to listen to her and hear more than she could hear herself. It was like having an echo that was clearer and stronger than her own voice. "I suppose," she said slowly, "that once I was there she didn't feel the need to go as often." Mary laid her head on Ryder's shoulder again. "Mama was going to be a nun, you know. That habit I was wearing when I visited you in the stockade wasn't mine. It was hers. She never told me that it had been something she had imagined for herself."

  "Didn't she?"

  "Not in so many words. She never seemed to regret her life with my father."

  "Perhaps that's because she didn't."

  Mary was silent for a long time, thinking. "No, you're right," she said at last. "Mama didn't regret the choices she made, but she never quite gave up her dream either."

  "She gave it to you."

  "She forced it on me." Even to her own ears her tone sounded harsh and unforgiving.

  "You didn't want to go to the hospital with her?" he asked.

  It wasn't as simple as yes or no. Mary let her hand be taken by Ryder. His long fingers laced with hers as she stared off to the side, seeing nothing but the memories in her mind's eye. "I was interested in the hospital," she said quietly, "but I was fascinated by the sisters. They moved with such poise and purpose and they were such a mystery to me. Kind. Gentle. Brisk. Reserved. I didn't understand their reservation then. I thought it was characteristic of the habit. It was years before I realized that they disapproved of my mother. She was a whore, you know. At least that's how they saw her. And I was the bastard daughter." Mary smiled a little crookedly as tears hovered and then were suppressed. "My mother didn't go to mass after she became Jay Mac's mistress, but she endured the weekly censure of those nuns."

  "To help others?"

  "To make amends for the choices she made. In some way I was part of it, falling in with plans that were never quite my own. There was satisfaction in helping others, and I was intrigued by the nuns, but the truth is, if my mother had been going to a racetrack once a week I would have liked that just as well." She felt Ryder's fingers tighten on hers. "I wanted to be with her, that's all." Mary's short laugh was humorless, and she shook her head. "That I can be so selfish—"

  "Mary," Ryder chided her. "I don't think—"

  "No," she said. "It's true. I was the firstborn and for a while I had her to myself. I was the first Mary. Then the others came and I had to share her as well as my name." Mary felt as if poison were spilling from her heart. "The time at the hospital was so special to me. I knew it pleased her to have me there, and she never took any of my sisters. I think I might have threatened them if they had ever expressed an interest. It was just Mama and me, and if I had to share her with the patients it didn't seem so bad because she approved of me helping." Mary took a dry, aching breath and spoke so quietly that Ryder had to strain to hear her. "And when I followed the sisters around I could see that she liked it even better." She took her hand out of Ryder's and raised herself up, drawing the blanket around her breasts. "I'm not a very good person, Ryder. I think I've always been a fraud. Certainly I've been a liar."

  Ryder reached up and touched Mary's cheek. A strand of hair clung damply to the curve, and he pushed it back. "You're too hard on yourself, Mary."

  She shook her head. "No, I'm—"

  "No one has ever expected as much from you as you've expected from yourself. If you're a deceiver, then you're a completely decent one. The years you spent in the service of your Lord weren't a pretense. You helped others. You were generous with your spirit. You championed those without a voice and ministered to those who had a need. That was no lie you lived. Compassionate... fierce... confident... serene—you are those things."

  She wanted to believe him. She wanted him to believe what he'd said.

  Ryder watched her struggle, saw the doubt surface in her eyes. He sat up, leaned against the stone shelf behind him, and drew Mary into his arms. She curled against him, hugging her knees to her chest. As she had on the night of their first meeting, she fit perfectly in his embrace. "Our paths would never have crossed if you had made different choices in your life," he said.

  "I'm selfish enough to admit I'm satisfied with the ones you made." He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against her hair. "I like to believe that God was saving you for me. God knows, you saved me."

  Mary's watery smile was imprinted against the knuckles she pressed to her mouth. Huddled in the security of his arms, she slept the deep untroubled sleep of a child.

  * * *

  "Tell me about Anna Leigh," Mary said. She gave up the pretense of reading and closed her book, dropping it back in the basket. Ryder was sitting on the edge of the stone bed. He had the rope handle of the bucket slipped over his foot, and he was raising and lowering the weighted wooden pail to strengthen his injured leg. There were beads of perspiration on his upper lip as he strained to lift it again. "I think you're doing too much," she said. "Stop that and tell me about Anna Leigh."

  He paused—the bucket up in the air—and completely ignored Mary's disapproving look. "You're bossy."

  "My sisters say the same thing. It's never bothered me." When it appeared that he wasn't going to pay her any more heed than her sisters, Mary took action. Jumping out of the chair before he guessed her intent, she removed the bucket from his foot and dumped the water back in the pool. She hugged the bucket to her to keep it out of his reach and returned to the wing chair. "You'll thank me later."

  Ryder didn't doubt it. For as near as he could mark the passing time he had been working the leg back into shape for three days. This was his second session today, and he knew he had overdone it as soon as he got to his feet. Hobbling to the rocker was painful. Having to hobble in front of Mary only exacerbated the ache.

  "Smugness does not necessarily become you," he said, easing himself int
o the rocker.

  "As if I care this much for my looks." She snapped her fingers to punctuate her point.

  It was true, he thought. She was rarely troubled by how she appeared. She had no practiced gestures or studied expressions. While an air of serenity marked her features most often, she also could be beautifully animated. Well, not always beautifully, he amended. Right now her expression was downright sour. "All right." He stretched his leg. He massaged the injury lightly through his trousers. "What do you want to know?"

  "Why was she with you in the first place?"

  "You mean why was she accompanying the troop or why was she with me?"

  If anything, Mary's mouth became a trifle more puckered. She sighed impatiently as if his question were unreasonable. "Both," she said shortly.

  "Well, as long as you're clear..." His comment didn't provoke a smile, and he finally recognized how serious she was. He wondered what had been going on in that fine mind of hers. She must have been mulling over some part of the situation for more than a week. "Anna Leigh accompanied the troop because her father insisted. I assumed at the time that she did it in part just to show me she could. We had a disagreement the night before the wagons left, and she wanted to prove she had the upper hand."

  "What sort of disagreement?"

  "She wanted me, and I didn't want any part of her. I wasn't kind."

  Mary didn't want to know the details. "You humiliated her?"

  He nodded. "And she told me she was coming along the next day. I thought it was a spur of the moment decision on her part, but I've wondered since then if it might have been planned all along."

  "Why?"

  "Well, her father was adamant about her accompanying the wagons. Even when General Gardner and I explained the dangers, he insisted."

  "That seems odd, don't you think?"

  "Anna Leigh was very used to getting what she wanted. I think that tradition started with her dear papa." He continued to rub his leg absently. "I stayed away from her the next morning. When I reported that I sensed trouble to the lieutenant, he ordered me to take her with me. I was obliged to follow orders, but she knew I didn't want her along. She hampered my climb back up to the ridge, and at the top she insisted on stopping to drink. The trouble was, she wanted my canteen. Complained that her water was tainted. I thought it was another tactic to slow me down and make me pay attention to her. I traded canteens and drank some from hers to prove she was lying."