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Page 92
"He will likely hurt me ten times as much. Just take it off."
In a moment, Sybelle decided he was right and pulled off the hauberk as quickly as she could. Walter's face was white when it came into sight, but he had been prepared for the pain and showed no sign of faintness. Satisfied, Sybelle went to lay the armor carefully away as she had been taught.
"I will tell one of my father's squires to dry and clean it," she assured him, "but let me get those wet clothes off you first. I hope you have not already taken a chill. However did you get so wet? It has been fine all day. Is it now raining?"
"No. It was in fording a stream. The baggage wain was mired, and Lord Pembroke had just broken open his mouth again, and . . ." He laughed ruefully. "I would rather not remember it. Hoy! What do you do with that knife?"
"I will cut off your tunic and shirt. There is no need for you to be hurt again, and to move that arm when it gives you so much pain may be doing it harm."
"There is no need to ruin a shirt and tunic over a small pain," Walter protested. "My shoulder will mend."
"So will your shirt and tunic," Sybelle said, laughing. "Did you think I planned to rip them to shreds? I need only cut the treads of the seam, which can be resewn in a few minutesbut preferably after the garments are washed." Then she added, wrinkling her nose, ''You need a wife, Sir Walter."
The words had come out without thought, just a light remark such as she had made hundreds of times to Simon before he had met Rhiannon. If she had continued to speak lightly, the words would have had little significance in the context in which they had been spoken. However, at that moment Sybelle recalled to whom she was speaking. Her voice faltered, a deep blush suffused her face, and the hand that held the knife dropped it and came up to cover her lips.
"Yes," Walter said, with such intensity and meaning that Sybelle blushed even harder. There was a breath-held pause, and then he said, "Sybelle?"
"You will catch your death of cold," she gabbled hastily, bending to pick up the knife. "I did not mean anything, you know. It is only a proof of the old maxim that every woman goes about to arrange the marriage of every man. . . ."
"Yes," he repeated, and then added, "please."
That did not make much sense, except that Sybelle under-

 
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