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cling behind your left shoulderthese things I can do, but" |
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"You have keen wits, Ian, I know. You can do this also." |
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Simon stood up and rubbed his stiffened knees. He shook his head as Ian rose lithely from his equally cramped crouch. "I am getting too old for paddling about in all this wet," he said disgustedly. "Go wake Llewelyn and ask if he wishes to bid his men farewell. He must do so now, before we bind them. I do not wish him to remember that harshness, even though it is forced upon us. Our worst wounded will guard them, but" He embraced Ian. "Go with God." |
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"And when this duty is done, then I may return to you?" Ian insisted. |
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By then the King would certainly have left the country. But Alinor? Simon put the thought aside and smiled. "If you have not been knighted and called to some other duty, yes, of course." |
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That had been the best thing to say, Simon thought, as Ian returned his embrace heartily. Since the young man did not yet see where close attendance on a Welsh prince might lead him, he would go about his duty with a lighter heart. And the question might never arise. Simon knew he might not live through the battle ahead. He passed a hand wearily across his face and squatted down again a little closer to the low-burning fire. This was the time the hated, when everything that was needful was done and nothing was left but the waiting. What he wished to dosince he could not hold her in his arms or speak to herwas to write to Alinor. |
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It was a ridiculous desire. There was nothing he could say to her. Could he tell her that every woman he embraced turned to Alinor in his arms? That he dreamed about her so vividly that in spite of the women he woke in the night, sometimes spent, sometimes hard and ready? That during the day the wind in the trees |
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