- What? I am righteous and beloved Son, our Savior? - Agnes smiled. - Of course, madam, but you do not understand. Agnes did not hear the last words of a knight, lost in painful memories. When the body of her husband lying on the table in the large common room, Agnes was already pregnant. From the courtly, kind and cheerful, but not vulgar man who took her to the baths on Hawk Street when she last came to Chartres. One of his eyes was enough to dare it. Oddly enough, she knew that during that brief meeting will be conceived child. It is for this purpose it is sought. She prayed that she was born a boy. Who was the man? She forgot. However, it was not at all sure that ever knew his name. Worse, today she could not describe it, even if it depended on her life. He was high above her, with brown hair, blue eyes, like her husband. This Agnes was sure, though not remembered as the man chosen, similar to Hugo, in contrast to the previous, unknown and almost faceless father of Matilda.
Marrigje de Maar: Red Roses, Yellow Rain
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