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posed no problem. Simon's traveling gear had been sent, since he expected to take Rhiannon directly back to Wales from London. Although his camp cot was not nearly as comfortable as the bed, he went to it with a sense of relief as well as of deprivation. Rhiannon was not the least shy. If she wanted him, she would tell him. Simon wished he was as sure of what the right response should be as he was that Rhiannon would not mind making the advances. |
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However, the question did not arise. Simon's relief diminished as his sense of deprivation increased, but he still did nothing. Rhiannon was growing more natural in her manner to him each day, and that seemed more important than reestablishing the sexual relationship. Every so often Simon wondered whether she still thought of that ugly challenge she had made the night they quarreled. But he did not dare dwell on it, and he did not need to. |
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He found plenty of occupation for himself with various young men to whom he had sent word that Simon de Vipont was in London and was seeking sparring and jousting partners. A group of young men rode in and made a merry company in the house. They fought each other singly, in pairs, and in various combinations that took into account the varying strengths of the combatants. Simon was very good, but he was sufficiently bruised and battered when pitted against two or three lesser opponents that he was quite content to seek his cot for sleep without thinking of loveat least, not too often. |
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Rhiannon was far less unhappy than she expected to be. She was no lover of cities, with their dirt and stench and disease and unnatural crowding together of people and houses until there seemed scarce room for a blade of grass to grow. Nonetheless, the places she knew were nothingflyspeckscompared with the town of London. Protected by Simon's men-at-arms, she rode where she liked, alternately horrified and fascinated. |
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