"No, no, he's too old," Grandmother said, shaking her head as a tall, broad man stepped forward at my call, his movements rigid. "He isn't," I said, eyeing the man and noting the surprised twitch of his head. He had a wolfish look to him, and his features were classical and cool. There was silver in his hair, but I liked it and he reminded me of the noble Captain Beauregard, who'd rescued a young woman from pirates and had tenderly refused to deflower her until their wedding night.
