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Cedric Southfold thrust his reins into the hands of his namesake from one of the fishing villages. He did not stay to answer Cedric Fisherman's question nor even to shed his dripping cloak. The lady of Roselynde was just and generous, but she was also amazingly harsh to those who set their own business above hers. The lady had said he was to be swift and, indeed, across the known paths of England he had ridden swiftly. It had been less easy to follow Simon through the trackless forests of Wales. |
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Accustomed to the softly rolling hills, the tamed pasture and arable, the well-known, small woods of the south coast, Cedric had been appalled by the broken mountains and wild forests of North Wales. Nonetheless he had trailed Simon as in the past he had trailed lost lambs, delivered the letter he carried, and memorized what Beorn had told him. Still, he was not easy. If the lady did not know Wales, would she believe the difficulties he had encountered? Certainly to delay even a minute to change into less ragged and soiled clothes now that he had arrived would be a mistake. |
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Just inside the entrance Cedric Southfold stopped and gaped at the Great Hall of Westminster Palace. He was appalled. He had been often in the Great Hall of Roselynde, for he frequently served as the lady's messenger since he had been brought to her notice and elevated from a poor freezing shepherd of the south pasture to his present comfortable place. He had even twice been in the Great Hall of the White Tower. That had been in high summer, however, and few were in |
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