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Her soft voice grew fainter still until it simply faded away. But then she looked at him and smiled, and he found himself beaming back. This mademoiselle, she was a good-natured lady despite being so ignorant of the simplest skills. Perhaps she was, as Thorn said, a fleur, a pretty but useless flower from the east who had never had to lift a finger to serve herself, let alone anyone else. And yet, she had not complained. |
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René found himself liking her. He suspected that, despite his growling like a flea-bitten bear, Thorn liked her, too. |
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"So, what would you like me to do this morning?" She hesitated. "Are the guests awake?" |
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"I have heard them stir, and Francis Kerr settled their bill, but they are not yet ready to depart. We will have food waiting for them, eh?" |
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"Sure. Tell me what to do." |
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"Fetch some water from the stream, if you please." |
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A strange expression clouded the mademoiselle's face, as though fetching water from the stream was the last thing she wished to do. "Have you fear the Indian lurks about?" he asked. Although there had been no sign that their unwelcome visitor remained, he would not force Mariah to go alone. |
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Yet again uncomplaining, she took up the pair of buckets and placed them on the wood harness across her shoulders. "I'm sure he's gone. I'll be right back." |
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René had barely poured cornmeal for porridge from the metal canister and readied the salt pork for frying when Mariah returned. "Here we are." She set down the pails near a table, then turned toward the fireplace. "Is the fire ready?" She prodded it with a shovel, as though tending it were a skill she had perfected long ago. He smiled as Thorn entered the kitchen. |
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He greeted René, then nodded at Mariah, who looked up from the fire. A light brightened in her eyes, then dimmed as though she had doused it. René watched in curiosity. He had guessed she was enchanté by Thorn but suspected the feelings ran far too deep for such short acquaintanceand for such an impossible relationship. Poor mademoiselle. |
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