< previous page page_153 next page >

Page 153
been able to show the woman that she was worthy of men treating her well in this chauvinistic time.
She only hoped the woman remembered it, and tried to train those horrible men in her life accordingly. If she could.
Then there was Thorn and his story. Not even that followed the screenplay. Not exactly.
She needed to learn a lot.
And to understand why a man so admittedly unreliable set her blood pumping, contrary to every ounce of sense she possessed.

"You shall write a grievous wrong, my daughter."
Mariah sat up with a start, gasping in the dark, unfamiliar surroundings.
She'd been dreamingor had she?
Now, she recognized Pierce's voice issuing its order. But it had changed considerably from the directive that had haunted her dreams forever.
His daughter. He'd called her that before she'd slipped into unconsciousness at the Blockhouse. No wonder that had been added to the too-familiar directive. But it was no longer a command. It didn't tell her that she must right the wrong, but that she would.
And no longer did it sound so portentous, so ominous. Instead, there was a gleeful note to it.
"Don't be so sure, Pierce," she said into the darkness. "Tell me for certain what it is and how to right it, and then we'll see."

"Time to rise, Mariah." This time it was René knocking on her door.
She drew herself from bed. With all the physical labor she'd been doing lately, muscles she'd never become acquainted with before were now introducing themselves with soreness in some of the oddest places.
"Be with you in a minute," she called. She poured water from the pitcher into the basin and splashed her facea far cry from her more time-consuming morning ablutions at home. She donned a cream-colored blouse and dark blue

 
< previous page page_153 next page >