Enduringly Yours Page 4

  “Be aloof then?”

  “Very aloof.”

  * * *

  Zipporah leaned forward in the saddle to scratch her gelding’s neck. She was all too aware of Sir Gilburn on his tall stallion beside her.

  “Do I make you nervous,” he said with a smile.

  “Nay, of course not.” She really wished she’d sent that missive to Peter.

  John.

  She meant John.

  “You can admit to it, my lady,” Gilburn said. I understand. In time you will be more comfortable with me.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at Sir Mark, her mother’s personal knight. He was a tall, lean man of five and twenty years, with a head full of golden hair. He was trustworthy, and directly employed by her mother, thereby free to refuse any order from Gilburn. Mark nodded to her.

  “I have allowed many people, most actually, to be intimidated by me,” Gilburn said. “I have had little choice. A lowly son of a knight, with all family connections lost to him at a young age, rarely does. When your father took me in, he changed my life.”

  Gilburn’s dark eyes were unexpectedly humble. She couldn’t help but to feel sorry for his circumstances.

  “A knight with no family,” he said, “cannot rely on his name alone. To maintain order it is essential that men be intimidated by me.”

  Somehow that did not sound right. “But you have my father’s reputation.”

  “So far my methods have served me well,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard her. “I admit this is the one time that it does not. I value your opinion. I want your opinion.”

  She knew he valued her opinion only if it mirrored his opinion of himself. “And in public?” she asked.

  He smiled. “No man wants to be contradicted in public, especially by his lady.”

  Fair enough, she supposed.

  A turtledove cooed from the woods. Zipporah looked up and saw movement along the roadside.

  Peter. It had to be.

  She scanned the forest and saw him leaning now against an oak tree, arms crossed over his chest as if he had not a care in the world. He was wearing a dark green tunic that blended with the forest. Peter motioned with a nod of his head into the woods. She waved him away and he disappeared.

  Zipporah glanced at Gilburn, but he was looking forward, an expression of contentment on his face. Until Peter rode out on his stallion, halting in the middle of the road.

  Sir Gilburn’s outtake of breath could have felled a tree. “What does he think he is doing?”

  Zipporah shrugged innocently.

  “I will take care of this.” Gilburn nudged his stallion forward to face Peter.

  “Sir Gilburn.” Peter rested his forearm casually on the saddle pommel. “So good to see you this morning.”

  “Do you not have anything better to do than harass my lady?”

  “Harass?”

  Zipporah walked her horse up to them.

  “I am sorry about this, my lady,” Gilburn said. “I will be rid of him posthaste.” He lowered his voice. “I know he reminds you of Edward, and that it upsets you. Just give me the word. I will see that he never steps foot in Havendell again.”

  Was that what Gilburn thought? “It is hard,” she said, playing along. Zipporah remembered her mother’s advice and chose her words carefully. “However, he brings my mother comfort in her grief, and I cannot take that from her.”

  Peter lifted his brows, looking smug and mischievous at the same time.

  “If he distresses you in any way, my lady,” Gilburn said. “Let me know.”

  “I will be fine, assuming he keeps his distance.” She cast a volley at Peter with her eyes. He grinned back.

  “You may continue on with us, Sir Peter,” Gilburn said, his words clipped. “But if you vex Lady Zipporah, know that I will have you removed from Havendell permanently, despite what her mother might think of you.” Gilburn was sitting stiff and irritated in the saddle. His stallion pinned back his ears in response to his master’s mood.

  “I will ride back to Havendell with you,” Peter said. “I have business there.”

  “We are not yet going back,” Zipporah countered.

  “Then I will see you out.”

  “The village idiot has arrived,” Gilburn said, raking his hand over his face. “We might as well go home.”

  She turned her gelding after Gilburn, peeking over her shoulder at Peter. Sunlight filtering through branches showered him, like yesterday, but now he was covered completely in gold. Her mind was playing tricks or her, and in that moment, she saw the face of the child she would never know. Heard her laughter. Suckled her at her breast. Peter’s gaze questioned hers and she tore her eyes away.

  He closed in on one side of her. Sir Gilburn on the other. Sir Mark was tailing them. At least she would not have to endure Gilburn’s full attention anymore. Once she arrived home, she would go to her bedchamber and bar the door behind her.

  “How fares your father this morning?” Peter asked.

  “The same as yesterday, and the day before. He wakes long enough to eat a little, and that is all. My mother and I have to feed him by hand.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You do not have to be polite to him,” Gilburn said.

  Zipporah had almost forgotten about Gilburn already. She needed to be more careful. “It is for the best,” she said. “Sir Peter is an ally, is he not?”

  “Only if one truly wishes to be aligned with the village idiot,” he muttered.

  She could not continue to stand witness to this. The two of them would drive her daft before they reached the castle gates. “I should like to canter home,” she said, setting heel to her gelding before either of them could say another word.

  Peter came up next to her soon after. He lifted his brows in question.

  “What?”

  “We could lose him,” he said.

  “Whatever you are thinking, stop.”

  “Pretend you have lost control of your horse, and then I will come and rescue you.”

  Well, part of that plan sounded familiar, anyway. “I cannot.”

  Gilburn rode up on her other side. She smiled as if she were having the time of her life. Then her gelding suddenly spooked, almost running into Gilburn’s stallion.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Peter tuck something back into his saddle. Gilburn’s testy horse snapped at her gelding. Gilburn fought to control him, and Zipporah’s little horse, now terrified of both the stallions, bucked once, took the bit between his teeth, and galloped away.

  She’d had her gelding for several years, and knew all he wanted was to feel safe. Zipporah was sure he would take her back home. Her task, besides staying on, was to do her best to guide him over any dangerous ruts in the road. Since the reins were virtually useless, and she was in a sidesaddle today, all she had left was her voice and the way she placed her weight over his back.

  Gilburn called to her. Peter raced ahead, driving her gelding off the road and into the forest before Gilburn had the chance to attempt any kind of rescue.

  Zipporah wasn’t sure what Peter was trying to prove with all of this. She glanced over her shoulder. Gilburn was still following. Peter was alongside her, his stallion calmly obeying his orders, while her gelding was wide-eyed and frightened.

  “Jump over it,” Peter said. He motioned to a fallen tree crossing their path.

  “It is not as if you have left me with any choice,” she said from between her teeth.

  “Jump, then be ready.”

  “Ready for what?” She leaned over her gelding’s neck as they leapt the fallen log, then skidded down into a ravine.

  For a few seconds, Gilburn couldn’t see them.

  Peter loomed closer, his leg brushing hers. She felt herself being pulled from the saddle. Her gelding sped off in the direction of home, and Peter reined them deeper into the forest.

  “Let go of me.” She squirmed against his chest.

  “Stop. Do you want me to drop yo
u?”

  “I could have been hurt a dozen times by now. You are just as irresponsible as ever.”

  “I would not have let that happen. And you know very well how to ride a frightened horse.”

  “Sir Gilburn does not seem to think so.”

  “He doesn’t know you like I do.”

  Her face warmed at the reality of that statement. Peter smelled natural, like the forest. It awakened memories in her.

  “While the rest of us were busy being children, he was already too far gone to play,” Peter said.

  “Perhaps he was too smart to get into so much mischief. Perhaps we played too much.”

  “Those are my happiest memories.”

  She was sure they were . . .

  “Stop wiggling.” He caught her around the waist, corded tendons in his arm shifting.

  She cleared her throat. “You make me uncomfortable.”

  “Well, if you would rather be with Gilburn.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  His arm was still wrapped around her waist, his hand cupping her opposite hip. She blew out a breath. “Stop that.”

  “Relax.”

  “Move your hand, Peter.” She pushed on his arm, twisting to glare at him. Her cheek grazed his chin. It was rough from the lack of a recent shave. “I think we’ve gone far enough,” she said, surprised by the breathless quality in her voice. Heat simmered in her stomach.

  His eyes honed in on her mouth. She recognized the way his pupils dilated. His gaze slid from her mouth downward, over her throat, and lower still. She didn’t ask him to stop. She should have. She meant to.

  But she didn’t.

  She even wished she had worn her soft burgundy kyrtle, just for him. Maybe he would like to touch the fabric where it hugged her hips.

  Peter cleared his throat. “A little further and you can get down.” His arm tightened around her.

  Zipporah stared straight ahead and hoped he hadn’t noticed how ragged her breath had become. How did he do that to her? It really should be a crime.

  “Gilburn will kill you when he sees you next,” she managed.

  “I will take you home soon enough, and he shall thank me, begrudgingly, for rescuing you. And you, my love, will not say a word about this.”

  “Do not call me that. And perhaps I shall tell him.”

  “I am willing to take a chance on you.” His voice deepened, rumbling in his chest. “Are you that angry with me?” He propped his chin on her shoulder, the golden shadow on his jaw chafing her cheek again.

  “I am always angry with you.” She shrugged her shoulder and he lifted his head. “You leave me no other alternative.”

  “There are other alternatives.”

  Aye, there were, but she could not pursue them.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  She closed her eyes. It would be so natural to lean back against his chest, to bask in the feel of him so close to her. So warm, so solid—clouding her judgment.

  Oh, Lord, what was she doing?

  She opened her eyes. “I have to get down now.”

  He slowed his horse to a walk. “Is it that bad?”

  “Please let me down.”

  Peter halted his stallion and helped her off, her hip sliding along his leg.

  A lady’s value was in her virtue. Kingdoms throughout history were won or lost upon it. Men died defending it. Men died for taking it. Zipporah wished someone had warned her. She’d had no idea what it would cost, to give herself to Sir Peter of Ravenmore.

  Her heart felt like mush. Her sleep was filled with visions of a baby she would never know, and like it or not, her need for him appeared to be a fire that refused to be snuffed out.

  He dismounted and led his horse on foot. His wide shoulders were bent and his head bowed. Like it or not, there was still a part of him inside of her, and she hated seeing him like that.

  “I am sorry,” Zipporah said.

  “Sorry I disgust you?”

  “It could be worse.”

  “Worse?” He halted, his gaze searching hers.

  She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. Her words had not come out right, and she wanted to kick herself. “We shouldn’t keep doing this. Being alone together.”

  “I do possess some restraint.”

  “That is not what I meant. Nothing I say is right. I might as well hang a sign around my neck saying, Sorry, Peter.”

  He sighed. Then he turned and touched her face. Somehow he managed to smile, and Zipporah fell into it. She didn’t want to come back again.

  Ever.

  But she had to, or he would lead her astray, and she was very afraid that she would go right ahead and let him.

  “I miss you,” he said, his fingers sliding away.

  “I read your missive.”

  “You did?”

  “I said I would.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “And?”

  “You sounded homesick.”

  “I still am.”

  “But you are home.”

  “Nay, I am not.”

  Zipporah wasn’t ready to acknowledge that. She wasn’t even sure whether or not to believe him. She pushed a branch out of the way as they walked. They were near the lake now. The ground was soft.

  “Gilburn is not beyond killing you,” she said.

  “It is too late for that now.” He seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “If you had read my missive when I first sent it to you, would it have changed anything?”

  “I do not know.” She’d been heartbroken about the baby, and angry he had not been there for her when she’d needed him so badly. Her mother had taken care of everything, swearing the midwife to secrecy, telling her father she had a contagion and needed to remain locked in her chamber for months. The only two people she saw during her entire convalescence were her mother and the midwife. Her baby had been her constant companion.

  Zipporah pulled away from the painful memory.

  “I do not think it would have,” she said.

  “I see.”

  They walked in silence for a time before he stopped her. She drew her arm free from his hand. He looked hurt by that, but what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t keep letting him touch her.

  “Zipporah . . .” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I do not know how to explain this. But I am no saint.”

  “That is true.”

  He eyed her. “Do not expect me to allow another man near you and not . . .”

  “And not what?”

  “And not get in the way.” Peter flexed the fingers on his left hand. The ones he’d once broken. “You were with me first. Do not expect me to share you with another man.”

  “That was three years ago.”

  “Three and a half.” He lowered his voice. “We shared a bed for half a year.”

  She winced. Had it gone on for that long? What had she been thinking? She couldn’t take any more, held up her hand to stop him. “What if I married another man?”

  Little chance of that happening, unless said man was indeed a saint, and willing to see past her indiscretions, but she had to ask.

  “I would protest the marriage before it could occur.”

  “You swore you would tell no one about us.”

  “Then I would have to find some other way.”

  She listened to Evrin, Peter’s stallion, chew on his bit. Leather creaked. From somewhere, a crow squawked.

  The fierce, protective look on Peter’s face threatened to melt her resolve. She wanted to take the front of his tunic in her hands, pull him to her, and kiss him like there was no Gilburn, no sick father, no painful past drowning all the good things they’d once shared.

  “Peter?” she said. “We were good together, weren’t we?” It seemed good. Very good.

  “Aye, love, that we were.”

  She forced herself to move away. “I need space.” Her kyrtle caught on briars as she shrugged through a thicket. It tore, but she didn’t care. At last, she
stumbled onto a narrow, pebble-strewn beach.

  She assumed Peter was behind her. He was quiet. It took her a long time to gather the bits and pieces of her awareness. Turning at last, she saw him there, waiting.

  “I should take you home,” he said.

  She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Aye. Gilburn will be furious as it is.”

  “I am going to enjoy the look on his face when I present you to your mother safe and sound.”

  “Aye, you would like that.”

  He laughed, but it was uneasily done. Zipporah knew it was too late to take back what she had said about them. They would both be acutely aware of their past now, both good and bad.

  “He makes it so easy, can you blame me?” he said.

  “Just be careful. Gilburn has friends in high places.”

  “Aye. Prince John. Well, I have friends in high places too.”

  “You had better, if you want to cross him.”

  Chapter Five

  Peter reached down, looping his arm around Zipporah and helping her onto his horse with him. She adjusted her weight over his lap, both feet dangling over one side. His skin warmed from the contact with her body. Zipporah cautiously leaned against his chest. His muscles bunched, feeling every warm, soft inch of her, and joyfully responding.

  “Do not get any ideas,” she said.

  Too late.

  He had forgotten nothing. He knew the way his hands fit over the curve of her hips, the texture of her skin, and the soft sounds of contentment she made when he touched her.

  It was one thing in the desert, surrounded by hot sand and blood. He’d avoided the women who came regularly through camp, knowing he still belonged to her. Now that he had Zipporah so close, he wasn’t sure how he would survive without her.

  She was quiet, save the labored sound of her breathing. If he had his wish, he would turn his horse around and take her far away.

  Zipporah cleared her throat. “Since Sir Gilburn believes we are at odds with each other, it would be best if we leave it that way.”

  “That should not be too hard.”

  “Peter . . .” Her jaw worked.

  “How do you feel about the power Gilburn now holds?” he asked to distract her.