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stop him from getting into another deadly . . . |
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She refused to think about that. She allowed her attention to be captured by the table before her. She hadn't noticed the wood's grain before, the attractive sworls that formed an uneven pattern in gold, sepia and cinnamon. |
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"What is wrong, Mariah?" Though the gritty, British-accented voice sounded impatient, there was a touch of concern in it, too. He sat beside her and touched her arm. "If Maitland insulted you, I wish to know it." |
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She turned to face him, unsure how to respond. The small, comforting contact of his hand was almost more than she could bear. "It wasn't an insult but information. I told you" She had to stop as moisture flooded her eyes. |
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"What information could upset you so? Was it about your beau, Pierce?" |
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She choked off a laugh. "Pierce isn't" She had to stop as she gathered her thoughts. "If you really want to know," she said, "I'll tell you. It's about you. But you need to" |
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Boots clumped on the stairs as a soldier hurried down. It was one of the younger boys, clad in a baggy undershirt and his uniform trousers. As he neared the two of them, his grin revealed a rotting tooth. "Someone ought to brew an ale that does not pass right through a body." He hurried outside, followed by another soldier with the same apparent goal. |
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"Come." Thorn took Mariah's hand, and she reveled in his gentle strength when she felt so weak. "We will go somewhere quiet to talk." |
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The air was warm and so damp that Mariah immediately felt a sheen on her skin. There was a full moon that night that swept a shining swathe across the compound, but Thorn skirted the light. He led her far from the outhouse and its line of sodden soldiers. |
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But in the first place he tried, the stable, they heard voices. Holly's and René's. Very low. |
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"Not here." Mariah suspected they needed to be alone. |
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Thorn obviously thought so, too, for he pulled her away with the hand he still held. |
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They went inside the smokehouse, but Mariah immedi- |
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