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find out, she told herself, as she crossed the room to look. |
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The rustic furnishings were sparse. On the large table stood a variety of items she didn't recognize and some she did: a pitcher and washbasin, long rods that resembled thick nutcrackers, lumps of metal, pieces of leather and an assortment of wrapped bullets like the one she'd helped Thorn load into the rifle to scare off her river rats. The single wooden bench had been slid beneath the table. Then there was the bed, of sturdy, straight tree branches lashed together with leather thongs. Its mattress was covered in blankets of dark wool, similar to those in Mariah's room. |
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And of course there was a fireplace. On its stone mantel was an assortment of lethal-looking hunting knives. |
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But Mariah's gaze stopped at the wall opposite the fireplace. She drew in her breath. "Oh, my," she whispered, feeling pain grip her heart. |
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Hanging on the wall, like a tapestry splayed for decoration, was a British army uniform, even more ornate than the ones Mariah had seen at Fort Pitt. An officer's, maybe. It obviously had been made for a large man. |
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He kept it here, hanging on the wall, as though to remind himself of what had happened. To feed his guilt. Mariah shook her head. Aloud, almost involuntarily, she asked, "Why?" |
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Mariah jumped. The fury in the unexpected deep voice sounded barely in check. |
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"Why are you in here?" Thorn continued. "That's the 'why' I'd like to know. I made it quite clear that I wanted no intruders in my private quarters." |
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She turned to face him. Thorn filled the doorway with his large, menacing frame. Though he was backlighted, she could discern the anger that slitted his eyes and tightened his lips into a cruel scowl. |
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"You just said there was nowhere for me to stay in here," Mariah protested weakly. "You didn't say I was forbidden to see the place." |
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