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her skirts and smoothed her wimple. The leading horse of the oncoming troop was snow white, and its rider was not wearing the glittering mail of the others. Alinor sank in a deep curtsy into the dust of the road, bowing her head. She could hear the creak of the men's accoutrements as they knelt in their ranks behind her. |
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The Dowager Queen of England pulled her horse to a halt and looked down at her namesake. ''Look up, child." |
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The voice was not young, but it was strong and full with none of the quaver that might have been expected in a woman three score years and eight. In fact, it was a voice that brought instant obedience. Alinor raised her head and her eyes. Old, certainly the Queen was old. There were deep lines graven around the mouth and the eyes, and the single strand of hair that escaped from her soft blue wimple was as white as snow. Nonetheless, the Queen's back was straight as a rod, the body in its blue gown was as slender, and the carriage in the saddle as lithe as a girl's. And the eyesthey were young, dark and bright, sparkling with interest and intelligence. |
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"Lovely," the old Queen said, her voice softer and smiling now, "why, you are lovely, my child." |
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Alinor blushed with pleasure. In spite of the fact that her hair was black as a raven's plumage and her eyes a dark enough hazel to appear brown, her skin was white as skimmed milk and crimsoned readily. Alinor knew that the words of praise might be drawn forth more by policy than by her beauty; nonetheless, the Queen's voice was so warm that she could not help smiling. |
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"I thank you, Your Grace," she murmured. |
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"Simon," the Queen turned her head toward the mailed and helmeted knight who rode behind her, "raise Lady Alinor to her mount." |
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The man moved no more than the graven images in a church, and he looked a bit like one, the gray-silver |
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