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smoothed the fabric of her gown so that her thighs were sharply outlined. Joanna, meanwhile, had raised her eyes to Beorn's, dropped them to Braybrook, and looked at Beorn significantly again. Infinitesimally the old man nodded. He would do nothing until he received orders. |
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"No, no, of course I cannot deny her, but I cannot go today, nor yet tomorrow" |
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"Why not, Lady Joanna? I and my men will escort you safely. There is naught for you to do but bid your maids pack your garments. The queen will find all else for you." |
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Find all else, indeed, Joanna thought, rage at being considered such a ninny taking the place of fear, which had momentarily drained her face of color. Doubtless Isabella would find a locked room for her, bonds for her hands and a gag for her mouth. Yes, then Ian would come home. He would fight for the king; he would allow himself to be spitted like a pig to get her free. And her mother would come, weeping for her daughter's life. Oh yes, Isabella would certainly find all else. |
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"Oh yes, oh yes," Joanna twittered, picking at her skirt so that it rose and exposed her pretty slippers and ankles. "Of course. Then I can go tomorrow, but not today. See how it rains. Why my lord, how silly a thing I am. You are soaked through. You must have a hot bath and dry garments immediately. |
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Before he could protest, she had clapped her hands and a maid came running. "A bath for Sir Henry in the east wall chamber," Joanna gasped nervously. "You will pardon me," she cried, jumping to her feet. I must find you something suitable to wear. Oh, dear!" And she fled away, unheeding of Sir Henry's denials. |
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Upstairs, Joanna stood for a moment to catch her fluttering breath and rearrange her thoughts. Her first instinct, born of terror, was to order all of them killed. Reason corrected that notion at once. That would be open treason, an act of war. An accident might befall Sir Henry; that would solve the problem also because the men-at-arms were not dangerous without their master. Another moment's thought |
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