conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me a description for a story titled A Well Favored Gentleman about Ian, Fionnaway, Alanna with the genre: Romance, Contemporary.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Powerful Ian Fairchild is a man with magical powers and dark secrets--and he covets Fionnaway Manor. But the Scottish estate is owned by beautiful Lady Alanna, and Ian must marry her to gain the right to claim Fionnaway as his own. Alanna doesn't trust the handsome Ian but all too soon she finds herself falling in love with him. The secrets Ian holds may make it impossible for him to love her in return and despite Alanna's faith, his past and dark heritage threaten a happy ending for the two lovers. Complex characters and a touch of Selkie myth and magic make this an intriguing novel not to be missed. --Lois Faye Dyer
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the first five paragraphs for this story.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: A Well Favored Gentleman
  Ian Fairchild snapped out of his deep slumber and held himself perfectly still, eyes closed and breathing even in a parody of sleep.
  Someone held a knife to his throat, and it wasn't the first time, but this time he'd been caught by surprise. He hadn't had time to make enemies in Scotland. He'd arrived only today, and had found his father, the only person here who would gladly kill him, too sick to leave his bed.
  His eyes widened. "You're an idiot, Ian." He spoke aloud, seeing no harm in addressing a phantom and finding the sound of his own voice vastly reassuring. "It's only a dream." And he tried to move to prove it.
  A normal turn of events in a dream, he supposed. If only that steel pressed against his windpipe didn't feel so cold and so real. If only he didn't feel so...odd. More than sleepy, he was drifting, illogically relaxed beneath the threat of violence.
  He blinked, bringing the phantom into focus. Wisps of hair sprang defiantly from her hairline. Her features were angular: square jawline, sharp cheekbones, wide mouth. Her eyes slanted up, her brows slanted up, her snub nose rose to a little point. A fascinating face, one filled with character and lively convictions. Not ghostly at all. "I know who you are. You're dead. You're Lady Alanna."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me five more paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Dream of me. He'd commanded, and Alanna had obeyed. He chased, and Alanna ran. He demanded, and Alanna...Nay, she wouldn't give in. When she'd come back to Fionnaway, she'd had a plan. She wouldn't wed him unless he proved himself worthy. She would not marry in a fever as her mother had, and pay the price later.
  Wilda babbled like a mountain stream after the winter melt. "She should have been grateful, a puny little thing like her with no title and no fortune. Oh, she pretended she would wed him for love, but I know better. She wanted the money."
  Thinking of the pinched face, the cruel jokes, the flamboyant spending, Alanna had to ask, "Has he always been so bitter?"
  Wilda touched a memory in Alanna. The maids watched Ian here, too, and she wondered if he had spent his nights alone here in Fionnaway. She wondered if she would have to dismiss every hussy who smiled at him, then realized, with a pang, that she should not care.
  Alanna could see only grief ahead for Wilda, so she tried once more. "Where do you think I've been all this time?"
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Give me the last five paragraphs.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: She did, and he poured a glistening hoard of sea opals into her palms. In the warmth of her hand, they changed, grew bright, and blazed with radiant joy. Her joy.
  She stared, too, and realized he wasn't talking about the stones, for heads bobbed in the surf. Selkies. Dozens of selkies.
  Ian heard it, too, absorbing it with a smile. Then he hugged Alanna close and turned her toward the cliff. "Come on, love," he said. "Let's go back to Fionnaway. Let's go home."
  Vast, restless, and overwhelming, the sea tears at the western coast of Scotland. Fingers of land reach into the water, trying to grasp eternity and losing to the constant grind of the waves. The wind lifts the brine and carries it up, into the Highlands where mist drifts over tall standing stones like silk draped over the finest lady. There where the land and the sea meet is a place of special enchantment, of special beings, of humans and of selkies.
  For them I see six lassies and the first lad ever born to this branch of the MacLeods. I see success and wealth and happiness. Most of all, I see long life and everlasting love.