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Page 60
and Sybelle knew that Sir Walter had been in his company more than once on such adventures. That had not disturbed her nor made her less willing to talk and laugh with Sir Walter. If Cedric, the master-at-arms, had come back to Kingsclere and told her the story, Sybelle knew she would have laughed her head off. It was ridiculous that seeing the woman should have made such a difference. Then why had it?
In an effort to understand her unreasonable reaction to so common a sin, Sybelle thought back to the scene. It leapt into her mind with startling clarity: the smell of her overheated mare; the hard-trodden earth of the camp; the coarse hide and wool shelters of the men; Sir Walter's tent, with its red and yellow panels, the de Clare colors; and his shield leaning nearby the tent openingits red chevrons on a silver, rather than gold, ground to show he was a younger son. Then Sir Walter himself, bursting out of the tent, sword in hand, with his bedrobe hanging open to expose a body covered with light red-brown hair.
When she recalled the scene, a chuckle shook Sybelle, but the low laughter was followed by a sensation of warmth and a slight prickling of her skin. Sybelle found herself wondering what it would be like to touch a man so covered with hair. The only male bodies with which she was familiar were those of her father, grandfather, and Simon, and none of them was hirsute. Yet there was, for some reason, a feeling of desirability and familiarity about Sir Walter's thickly haired body. Someone had been described to her? . . . Grandfather Simon!
Unexpectedly, Sybelle saw a picture of herself running her fingers through and making curls in the hair on Sir Walter's body. The image caused a very odd sensation in her belly, and the unusual warmth of her body flowed and centered in her loins. The feeling was pleasant but made her restless. Sybelle opened her legs. In the next moment she drew them forcibly together again, and most of the heat of her body had flown to her face in a blush. Simultaneously, the image of Sir Walter's camp flashed back into her mind, but this time she saw the woman creeping out of the tent and running away.
Momentarily a cold fury replaced Sybelle's blush, but then she flushed red-hot again. Sybelle had found her answer. She had been infuriated by seeing the woman because she knew the whore had coupled with Sir Walterand she had desired him for herself, not in any vague way as a husband but then

 
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