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Page 57
silent as the most proper maiden alive. And if that clever mischief-maker Winchester is gone from Henry's side and can no longer whisper in the king's ear that the women of Roselynde are not customarily timid and shyjust to arouse Henry's suspicions against usHenry will accept such an excuse easily."
There was no use in Ian's defending Winchester to Geoffrey, who now had a personal grudge against the bishopa most unusual thing, for ordinarily Geoffrey was exceptionally, even uncomfortably, clear-sightedso Ian finished rising and, when Geoffrey was also standing, kissed his son-by-marriage and patted his shoulder. Then both left the refectory, where the last few tallow candles were guttering out. Ian turned into the first tiny cell in the men's guesthouse, bare except for a narrow cot, a three-legged stool, and an earthenware pot for nigh soil. Geoffrey continued down the hall, presumably to look in on his sons to be sure they were abed, and then to go to his own small cubicle.
When he was alone, Ian began to undress himself, laughing occasionally as he fumbled with ties and bent into uncomfortable positions to undo his shoes and crossgarters. Fortunately he had unarmed when they first arrived, or he would have needed to ask for help. Geoffrey had forgotten that Ian no longer had squires. Some years back Ian had refused to take any new boys because he felt he could not do full justice to their training and, worse, might die before they were finished knights. Before he had sent his last young protégé into the world, there had always been a squire or a maid to help him undressor Alinor.
Ian felt a surge of loneliness for her even though she was only a few hundred yards away, and then a rush of heat; that made him laugh again. He was an old man. It was ridiculous that passion should still stir him so strongly, but it did. And Alinor's response was as lively as ever. Shrugging, he bent and got the pot. It was a far less pleasant solution, but sometimes relieving one's bladder solved the problem.
He lay down on the hard monk's cot and pulled the thin blanket over him. Then, with a grunt of displeasure, he got up again to wrap his furred cloak around him; he did not wish to have another attack of being unable to breathe in the middle of Simon's wedding. Ian hated those attacks more because of the terror they engendered in every member of his

 
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