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He was not young, but he had moved almost as gracefully as Simon. He was hard and fit and showed no sign of illness, except. . . . Perhaps the husky breath-lessness of his voice was not all hurry. Nonetheless, he laughed at Simon's question and waved it away. |
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The gesture, taking his eyes from Simon for a moment, made him aware of Rhiannon. He stopped all movement and stared at her, his face softening into gentleness. "Forgive me," he said. "I was so surprised to see Simon that I did not notice you, my dear. You are Lady Rhiannon. I would never have known you. How good and kind of you to come. Be welcome. Be very welcome." |
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There was such warmth in him that the simple words were infused with deeper meaning. Without thinking, Rhiannon put her hand in Ian's and stepped forward to kiss him on the cheek. He circled her waist with his free arm and pressed his lips to her forehead, murmuring, "Be welcome, Daughter." |
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"I do not know how he does it," Simon cried laughing. "Papa, you should be ashamed. You are sixty years old, and still no woman can resist you." |
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"Hold your tongue, you impertinent boy," Ian said. "If she resists you, you deserve it." |
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"Indeed, he does," Rhiannon agreed, remaining comfortably in the circle of Ian's arm. I am sure you never preened yourself like a cock on a dung heap, Lord Ian. You should hear your son." |
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"I would like to, but owing to our prior knowledge of him he is very modest with us." Ian looked at Simon with mock disfavor. I do not doubt you speak the truth, Simon. I have never known you to lie. But your lack of wisdom shocks me. Is that how I taught you to woo a woman?" |
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"No, but it works quite well with a thistle," Simon said cheerfully. "When the thistle is heated, it unfolds, you know, and one can grasp its soft heart without being stung." |
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