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Page 374
Sybelle stood staring at an empty stall. Whatever Walter said, Marie did intend to make trouble between them. God alone knew what she would say to him or what demands she would make. And her own jealous accusations, Sybelle knew, would make any evil hint seem more true. Fool that she was, why had she not said she would go with him as soon as he stated he had done Marie an injury? If she went now, would it not seem that she was spying, seeking to catch him in adultery? And what if all this reasoning was nothing more than her own desire for him blinding her to the real truth, that he had lied, that he did love Marie, and now that she herself was fast bound in marriage he no longer felt it worth his while even to lie?
Then it will be better to know, Sybelle told herself. But she did not feel fearful or sad, as if she expected a bitter disappointment. She felt excited, eager. Walter would be furious, simply furious, but she did not fear that, either. She was following with open hands to offer help, not blame. Let that nasty bitch try to turn awry her offer to raise her husband's child and her reason for ither own father's bastardy.
Sybelle called out for a groom to saddle Damas and then went herself to speak to Sir Roland's master-at-arms. Casually, she asked how many men had gone with Walter, not wishing to incure blame by riding out unattended, particularly in view of the attack upon them in the vicinity. It was a dreadful shock to hear that her husband had gone alone; in fact that he had angrily refused to wait until an escort could be mounted to accompany him.
For a frozen moment every doubt of Walter's fidelity returned and was magnified. Why should he go alone unless to an assignation? But that question was countered at once with another. Why should Walter tell her openly and without hesitation that he was going to Hay if his purpose was dishonest?
Atop those questions came a sudden, icy fear. There was no reason for it. Walter had ridden safely from Clifford to Clyro only an hour or so before with no more than the three men-at-arms who had accompanied him from Oxford, and the attack on them had been more than a month ago and had come miles farther down the road to the southwest. Nonetheless, all Sybelle's uncertainties immediately resolved into self-blame. It was her fault, Sybelle believed, that Walter had been so

 
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