Enduringly Yours Read online

  John opened his mouth, then shut it again.

  “Too straight a line, Johnny. Too straight a line.”

  “Most of those men are loyal to her father, not Gilburn. We may be able to use it to our advantage. We can spread dissention among them.”

  “We would need a good reason.”

  John smiled. “I could come up with something.”

  “I just bet you could.”

  * * *

  Peter woke up at dawn, after only a few hours of rest. He was used living on very little sleep. It had been his usual routine on Crusade, where slumber came fitfully anyway. Peter dressed, donned his sword, and made his way to the kitchens.

  “I packed this for you, Sir Peter.” Marianne, the graying servant who had been with Peter and John since they were lads, handed him a bundle wrapped in cloth and a full wineskin.

  She tucked her double chin at him. “Cannot have ye starving to death now can we. Yer poor mother would turn over in her grave.”

  “Thank you. My stomach is truly grateful.” Peter put the food into his saddlebag. He took her hand, kissing it. Marianne laughed and shooed him away.

  John was in the stable when Peter went for his horse. “I was hoping to catch you before you left,” he said. “I wanted to give you this.” John pulled out a scroll he had tucked into his belt. “It seems the messengers at Havendell are even earlier to rise this morn than you are. It is from Gilburn, an invitation to the latest competition.”

  Peter hooked his bag over his shoulder and unrolled the parchment, looking it over. “Archery this time. I wonder how many men have been invited?”

  “We will find out soon enough.”

  “He is going to great lengths to impress her,” Peter said.

  “Or to trounce you.”

  “Both, I am sure.”

  “Either way,” John said. “I will warm up my bow arm posthaste.” He cracked his knuckles.

  “Looks like Gilburn is donating one of his Mêlée trophies for the winner. It is to be civilly presented by the lady to the lucky participant.”

  “The word civilly is written in bold,” John said, pointing. He rolled his head to one side, popping his neck. “No more kisses for you. At least no more public kisses.”

  Peter eyed him, but John ignored it, shaking out his arms.

  “Let me guess,” Peter said. “You have a squire awaiting you in the lists for a lesson?”

  “Four of them.” John sighed contentedly. “Oh happy day.”

  “Try not to break them. You might need them later.” Peter held up the parchment. “Mind if I take this with me?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I want to warn Zipporah. She hates to be the last to know about these things.”

  * * *

  Peter threw on an old brown cloak so he could keep tabs on Zipporah throughout the day without being noticed. After Mass, she went to the stables for her favorite gelding, then rode to the village to visit a sick child. She checked on a woman and her newborn baby. She gave away ragdolls made from scraps of old clothing. That was when Gilburn caught her in the act and made her go home. She trudged back to the castle, going to her mother’s garden, kneeling in the herbs, and pretending to weed while staring vacantly into the orchard.

  Peter peeled off his cloak and shoved it into a hollowed out tree trunk. Then he plucked a small, hard apple off a tree and rolled it down the path toward her. It disappeared in a bed of fennel unnoticed. He took a second apple, purposefully hitting Zipporah in the thigh to get her attention. She picked it up, frowning for a moment. Then a slow grin transformed her face.

  She came to her feet, looked one way, and the other way. Skirts in hand, she came down the path toward where he was hiding.

  He waited until she was close, then took her by the sleeve and pulled her against his chest. Despite his growing frustration, he was glad to feel her soft curves against him.

  She presented the apple. “Did you lose this?”

  Peter tossed it aside. “Nay.” He scooped her off the ground. Zipporah’s arms came around his shoulders as he carried her toward the garden wall, where they would have privacy. “I lost this.” He gave her a squeeze.

  “Did she roll away from you?”

  “Something like that.” He set her on her feet and pulled out the scroll. “Have you seen this yet?”

  She unrolled the parchment and looked it over. “I have not.”

  Peter propped one shoulder against the wall, watching the way her dark lashes cast shadows over her cheekbones as she read. Zipporah’s braid dangled over one breast. He snagged the end of it, smoothing his fingers over the paint-brush end of her hair.

  “Archery this time, I see,” she said.

  “And you won’t have to kiss me in public.”

  “Aye, I would prefer to kiss you without an audience.”

  “So would I.”

  Smiling, she turned back to the parchment. “I only saw Gilburn once today. He did not say anything about another competition.”

  “He probably wanted to surprise you. And I know, because I was watching you.”

  “Were you?” Her brows arched.

  He tugged on the end of her braid. “Ever since you walked out of Mass.”

  “And what did I do today?”

  “You were a saint.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Peter tugged again. She shifted closer, the parchment crinkling between them.

  “You missed the part where I visited my father,” she said. “That was the first thing I did today.” Her throat sounded tight. “Peter, he still has not seen me. He hasn’t in weeks. It is as if he does not even know me. I . . . I have been wanting to tell him, but I fear the opportunity will never present itself.”

  “Tell him what?” It was a rhetorical question. He already knew what she was talking about. Peter loosened his hold on her.

  “About us. Now he is dying, and I will never have the chance to apologize for having lied to him.” She smoothed the parchment back out.

  “Zipporah, once your father . . .” He softened his voice. “John wants to siege and take the castle once your father is gone.”

  It took her a moment. “Is that necessary?”

  “I do not know what else to do.”

  “But what of the knights who are friends with John’s men?”

  Peter nodded. “I have thought about that. John and I will have Havendell’s most trustworthy knights, like Sir Mark, sit down with us. When the time comes, dissention will start from within. It will be a simple thing at that point, with minimal bloodshed.” He hoped.

  She moved a few steps away from him. “Sometimes, I wish the two of you could just sit down and talk about this. But you would rather kill each other.”

  “What?”

  “You and Gilburn. All you two can think about is killing each other.”

  “You feel sorry for him.”

  She didn’t deny it, and that bothered Peter. “Maybe the two of you could put aside your swords and talk,” she said.

  “It would never work.”

  She muttered to herself for a moment, and then looked at him. “Tell my mother you want to court me.”

  He straightened. Was she serious? Last he knew she wanted nothing about their relationship to be made public.

  “Tell her,” she repeated. “I promise I will accept, and then you can move about freely here.”

  “Why the change?”

  She brushed her braid back, her face softening. “I hate that you have to sneak around like this.”

  “Finally.”

  “I will tell my mother. Then I can be seen with you.” She shoved the parchment at his chest.

  He rolled up the scroll and tucked it away.

  “Is this not better than a siege?”

  He’d never promised that he and John would not take possession of the land after her father was gone. She seemed satisfied with her accomplishment though, so he didn’t point that out to her.

  Zipporah crosse
d her arms over her ribcage. “Talking to you is exhausting.”

  “Kissing is easier.”

  “Young men deal poorly with chastity. Not that I am one to talk.” She leaned back against the wall, looking up at the sky through tree branches. “Can you answer a question for me?”

  “What?”

  “Just how well do you deal?”

  “With . . .?”

  “Chastity,” she ground.

  He almost laughed out loud, but he didn’t want to embarrass her. He waited before answering though, watching her squirm.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Well?”

  “I ever remain your knight, my lady.” He bowed his head.

  It took her a moment. “Oh.”

  “Oh,” he echoed.

  “I see.” She frowned. “My mother said she thought as much. Something about my father and the way he used to look at her. But I did not want to assume such things.”

  He leaned in, cupped her face, and kissed her. Carefully. Because it would be too easy to do far more than plunder just her mouth. Her fingers curled into his hair.

  “You can assume, my lady.”

  She urged his head back down, kissing him again, but he pulled away.

  “Zipporah, I cannot. I . . . made a promise.”

  “A promise?”

  “Aye. To myself. I will be watching, and I will see you tomorrow.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Zipporah paced before one of the hearths in the great hall, twisting the end of her braid as she went. “Maybe we should have waited a few more days. This really was a terrible idea.”

  “It was your idea,” Peter said.

  “You should have stopped me. What was I thinking?”

  She knew exactly what she’d been thinking. She did not want Peter hiding in dark corners about the estate, that was what. But she did not want him an open target for Gilburn and his men either. She turned, watching him sitting calmly, sipping wine as if Gilburn was not expected at any moment.

  Peter lowered his cup, his eyes lingering over her. He stretched his legs out before him, crossing them at the ankles.

  “How can you be so calm?” she asked. “He is going to walk through that door and try to kill you.”

  “He will not kill me. Come sit.”

  Her mother glanced up from her needlepoint. “I think you had better help her, Sir Peter. She seems quite at a loss.”

  Zipporah gritted her teeth as Peter stood.

  “I am fine. You do not have to . . .”

  He caught her by one draping blue sleeve and drew her aside. “I can handle this,” he said.

  “It is not that. Well it is, but not really.” Zipporah blew out a breath. “I have stopped making sense, haven’t I?”

  He smiled. “Come sit.”

  Nodding, her teeth clamped tightly shut so that she wouldn’t babble like a madwoman, she took the chair between her mother and Peter. Lady Havendell was happily focused on her needlepoint again.

  “Gilburn wouldn’t dare lay a hand on me anyway,” Peter said. “John has taken care of it.”

  Zipporah shook her head.

  “If I turn up dead, missing, or otherwise maimed, John and his men will hunt him down like the yuletide boar.”

  “Dead, missing, or otherwise maimed? Oh now I do feel much better.” She rubbed her temples. “My head hurts.”

  Peter passed her his cup. “You need it more than I do.”

  “Nay,” she said, taking it anyway. She had just finished her third swallow when Sir Gilburn stepped under the stone archway and into the great hall. She lowered the cup. Gilburn looked at her, and then he looked at Peter. His expression hardened to stone. He made his way toward them like a man on a mission.

  Peter stood and they exchanged useless pleasantries through their teeth.

  “What do you want?” Gilburn asked.

  “Have a seat,” Peter said.

  “This is my home. You cannot tell me when I have permission to sit.”

  “Then stand and I will sit.” Peter took his place next to Zipporah, the hilt of his sword scraping against the chair. She wondered if he had done that on purpose.

  Gilburn dragged up another chair and sat before Lady Havendell, Zipporah, and Peter. “Speak,” he said, his words echoing off stone walls.

  “Now, Sir Gilburn.” Lady Havendell chided. “Sir Peter is our guest.”

  Gilburn scowled.

  Peter smiled. He was so proud of his ability to annoy Gilburn. Zipporah took another swallow of wine.

  “I have spoken with Lady Havendell,” Peter said. “She has agreed that Zipporah should be allowed to have more than one suitor.”

  The blood drained from Gilburn’s face, making his dark brown eyes appear even darker, as if the pupils had dilated entirely. His gaze flicked to her mother.

  “It is only fair,” Lady Havendell said with a calm smile.

  “My lady.” Gilburn lowered his voice. “I know you are tender toward Sir Peter, but surely this is too much.”

  “It is no more than my husband would do. So that she may make a justified decision.”

  “Justified?”

  “Sir Peter is a long-time friend of the family.”

  “You are not jealous, are you?” Peter asked.

  Zipporah wanted to crawl under a table, or hide behind a tapestry. Even the prison tower would be preferable to this.

  Gilburn’s eyes bulged unnaturally. He stood, his chair tipping behind him. Zipporah spilled the last of her wine onto her lap. Her mother reached over and took the cup, then passed her a handkerchief. Zipporah was too focused on Gilburn to clean herself. Cool liquid seeped through the layers of her clothing.

  Peter came to his feet with control, and both men touched their sword hilts. Gilburn glanced at her, his gaze faltering. Then he lifted his hands in surrender. Zipporah let out her breath.

  “My lady Zipporah,” Gilburn said. “Might I have a word with you in private?”

  She stood and faked a smile, making it look like her mother’s. Diplomatic. “Of course you may, sir.” He offered his arm and she accepted.

  “Is this what you want?” Gilburn asked.

  “Peter is a friend. I believe I owe him this much.” She dabbed at her blue kyrtle with the handkerchief. The washing women would never be able to get the stain out. Perhaps she could have them dye it a darker color.

  What was she doing? Worrying about how to save her gown?

  “I cannot believe it,” Gilburn said.

  Zipporah looked up. It took her a moment to focus on him. “My mother is fond of Peter, and he was my brother’s closest friend.”

  “He is an idiot!”

  She jumped, and Gilburn ducked his head in apology. “Forgive me for my loss of temper,” he said.

  “If I turn him away now it will look bad. Lord John is a good friend of mine.”

  Gilburn crossed his arms over his chest. “Things change, my lady. Perhaps the free interchange between Havendell and Ravenmore has seen its conclusion.”

  “Perhaps I do not change so easily.”

  He eyed her, but Zipporah stood her ground, despite the sudden queasiness in her stomach.

  “Of course,” he said. “Be cautious though. I don’t trust him with you.”

  “Thank you for your concern.”

  “I can take some time away from my duties.” Gilburn shifted closer. The scent of cloves washed over her. He was clean shaven. “As a suitor, I have been remiss.” His dark hair fell over his forehead, and he brushed it back again.

  “We could . . . all go for a ride,” she blurted. Zipporah almost groaned out loud. Not another ride with him. She really needed to start planning these conversations ahead of time, so that she had something better to offer. “My mother could ride her mare. She is quite fond of the animal.” Zipporah took a lesson from Gilburn and turned away before he could say anything. “If we leave now, we can eat our meal at the lake. I will have foodstuffs packed.”

  It took all the self-contro
l she had to walk nicely from the great hall. What she really wanted was to run to the stable, take out her gelding, and head straight for France.

  She told a kitchen maid in great detail what they needed, with the hope that Gilburn would decide he had other, more pressing, business and not be there when she returned.

  Zipporah finally stepped back into the great hall, peering around. When she didn’t see Gilburn she made a straight line for Peter.

  “Did he leave?”

  Peter grinned. “Stormed out right after you left.”

  “Good.”

  “But not before saying something about taking care of a few things before we went to the lake.”

  “Oh, nay.”

  “Oh, aye.”

  “He is very angry?”

  “Marginally. I have seen him angrier, if that helps.”

  “It does not.” She looked at her wine-stained gown. “I should change.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I am stained.”

  Peter looked her over, taking his time, burning away the nausea in her stomach with heat that spread immediately to her cheeks. “You look good to me.”

  “Maybe you had better not look at me like that in front of Gilburn.” She cleared her throat.

  “I cannot make that promise. But it does seem to have quite an effect on your complexion.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “I like you like this.”

  “I do not think I can stand to spend the afternoon with both you and Gilburn. You will probably maim each other before we can eat our meal. And then it will ruin our appetites, what with you two bleeding all over the foodstuffs.” She frowned. “I really should go change. Mother,” she called. “I told Gilburn that you would be accompanying us.”

  “I know, sweetling,” Lady Havendell answered. “I will be along shortly. I just want to finish stitching this flower. You and Peter go ahead.”

  Peter leaned closer. He smelled natural, like he always did, not like he was trying to impress her with his bathing habits. His forest green eyes scanned her face, pausing on her mouth. “Just go the way you are. Then we can have a few minutes alone.”

  “Where? In the stable?” She whispered, “Surrounded by stable boys?”

  He smiled, small at first, then widening into a full grin. “I do like the way you think. Let’s save that for later though.”