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Page 373
What had Walter said? That he had done Marie an injury and he must redress it. What kind of injury could a man do a woman? Sybelle knew there had been no damage to Marie's reputation. Marie was known as a flirt, but no worse than that was said of her. It was an injury that would make him ride out again after he had fought, however lightly, in the morning and only just returned to his new-wed wife. Sybelle's mouth hardened. Either Walter was totally, utterly, madly in love with Marieand that was utter nonsense, for he could have offered for her and married her with Richard's blessingor . . .  it was something else.
Sybelle nodded as everything fell into place. A debt he hated. . . . Of course Marie had probably written that he had got her with child.
Sybelle jumped off the bed. No, Walter must not hate that innocent debt. Her own father was a bastard, and a word wrongly said could still make him wince, although God knew Grandfather William loved Papa dearly and his stepmother, Lady Ela, loved him also. And if Walter had spoken the truth and loved only her and their marriage was destroyed by that debt, he might, indeed, hate the child.
With an exclamation of distress, Sybelle ran and got her cloak. It had not taken very long for her to reason out the problem. Walter would have to wait for whatever men he took with him to saddle up. Perhaps she could catch him, tell him that she would take the child and raise it. It was his child, after all, and to leave it to that vicious bitch Marie . . .
By the time that last thought entered Sybelle's mind she was down the stairs and about to enter the hall. Sir John and Sir Roland and their wives still sat talking near the fire. At once, Sybelle became aware of her tear-raddled face and the need to escape questions. She drew the hood of her cloak up so that it hid her features and pulled it closely around her. If she passed swiftly, well away from the hearth, she might be taken for a maidservant with an urgent task.
The maneuver was successful; at least, no one called out to her to ask where she was going, and she ran across the bailey to where the riding horses of the gentlefolk were stabled conveniently close. There she halted, sobs catching her breath again as she saw that Beau was gone. The last words in her mind before she was distracted returned to it . . . vicious bitch.

 
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