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bring the Welsh to battle before the rage that was building up in the men, whetting their appetites for fighting, would turn in upon itself. Once that happened. the troop would begin to quarrel among themselves and, even worse, be afflicted with a sense of hopelessness. Simon had seen that destroy a whole army once and he was watching keenly for signs of the rot. There was none as yet. |
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The men grew silent without command as some lightening indicated that the trees were thinning. They were approaching the grazing land that surrounded the village. Simon could hear the creak of wet leather as the men hopefully loosened their weapons and two or three low-voiced wagers were laid on whether or not they would be attacked. Simon did not think so, but he was pleased with the light-hearted tone of the remarks and even more pleased that the exchanges were as often between his men and Alinor's as between the members of each separate troop. |
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The two groups had worked in very well with each other. In fact, Alinor's men seemed almost more anxiously devoted than his own. Simon had to grin even while the hollow fluttering sensation that took him every time he thought of Alinor made his breath uneven. He wondered what she had threatened them with if any harm should come to him. That Alinor! She was not taking any chances on her property being lost or damaged. Nor was she taking any chances on losing track of its condition, he thought grinning even more widely. After every encounter, no matter how minor, he had found Beorn Fisherman beside him, examining him from head to toe. It had puzzled him until he found the man questioning Ian about what he ate and the state of his clothing. Then Simon realized that the two messengers bearing letters from Alinor were carrying back word pictures of his well-being. |
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Doubtless, Simon thought, his grin fading, that was not all the information they were carrying back. Some- |
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