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wench. He leaned toward her, saying low in her ear, ''Mariah . . . will you explain to me what is wrong?" |
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"Yes," she said hurriedly. And then, "No." Her voice was low, and it broke, as though something vile choked her. "I'm sorry." She took a step away from him. |
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He grabbed her arm. "We will speak of this later." |
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There was unspeakable sorrow in her green eyes. "I'm not sure how to tell you. Or whether anything will help." She hurried from the room, her brown skirt swishing about her ankles. |
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"Such an odd young woman," Ainsley said, "but most attractive." There was a speculative gleam in his eye that Thorn wished to wipe away, with force if necessary. But he controlled his anger. He was pleased, after all, to have the opportunity for discourse with his old friend once more. |
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Yet as he conversed amiably with Ainsley, his mind remained on Mariah. His mind now seemed ever on the woman, no matter how he wished otherwise. |
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Now, with his former comrades from Fort Pitt about, he was reminded more clearly of his own failings. Why was it he felt he could share his problems with Mariah Walker, that to do so might help cleanse him of his cowardice? |
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He would not, of course. It would be one more link between the two of them, and he already had to brace himself far too often to keep from pulling her into his arms, from touching her, from burying himself so deep within her that not even he could find himself. |
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No, he dared share nothing with her. |
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If only she would share what troubled her with him. . . . |
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Somehow, Mariah made it through supper. She couldn't be sure, after all, that Will was Billy. And if he was, she could be prepared. Could prepare Thorn. Knowledge could be useful. |
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Then why was it affecting her this way? |
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Maybe because something inside, some terrible intuition, told her she'd guessed right. Will was Billy. |
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Though she felt in a daze, she forced herself to smile and banter with the soldiers as she served loaves of bread, steam- |
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