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tance whenever she was away from the women's quarters. He had no purpose other than to gladden his eyes with the sight of her. Perhaps in the back of his mind he had vague dreams of rescuing her from a wild beast, which might break loose from its confinement in the outer bailey, but he was essentially a practical young man and knew the difference between dreams and reality. |
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The sixth of August was even busier than the day before and by the seventh a kind of hysteria was built up out of the sheer physical excitement generated by moving and by the expectation of a King few in England knew. On Alinor the tension had the effect of exacerbating a temper that was never noted for its mildness so that, when Milo de Bohun waylaid her, she answered him with less civility than she should have used. Affronted, he grasped her arm. Alinor, who had been ready to apologize, was irritated anew. Ian de Vipont started forward out of the embrasure from which he had been watching, but whether he would have had sense enough to interrupt with some pretended message from Sir Simon or whether his boiling blood would have led him into some idiocy was never put to the test. Worse befell. Roger Bigod entered the Hall just in time to see the whole exchange. |
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"Do not lay your hands on what is mine," he snarled. |
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"By whose promise?" de Bohun snapped. |
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"My lords," Alinor pleaded. |
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None of the voices had been low, and other gentlemen in the Hall began to move toward the group curiously. Like two wary cats Bigod and de Bohun backed away from each other. Ian retreated toward the wall again and vowed that he would not take his eyes off the lady for a moment when she was open to molestation. Alinor released her pent-up breath in a sigh that was nearly a sob, and fled to the women's quarters. She thanked God she had divided her favors between |
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